I should be doing more than this.

  The thought came to him for the tenth time that morning.

  Simon put it out of his mind as best he could. Breathing deep of acrid city air, he joined the throngs of people ambling down the sidewalk.

  He took his time aimlessly wandering without any particular destination in mind. The city's hustle and bustle mercifully drowned out his worries, stifling the growing sense of disquiet that had become his constant companion in life.

  Eventually, though, the urge to accomplish something reared its ever-insistent head again.

  Simon grabbed a snack from a roadside vendor, contemplating where to go next. His dorm room was an option...

  But he also hadn't visited Grace's soup kitchen in a few days. The errant thought provoked an uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades.

  Before he knew it, he was navigating familiar streets to a familiar destination.

  His mood lifted when he entered through the soup kitchen's front door and was immediately greeted by a cheery smile. Grace – a stout, middle-aged woman – was in the middle of organizing various foodstuffs when she noticed him. "Simon!" she said. "Always good to see your face 'round here."

  Simon's lips curled up into his own small smile. The fact that Grace meant it was one of the reasons he kept returning. He didn't get this kind of reception anywhere else. "Same to you. There any new work for me?"

  She jabbed a finger towards a heap of supplies haphazardly stacked in the corner. "Fresh crop came in. You know the drill."

  Snapping off a mock salute, Simon went over to the pile, then began sorting and packaging the assorted provisions into boxed sets of food. Each set he created contained a specific distribution of calories and nutrients. That way, everyone who visited the kitchen would get exactly what their body needed.

  Good, honest, tangible work. He could already feel his blood pressure lowering. Simon fell into a sort of zen state as he sorted, hours passing by an instant.

  It was late afternoon when they decided to finally take a break. "How's your retail job going?" Grace asked, passing him an unopened can of soda. "The one at the supermarket? You came early today."

  "Oh, it's going great," Simon beamed. "I got fired."

  She paused. "Oh. Why?"

  "Drove a customer to tears for the third time. Manager agreed that they had it coming, but I still broke the store's Three Strikes clause, so he had no choice but to let me go."

  Grace chuckled, her smile lighting up the room once more. "Congratulations, I guess? Would usually offer condolences, but you seem happy."

  "It was retail."

  And in truth, he didn't need the money. Simon had taken the job as a sort of...training exercise. Retail attracts all types of customer, and he wanted to see if he could get better at empathizing with people he disliked, learn to help them without lashing out.

  Clearly, it was still a work-in-progress.

  "Mmhmm." Grace's smile shifted into a wry grin. "I suppose it's fine. You're young, and that was just a temp job. Once college classes start back up, you'll have to focus on your studies – and after that, every company in the area will be looking to snap you up."

  The woman eyed him curiously. "What field are you looking to go into, Simon? What's your dream?"

  She had no idea how much of a loaded question she'd just asked.

  Simon stalled for time by downing a gulp of soda, considered multiple possible answers...then opted for the truth. It would probably shock her, but he'd inspired plenty of baffled expressions over the years – this one wasn't going to be anything he hadn't seen before.

  "I want to do whatever will make me obscenely rich," he said.

  Grace nodded, displaying not a hint of judgement. "Don't blame you. In this economy–"

  "So that I can bribe politicians."

  "...Beg pardon?"

  Simon placed his can on the ground. "It's the conclusion I've reached after an extensive analysis of the societal framework we live in. First, I started with one question: how do I improve things? How do I make the world a better place? And I don't mean just helping little old ladies across the street; I'm talking about systemic, wide-sweeping change."

  He raised one finger. "The most obvious solution would be to take the reins myself. Become a politician and hold the highest possible office I can. Unfortunately, I doubt that's in the cards. Don't have the charisma or funds for a campaign. Might get some disenfranchised people to vote for me, but I'd be the niche pick that results in little more than a tiny footnote on wikipedia."

  Which today had just proved. If he couldn't keep himself from lashing out at retail customers, then he wouldn't last five minutes when coming face-to-face with actual politicians. The news media would eat him alive for voicing what he honestly thought about them.

  "So I considered other options for improving the world." Simon held up two more fingers. "Cure a major disease, or devise a major technological invention. However, after taking some courses in college, I've come to the conclusion that I'm not the kind of prodigy capable of revolutionizing a field. Like...if I became a doctor or a scientist, I would be good at it – but not incredible. 'Incredible' is what's needed to change history."

  That, and the backing of big corporations. A groundbreaking invention wouldn't go anywhere without funding and production lines.

  It always came down to power you held.

  "At that point, I circled back around to the politician angle. If I can't become a politician, then maybe I can influence them instead? You'd be shocked at how little money it takes to buy someone's vote. Comparatively speaking. I'd still need to be rich, but–"

  Grace held up a hand. She seemed dizzy, like she was trapped in a malfunctioning amusement park. "Just...slow down. Isn't governmental bribery illegal?"

  Simon's face remained impassive. "Bribery is illegal. Lobbying is a-okay."

  He neglected to mention that he would've also been a-okay with threatening politicians into compliance, if only he had the armies or blackmail necessary to make them listen. That idea had rarely gotten a good response when he mentioned it to others in the past.

  "Huh." Grace laced her fingers together. "Alright then. Do you really need to go that far with–"

  "Yes."

  "Oh." She seemed momentarily taken aback before rallying herself. "Well, how do you plan to – what was it – get obscenely rich? Your plan hinges on it."

  "Still working on that part," Simon said, with a barely-suppressed wince. "While I have some startup capital from the...the payouts, it won't be easy. Investing in high-risk stocks is essentially gambling. Could run a business, but those usually fail, and then I'm back to square one."

  The woman stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. "You've truly put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?"

  He let out a mirthless laugh. "Yeah. If you've got any better ideas, I'm all ears."

  Grace breathed out, drumming fingers on her thigh. "I mean...can't believe I'm saying this, but...if you want to make money, this isn't really the place to be."

  Simon briefly clenched his fist. "I know. Have to do something to help people, though. Can't just be twiddling thumbs until my fortunes improve."

  She paused, realization sparking in her widening eyes. "Simon, if this is because you're feeling guilty, I hope you know that what happened before isn't your faul–"

  "Would rather not talk about that right now."

  Should never have told her to begin with. He blamed Grace's team-mom exterior that prompted people to reveal their innermost secrets with nothing more than genuine caring and warmth.

  The conversation died after that. Simon returned to his packaging and sorting, ignoring the worried looks that Grace was sending his way.

  Those were much easier to deal with than the worries festering inside his heart. Invest in stocks? Start a business? Long shots, all of them. Realistically, he knew that his chances of achieving the success he needed to fulfill his ambitions were slim. If he didn't get lucky at some point and win the proverbial lottery, his capacity to change the world would remain minimal.

  Deep down, he had already resigned himself to the strong possibility that his life's efforts might end up making no difference at all.

  The thought felt like death.

  HELLO.

  Suddenly, an overpowering voice rang out within Simon's mind.

  He and Grace cried out, nearly falling off their chairs. More than his own pain, it was Grace's visible distress that snapped him back to awareness. Simon rushed over to assist her, smothering the alarm he felt at her gritted teeth and trembling hands.

  BE NOT AFRAID.

  From outside the soup kitchen, he heard crowds of people start to scream in terror.

  WAIT. Cease panicking. I said 'Be Not Afraid'. I was informed this would work.

  The voice was slightly quieter this time, although still egregiously loud. At first Simon thought it sounded vaguely masculine, before realizing the voice was his. Like some external force was hijacking his inner narration and using it to communicate with him.

  Marvelous. That's better, yes? Please...please calm down, and everything will be explained.

  "Do the people outside have to scream so loud?" Grace asked, her breaths normalizing as she massaged her aching forehead. "They sound positively petrified – even aside from the voice, I mean. Is something happening out there? Are they okay?"

  "Only you would think of other people at a time like this," Simon teased. He wobbled to his feet, hiding his discomfort. "Stay here. I'll go check what's happening. Don't want you in the line of fire in case of...just in case."

  He bolted outside before she could respond, trusting Grace's condition to keep her from doing anything rash.

  That was his job.

  The streets were choked full of people doing their very best not to spiral into a riot. Thousands of wide-open eyes had been turned skyward. Simon followed their gazes, raising his head to look up at the–

  He stopped cold. Simon blinked, waited, then blinked again. The sight was still there.

  After ruling out a communal brain hemorrhage...he was forced to accept that this was reality.

  The clouds had parted to reveal a gigantic thing floating above. Rays of gold illuminated a constantly shifting, non-Euclidean form that hurt Simon's head the more he tried to understand it. The creature's mass seemed to stretch across the entire city, casting a shadow as if it was a localized solar eclipse.

  37% of you have calmed. I deem those numbers adequate. The thing's 'body' pulsed with every word it inserted into Simon's mind. It loudly cleared its throat – somehow – and adopted a self-serious tone. People of the sphere colloquially designated as Earth: I come to you with a plea. The fate of worlds hangs in the balance.

  "Maaaan," a person close to Simon whispered. "Shouldn't have eaten those brownies."

  A great war is being waged as we speak. Cosmic forces beyond your comprehension are locked in conflict, and the winner shall decide whether Good prevails or Evil reigns supreme.

  The Thing paused. One moment. Hugo Blanchet of France has a question.

  Underneath the Thing's mass, a boy's face appeared within a sort of a mid-air projector screen. Simon had no idea who it was – he looked like any random young kid off the street.

  "Is that me?" Hugo asked, his voice booming as if he was talking into a microphone. Simon was pretty sure the boy was speaking French, but he heard it as English. "Oh jeez that's me. Wow. I, I have a question! What should we call you, Mr...uh...Mr. Voice-In-The-Sky?"

  Voice-In-The-Sky is permissible.

  With a static-y blip, the projection closed, and Hugo's face disappeared. Now that greetings have been made – I must warn you of what draws near. A war is being waged across realities, and with each world that succumbs to Evil, their power grows. It is only with the assistance of mortals such as yourselves that total annihilation can be averted.

  Voice-In-The-Sky's light intensified. And so I ask this of you today: one brave soul from Earth must dedicate their life to saving a world that is not their own.

  Simon froze. He felt a sensation build up within him. One that took him several seconds to recognize.

  Longing.

  A longing so fierce that it gripped his chest with fingers of steel.

  The champion of the world known as Valtia has fallen. Whoever is chosen today shall assume their mantle and continue the fight in their stead. Without its champion's strength, all life on Valtia shall vanish within the span of one year.

  Everyone spoke up at once. The streets erupted with energy, billions of people across the globe vying for attention.

  Simon was among them. He yelled until his throat was hoarse, desperately willing the Voice to hear him.

  Another face appeared beneath it, presented in the supernatural projection window. This time, it was a woman who seemed to be in her late 40s. Paula Ramirez of Spain wishes to speak.

  She nodded, her gaze as sharp as a knife. "Assuming I'm not dreaming...what's the catch?"

  Catch?

  "The catch. The fine print. The part of the deal where someone gets screwed." Her eyes narrowed. "For example; how is just one person from our planet supposed to save an entire world?"

  Valtia's new champion shall be granted the fallen champion's powers upon transmigration, along with other boons. Your capacity for growth will be unmatched, and your power will swell when performing deeds of heroism and valor.

  Power, Simon marveled, the word crackling in his thoughts like a lightning bolt. I'll be granted power. Just like that.

  The power to make CHANGE.

  Before the Voice's projection could close, Paula interjected again. "If you're capable of doing that, then why not empower a citizen of Valtia? Or just save the place yourself?"

  You ask many questions.

  "I'm a lawyer."

  The Voice-In-The-Sky seemed to shiver slightly. Our rules of engagement with Evil include a mutual treaty of non-aggression that prohibits direct intervention. When deities clash on the soil of a world...it never ends well for the world in question. This workaround is the most support we can proffer.

  Simon imagined cities turned to dust as gods of Good and Evil fought on a mortal battleground. It was a sobering thought – especially if the other deities were as powerful as Voice-In-The-Sky, able to project its will to billions of people simultaneously.

  Furthermore, Earth stands to gain from this covenant. If a world's mortal is chosen as a transmigrated champion, then their world is spared from the touch of cosmic war for the next hundred-thousand years.

  Paula snuck in a couple more questions before her fifteen minutes of fame were up. "And who's going to be this champion of yours?"

  It can be almost anyone on your planet, chosen at random. After filtering out unsuitable candidates, the choice will be made for you.

  "Unsuitable how?"

  Too young, too old...but mostly, those who strongly desire to be transmigrated must be excluded from consideration.

  Impossibly, a stunned silence fell across Earth.

  Or maybe that was just how it seemed to Simon. He didn't think he would've noticed even if someone shouted a megaphone inches away from his ear. The longing in his heart had turned to an icy-cold rage, like permafrost forged at the base of a volcano.

  We shall now begin the–

  "You're a joke."

  Voice-In-The-Sky froze. The projection window shifted, erasing Paula's face – and replacing it with a new visage.

  It was like looking at a giant, superimposed mirror.

  Simon of North America. You have complaints?

  Everyone nearby turned to stare at him in shock. Across the globe, billions more were doing the same, gazing up at Simon inside the Voice's projection window. Perhaps under different circumstances, he would have stumbled his words, faltering under an impossible amount of attention and pressure.

  Right now, though?

  "Those who WANT to be transmigrated are excluded?"

  Simon was way too pissed to care.

  "You do know what that sounds like, right?" He crossed his arms, glaring at Voice-In-The-Sky with open disdain. "Kidnapping. Straight-up."

  It is a flawed process, correct. Yet also necessary.

  "Explain. Now. Why can't you choose someone who's actually willing to uproot their life?"

  Someone like him? Someone who would've sold their soul to be given the chance to make a real difference in the world? If not on Earth, then at least on another?

  Volunteers have been attempted in the past. However...on your sphere, there is a saying: 'Only those who do not seek power are qualified to hold it.' Mortals who jump at the chance to become champion tend to possess large egos, a tendency towards megalomania, and other personality defects that arise later in time. It has led to many a catastrophe.

  The Voice's presence sagged with disappointment. On average, reluctant heroes turn out better. Despite their initial complaints, they usually rise to the occasion.

  All at once, Simon understood that if he let Voice-In-The-Sky know just how badly he needed this opportunity, it would slip through his fingers like grains of sand.

  He chose his next words with exceptional care.

  "It's still not right." Simon injected righteous anger into his tone. "Based on what you've said so far, I'm guessing this is a one-way trip. Whoever leaves will never be able to return. They won't see their loved ones, their family, or their friends ever again. They'll have to rebuild their life in a completely foreign world."

  Correct.

  "And that's the best-case scenario. Becoming a champion doesn't guarantee success. If it wasn't dangerous, the original champion wouldn't have bought the farm in the first place. Odds are whoever transmigrates is going to die while fighting for a land that isn't even theirs."

  Highly possible.

  Simon bared his teeth. "You're okay with subjecting an unwilling participant to that? Just telling them that their life is over, and they've gotta deal with it?"

  When countless lives are at stake? Yes.

  Lowering his arms, Simon clenched both fists until his fingernails drew blood. "No. I can't accept that. There has to be a better way."

  Voice-In-The-Sky was quiet for five eternally long seconds.

  You feel quite strongly about this.

  As the deity took the bait, Simon's heart soared with triumph. He made sure not to let any of it show on his face. "Why wouldn't I?" he hissed. "What you're suggesting is kidnapping at best, murder at worst."

  Are you concerned that you might be selected? I can exclude you from–

  "That doesn't MATTER! I could handle it! What about someone who couldn't?!"

  His outburst gave the Voice pause. To be so adamant for the sake of one stranger...

  Very well.

  Rays of gold shone down on Simon like a spotlight from the heavens. It illuminated his face in the Voice's sky-projector, showing how his expression morphed to a mask of stoic determination.

  Simon of Earth. In circumvention of the standard selection process, you have been chosen to become Valtia's champion. A champion given the freedom of choice to make this sacrifice in place of another.

  Do you accept?

  Silence reigned as all of Earth waited for his answer on bated breath.

  With a steady hand, Simon reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and called one of his few contacts. "Grace?"

  "Simon." She put a wealth of emotion into his name, ranging from disbelief, to resignation, to affection. "I turned on the TV...I saw..."

  He almost smiled for her, but that might've tipped off the Voice. "Sorry. Don't think I'll be stopping by the kitchen again."

  Grace didn't respond immediately. "This is what you want?"

  More than anything. "If it means someone else doesn't have to? I'll bite the bullet."

  She sighed. "Then...try to be happy. That's all I ask."

  "I promise I will." He hesitated. Last chance to tell her. "And thanks. For...being there. You made me feel like I still had a mom."

  With a sense of finality, Simon pressed the 'end call' icon. He looked up at Voice-In-The-Sky, nodding once. "I'm ready."

  THEN OUR CONTRACT IS SEALED.

  The world spun and vanished.

  --

  When Simon regained consciousness, he was floating in a featureless white void.

  Peering around with interest, he investigated each direction to find absolutely nothing waiting in the distance. A quick check confirmed that his cell phone was getting zero bars – no surprise there either.

  You are more at peace with this than most would be. The Voice resounded in his head, still present even without its incomprehensible form hovering above him.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Simon shrugged. "I agreed to terms offered by an eldritch alien deity thing. A white void seems par for the course." He frowned. "You weren't lying about the whole multiversal battle between Good and Evil, right?"

  I was not. Assisting the world of Valtia shall be to the benefit of all.

  "Awesome. So – what does being a champion entail, exactly? Is Valtia a swords-and-sorcery kind of world?"

  ...Did I not explain that already?

  "Nope."

  The Voice flickered with something akin to embarrassment. That you would volunteer despite not knowing the details of Valtia's circumstances is admirable.

  Simon adopted a faint look of regret that he hoped was convincing. "Someone had to."

  Indeed. Regardless, you were correct. Valtia is a medieval world of might and magic. Its champion was a rising warrior of peerless talent. Given time, he would have matured into an unparalleled swordsman – one strong enough to avert catastrophe and topple the despots plaguing his world.

  Voice-In-The-Sky hummed with glee. His allies will be overjoyed when they learn that another has come to take up his mantle. Especially someone with an even larger capacity for growth.

  Simon's ears perked up at the word 'growth'. "So I'll learn the champion's abilities and get stronger as well?"

  His power will be inherited fully, then expanded upon. To facilitate this, a system has been created to categorize your new powers within a framework that should be familiar to you. The term its designers used was 'RPG', I believe.

  Music to my ears. Simon took a moment to tamp down his budding excitement. "Tell me more about what I'll be waking up to. What's the political situation like? Will I be fighting people, monsters, or both?"

  Likely both. Aside from the threat of Fell Beasts, Valtia's nobility has–

  Everything shifted.

  Simon clutched his head as grating, discordant laughter assaulted his senses, worse than nails hammering straight into his brain. It was like the Voice's initial message but twenty times as harsh; as if it had been intended to inflict agony, rather than the pain simply being a byproduct of communication.

  And then – nothing. The moment ended just as quickly as it began.

  However, it was immediately evident that something had happened. When Simon looked out into the endless white void, he noticed that parts of it were infected with an inky blackness that burnt to look at.

  ...No. Oh no.

  Simon winced. "Not good?"

  No no no no no.

  It was hard to stay composed when his patron deity very much wasn't, but he managed. "Chill. Let's take this one step at a time. What happened?"

  Evil struck. The Voice sounded utterly despondent. Cowardly subterfuge, yet undeniably effective. They couldn't interfere with Valtia directly...but they could interfere with me before the transmigration was completed.

  "So what's changed?"

  They have tainted the weavings of my magic. It no longer inherits Valtia's champion – but an insignificant nobody of little renown. You will gain virtually nothing from transmigrating. Sending you to a world of conflict such as Valtia would be no different than slaying you myself.

  "Right. Not the greatest development." Simon suppressed his mounting anxiety and punched his fist into his palm. "What are our options? Maybe you could re-do the spell, or–"

  Impossible. The energy required would prevent me from transmigrating another champion for eons. Dozens of worlds would fall prey to the manipulations of Evil. I cannot accept that. Not even to atone for my own carelessness. Valtia will be damned so that others may live.

  All around, the void shook with an atmosphere of formless despair. I...I failed them. Failed you. Failed everyone.

  Simon allowed himself a bit of time to process everything he's just heard.

  Afterwards, he reached up and awkwardly patted the empty air. "Hey, man...you doing okay?"

  The Voice let out a hollow chuckle. No.

  "Fair enough." Simon offered it a conciliatory smile. "Don't sweat it. Happens to the best of us. Heck, I just got fired from my job earlier today."

  I do not think the scale is quite comparable.

  "Wasn't even the first position I've been fired from. Turns out, irate customers don't appreciate it when you say that they're grotesque caricatures undeserving of love. Your average job performance is probably still way better than mine."

  The Voice chuckled again. This time, there was slightly more humor to it. You are a good man, Simon of Earth. I shall ensure that you are sent home free of harm. It is the least I can do to–

  "Woah, woah, woah," Simon interrupted. "Who said anything about going back to Earth?"

  Voice-In-The-Sky stared at him with a sightless gaze of confusion. What other choice is there for you?

  "Finishing the transmigration, obviously."

  You...don't seem to understand. My magic as it is now would turn you into the furthest thing from a champion, both bodily and geographically. I am not even sure of what awaits you in Valtia – only that it would almost assuredly be fatal.

  Simon tilted his head. "But I'd still have the RPG system thing. And Earth would be 'spared from the touch of cosmic war' for a really long time."

  Well, yes.

  "Then send me over. I got this."

  It all came down to a simple cost-benefit analysis. Valtia was a medieval world of – presumably – low technology and impoverished people. There would be more chances for Simon to climb the political ladder and unseat whatever leaders were in charge. By force, if necessary. And when combined with guaranteed power growth?

  As far as Simon was concerned, he still had better odds of making a difference there than on Earth.

  Such sacrifice. You would do this to ensure your world's protection?

  The Voice spoke with borderline reverence. Simon nodded, happy to let it draw its own conclusions.

  ...Then I can only respect your decision, and thank you for it.

  Luminous energy of blue and gold gathered around Simon. He felt his body start to be pulled in all directions, first weakly, then with increasing pressure. It wasn't painful, just weird as hell.

  As the Voice's magic prepared to form, it communicated with him one last time, using a tone that begged for him to listen.

  Simon. Forget performing any grand heroics. Simply do what you can. Brighten Valtia's darkness with your light, however small or flickering it may be. That is the most I can possibly ask from you.

  It paused for emphasis. Don't throw your life away.

  Simon nodded. "Sounds reasonable. If I'm not getting cheat code champion powers, then the smart thing to do would be to play it safe."

  The energy coalesced, obscuring his sight with colors of radiance. Right before he disappeared, an earnest smile spread across Simon's face.

  "But I hope you don't mind if I go ahead and save the world anyway."

  --

  Alert: Transmigration Complete!

  Simon awoke to a body full of aches and a mouth full of dirt.

  He kept very still as his senses returned, pain covering him from head to toe. It was like he'd been run over by a car, knocked deeper into traffic, then run over by several more cars for good measure. Thoughts bleary, he wondered what the hell had happened to him – before remembering the details of what the Voice had promised.

  'My magic no longer inherits Valtia's champion, but an insignificant nobody of little renown.'

  He was taking over for whoever this poor schmuck was. They'd died recently...and apparently, their death hadn't been a peaceful one. In the process of replacing his existence, Simon had evidently inherited some of his injuries as well.

  It was a minor setback, but nothing too bad. This was basically the kind of starting point Simon had expected when agreeing to a flawed transmigration. He'd make it work.

  Growing accustomed to the pain, Simon contemplated opening his eyes, then decided against it. His head felt like it had the mother of all hangovers right now, and something as simple as a sunbeam might literally kill him.

  Instead, Simon focused his ears, listening to his surroundings. Everything seemed quiet. All he could hear was a light...

  Chewing?

  ...

  Simon forced one eye halfway open. Thankfully, it was dark out, with moonlight only somewhat illuminating the outdoor area. His head was spared from further agony.

  Unfortunately, there was enough light for him to catch sight of the enormous mutated rat just a stone's throw away.

  The creature was jarringly huge. By Simon's estimation, it was at least seven feet long and had a head larger than his torso. The rat's fur was matted with blood, and its oversized rodent limbs bulged in strange ways, as if they were packed to bursting with muscle.

  What's more, it was munching on a human corpse – one of many corpses, now that he took a closer look. The peaceful field he was laying in was littered with six chewed-apart bodies.

  Huh, Simon thought, mildly dazed. I know adventures often start out with killing rats, but isn't this a bit much?

  Mercifully, Stuart Not-So-Little didn't notice that he was awake. The beast was too busy gorging itself on free food like a big furry vulture. With herculean effort, Simon forced his thoughts to remain tranquil – freaking out now would be a death sentence.

  Think. Assess the situation. Most rats fled at the first sign of trouble, but for some reason, he doubted that this particular variant would. If Stuart realized that he was conscious, it would consider him a threat and sink its teeth into his intestines before he could even stand up.

  It's fine, Simon told himself. Totally fine. If he repeated it often enough, perhaps it would come true. Options. Right. What are my options?

  Option 1: Play dead. Eventually, Stuart would have its fill of corpse-flesh and leave.

  Tempting, but risky. He had no guarantee of how much that thing could eat or how good its senses were. If it noticed Simon's breathing...that was it. Game over.

  Option 2: Run away. Staying here was just too dangerous.

  His caveman instincts told him that this was a fantastic idea. Simon politely informed them that there was a reason cavemen weren't known for their long-term planning skills. Even if his body wasn't in a half-dead state, he couldn't have outrun Stuart. If normal-sized rats were already agile, then this one probably put Olympic medalists to shame.

  Option 3: Kill it.

  Okay, but how? Assuming that he could move his aching body enough to put up a fight, Simon still didn't have a proper weapon.

  He swept his eyes across the clearing, noting a great many shattered blades littered among the corpse pile. Nothing remained that was longer than a dagger, and he really, really didn't want to stick his fingers close to Stuart when stabbing. That seemed like an easy way to lose them.

  Power, he suddenly recalled. I was supposed to inherit power. This Joe Schmoe might not have been a champion, but he was still an inhabitant of Valtia. Maybe he would've been strong enough to put up a fight. And didn't Voice-In-The-Sky say there would be additional transmigration bonuses?

  A subtle impulse began to grow in the back of Simon's mind, insistent and unfamiliar. With nothing to lose, he heeded its call, reaching out with a thought and grasping it.

  He stifled a gasp as lines of text began cascading down his vision.

  Simon

  Class: Fledgling

  Level: 1

  HP: 32 / 90

  MP: 50 / 50

  Strength: 12

  Dexterity: 8

  Vitality: 9

  Intelligence: 5

  Although he couldn't be sure without testing things...all those stats looked perilously low. Single-digit numbers in RPGs were rarely a good sign. Seriously, Level 1? Hats off to the Evil gods – they'd chosen their anti-champion well.

  Moving down, he checked his list of Traits. There were quite a few to look on, so he immediately honed in on the couple that were relevant to his current situation.

  Transmigrator's Body

  -Your body has become like that of a fictional game character. Grievous wounds will not affect your combat efficacy. You barely bleed from injuries, slowly regenerate over time, and will completely restore to full health after a good night's sleep. Lastly, you will only die when your HP reaches zero.

  Inventory

  -You may place inanimate items within touch range into a dimensional storage container. Items in storage can be produced at will. Limit of 100 pounds or 250 cubic feet of storage.

  So he would heal up nicely...if he lived. Throwing a Hail Mary, Simon accessed his Inventory, hoping against hope that something useful had been conveniently placed in it.

  No dice.

  Stuart had moved onto its next corpse. The last uneaten body aside from Simon himself.

  Still have the Skills to look at. With an internal drum roll, Simon kept reading.

  Active Skills

  Identify (Level MAX)

  -Transmigration bonus. Use on non-living objects to receive a short description of their attributes.

  Power Smash (Rank 1)

  -Increase the effectiveness of your next unarmed physical melee attack. 15-minute cooldown.

  --

  Passive Skills

  Intimidation (Rank 1)

  -Sightly raises your persuasive prowess – as long as the person is scared of you.

  Grappling (Rank 2)

  -Increases grip strength.

  That was...a mild improvement. While he would've preferred fireballs and death lasers, beggars couldn't be choosers. Simon doubted that Intimidate would function on an overgrown rat, but maybe Power Smash might be able to finish the job.

  Peeking carefully, Simon closely scrutinized Stuart's condition. The plus-sized rodent had dried blood matting its fur in numerous places. There was even one broken-off sword sticking out of its flank. Stuart prey hadn't gone down without a fight.

  But it wasn't so injured that Simon could beat it to death with his bare hands, Power Smash or otherwise.

  Need more. Defaulting to the one Skill he could try without drawing attention to himself, Simon reached into his mind and attempted to cast Identify on a random object.

  Activating it turned out to be easier than he'd imagined. Just like how a person couldn't describe how they ordered their brain to move their limbs, Simon used the Skill without even thinking, operating on an instinct that hadn't existed before he was transmigrated to Valtia. Another set of words immediately appeared in front of his vision.

  Name: Broken Sword

  Description: Once a weapon, now a lump of jagged metal. Was considered poorly-made even in its prime. Damaged during an ambush by a newborn Fell Beast.

  Not super helpful, but at least the Skill works. Wasting no time, Simon went about casting Identify on every notable object in the area. He examined lifeless bodies and piles of wooden debris, searching for something that might help him. His range of vision was limited, as he didn't want to alert Stuart by moving his head too much, so he made do with whatever was readily visible.

  In the span of a minute, Simon found three more broken swords, five sets of ruined clothes, an empty food container, a torn-apart diary, four piles of human gristle, two unsent love letters, and one very large rock.

  Oh, and a magically-enchanted piece of equipment.

  Name: Glove of Minor Strength (Left Hand)

  Description: A lesser Artifact. When activated, temporarily increases Strength by 15 points for 15 seconds. Can be used once per hour.

  He wouldn't have been able to tell it was special without using Identify. The glove looked like any other – just a brown piece of roughspun leather. From what Simon could tell, it was close to his size.

  More importantly, unlike its Right Hand sibling, it hadn't been torn to shreds during Stuart's rampage. And it was right next to him!

  The fun ended there, because to retrieve the glove, Simon would have to take it from its owner. Who was still wearing it. Not that the man would miss it at this point, but removing the glove would involve a degree of movement that Stuart might notice.

  Which was still a better plan than waiting to be eaten alive.

  Smooth and stealthy, Simon thought, doing his best to distract himself from the corpse's fetid stench and glassy eyes. He reached over with agonizing slowness, as if he was disarming a live bomb, aware that his life depended on not jumping the gun. His fingers hooked around the edge of the glove, brushing against cold flesh, and began to gradually, gently tug.

  Bit by bit, the glove inched downwards. The corpse's body wiggled slightly with each pull. No biggie, Simon distantly noted. This beats retail any day. Stuart doesn't even rank in the Top 5 worst customers I've had this past month.

  As he gazed into the corpse's tortured expression, vacant eyes staring directly forward, Simon managed to feel nothing. A distorted pride grew inside him – he hadn't known his coping mechanisms were this effective.

  With one last tug, the glove came free. Simon put it onto his left hand with equal amounts of care.

  As soon as it fit over his skin, he jumped to his feet.

  The one bright side of having way too long to mull over a desperate situation was that it afforded him plenty of time to plan. He had already considered and discarded dozens of ill-conceived ideas...leaving just the one that might succeed.

  Before Stuart could react, Simon wrapped both hands around the midsection of its bulbous tail. Grappling Rank 2 automatically made his fingers clench like an iron vice. Reaching inward, his system-granted instincts obeyed his next command.

  Activate: Glove of Minor Strength.

  At once, his body filled with otherworldly Strength, the stat more than doubling. Simon's mouth split into a wild, savage grin as he lifted with every muscle in his body.

  Stuart belted out a hideous screech. The rat could do nothing as it rose upwards, its serrated claws scrambling at air.

  Activate: Power Smash.

  Simon aimed for the large rock located just feet away.

  His grin widened further as Stuart's skull cracked against sharp-edged stone. Bloodied bone fragments were sent flying, splattering the dirt with red-stained shards of white. The force of the blow bounced Stuart back up as its frantic scrambling intensified.

  Twelve seconds left until the Glove wears off.

  Simon pivoted, turning in a circle to keep his momentum. When he'd completed a rotation, he slammed Stuart's skull onto that same sharp-edged rock. This blow wasn't enhanced by Power Smash, but a sickening crunch still echoed throughout the air, sounding to Simon like a bell of victory.

  Nine seconds left.

  Once more, he pivoted, turned, and slammed.

  Six seconds.

  Pivot, turn, slam.

  Three.

  A final crack serenaded his ears.

  Stuart stopped struggling.

  Simon let go, his Strength leaving him. The rat's corpse flopped to the ground in a heap. Its head had caved inwards, a half-ruined brain visible through the gaping hole in its skull.

  A system alert confirmed his victory.

  Newborn Fell Beast has been slain!

  Your Level and Stats have increased!

  Level: 1 → 2

  Strength: 12 → 15

  Dexterity: 8 →9

  Simon felt the muscles in his body rapidly harden. It was like he'd gone through months of gym training in a matter of seconds. The sensation of growing that much stronger in an instant was intoxicating beyond anything he'd experienced on Earth.

  And it was nothing compared to the elation swelling within his soul.

  Level 2. Simon gaped at the system notification as if it was Santa Claus himself coming to deliver presents. He flexed his muscles, relishing in his newfound power. From defeating a single enemy, he had become, objectively, a stronger person than before.

  Progress. Tangible progress. Something besides just sitting in his room, obsessing over how the future would play out. Killing one giant rat in the wilderness wasn't going to further his end goals, but by taking that first step towards improving himself...

  Those goals no longer seemed so far out of reach.

  Simon took a seat on Stuart's twitching body. Blood and corpses surrounded him. There was no sign of civilization anywhere in sight. He was alone and without any apparent supplies. He'd almost died mere seconds after transmigrating. If his plan had failed, Stuart would've turned around and ripped his flesh to pieces. And for all he knew, there could be more monstrous creatures lurking just outside of view.

  A laughter of pure joy escaped his throat, filling the cool night air.

  "I think I'm gonna like it here."