The hero had gone through so many emotions in just ten minutes that the news of his impending death barely shocked him anymore.
He simply sat there, staring at the filthy streets, then suddenly… he ughed.
A bitter, hollow ugh.
He had only come to Japan as a tourist. He had stood in a shrine, half-jokingly making a wish, imagining the cssic isekai scenario—power, a harem, an epic life.
And now, here he was.
He pinched his arm. It hurt.
No, this was real.
He let out a shaky breath and looked down at the small gss vial in his hand—the only thing the priest had given him before throwing him out like trash. With a sigh, he tucked it into his bag and forced himself to stand.
His body felt heavy.
His limbs ached, and his chest burned. The curse had already begun.
---
Slowly, he walked forward.
With every step, his mind spiraled.
Where am I? How do I survive? Is there any way to escape this fate?
The streets were alive with suffering.
At the corner of a crumbling alley, a man y trembling on the ground, his bones visible beneath his pale, sickly skin.
Just a few feet away, a line of people were shackled together, being led away by a trader. Their iron chains rattled as they walked, their eyes hollow, their spirits crushed.
Sves.
A deep, sickening feeling settled in his stomach.
This world was not the fantasy he had imagined.
---
His chest tightened.
Pain suddenly exploded across his ribs.
His knees buckled, and he colpsed onto the dirty street, coughing violently.
Something warm and metallic dripped from his lips.
He touched his mouth.
Blood.
The realization hit him like a hammer.
This wasn't just a slow death.
The curse was going to kill him faster than he thought.
“I… need help…” he gasped.
A hospital? A healer? A cure?
But he had no money, no idea where to go, and no one to ask.
Struggling to stay upright, he leaned against a wooden barrel, trying to catch his breath.
And then—
A group of adventurers walked past him.
His gaze locked onto one of them.
A man in a long robe, holding a staff.
A mage.
A desperate idea flickered in his mind.
---
Ignoring the risk, he stumbled forward and grabbed the mage’s shoulders.
"Heal me!"
His voice was weak, cracking from exhaustion.
The mage blinked in shock.
But before he could react—
A sword was pressed against the hero's neck.
"Back off, filth," the swordsman sneered.
The hero froze.
Cold steel bit into his throat.
---
"Let me at least check," the mage muttered.
Raising his staff, he murmured a spell.
A faint glow surrounded the hero’s body.
And then—
The mage screamed.
His eyes turned blood red.
He stumbled backward, falling onto the ground, his hands shaking violently.
"Y-You… what the hell are you?!"
The other adventurers stared in confusion.
The swordsman lowered his bde slightly, hesitating.
The mage clutched his head, breathing heavily.
"Disgusting… cursed… not even the gods can save you…"
A moment of silence.
Then, the mage exhaled sharply.
"Maybe… only the Goddess's Blood could…"
His voice barely a whisper.
And then—
The adventurers left.
Without another word.
Without another look.
Leaving the hero alone.
---
He colpsed to his knees.
"…Goddess’s Blood?"
He didn't know what it was.
He didn’t know if it was real.
But one thing was clear—
If he didn’t find a way to cure himself…
He would die.
