Chapter 1

That last part was about to change.

I heard a rustle in the tall grass behind me. Probably a rabbit. Or a fox after the chickens. I didn't bother turning. I was mid-reach for a particularly stubborn thistle when something sharp and pointy introduced itself to my rear end.

Not just introduced. It moved in. Settled down for an extended stay.

Pain exploded from my backside, white-hot and humiliating. I screamed—a high-pitched, undignified sound that I would deny to my dying day (which turned out to be approximately three seconds later). I pitched forward, landing face-first in the carrot patch, and twisted to see what had assaulted me with such personal efficiency.

A goblin. A filthy, green-skinned, yellow-toothed goblin, no taller than my knee, grinning like it had just won the lottery. It held a rusty dagger, now coated in my blood. My blood. From my butt.

"What the—" I began, but the goblin didn't wait for my critique of its attack. It lunged forward and stabbed me again. This time in the thigh. Because apparently once wasn't enough.

I tried to fight back. I was a farmer, not a fighter. I swung a fist, but the goblin ducked, cackled, and slashed my arm. The world swam. Blood soaked into my trousers. I thought of Bessie, of the half-finished fence, of the pie I had cooling on the windowsill. Then I thought, "This is a really stupid way to die." Stabbed in the ass by a goblin. I'll never live this down. Except I wasn't going to live at all.

The last thing I saw was the goblin looting my pockets. It took my lucky coin. That was the final insult.

I died. And it was embarrassing.

I woke up on my back, staring at a sky that was the wrong shade of blue. Too bright, too clear, and with two moons hanging in it. Two moons. That was not my field. That was not my world.

I sat up, groaning, and immediately noticed something was off. My hands were smaller. Paler. The calluses from years of gripping a hoe were gone. I looked down at myself. I was wearing a simple linen tunic and trousers, both too large for my frame. My arms were thin. My chest was flat. I felt like a strong breeze could knock me over.

This wasn't my body. This was some scrawny kid's body. I was eighteen again, and not in a good way. I had spent years building muscle, farming, working the land. Gone. All gone. I was a noodle with limbs.

I scrambled to my feet—and immediately tripped over a root, stumbling backward into a dense bush. Thorns scratched my arms. Great. Perfect start.

Then a blue box blinked into existence in front of my face, hovering in the air like a hallucination. I froze, too shocked to even brush the leaves out of my hair.

The box was translucent, edged with glowing silver lines, and filled with text:

Carl

Level: 1

Exp: 0/100

Class: none

Health: 100/100

Mana: 50/50

Stamina: 20/20

Quest: Join the Adventurer's Guild

The Adventurer's Guild is the first step on your new path. Seek it out and register your name.

I stared. Blinked. The box didn't disappear. I waved a hand through it. It flickered but stayed.

"Oh God," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I've been reborn as an adventurer."

I had read stories like this. Some guy dies, wakes up in a fantasy world with a system and quests. Usually, they got cool powers or a harem or something. I got a low stamina bar and a quest to join a guild. And a body that couldn't lift a sack of potatoes.

I sat there in the bush for a long moment, letting the absurdity sink in. The goblin that killed me—was it the same kind that now existed in this world? Probably. That thought made me clench my jaw. If I ever saw that little green menace again, I'd... well, I'd probably still lose a fight, but I'd be angrier about it.

A bird chirped nearby. The bush rustled. I sighed, pulled myself free, and stood up. The blue box faded into a small icon at the corner of my vision. So the system was always there, lurking. Great.

I looked around. I was in a small clearing, surrounded by woods. Through the trees, I could see a dirt road, and beyond that, smoke rising from chimneys. A town. The guild was probably there.

I started walking.

The journey took about an hour because my new legs were short and weak. I had to stop three times to catch my breath. My stamina bar dropped to single digits. I was out of shape—no, I was the shape of a scarecrow. I grumbled the whole way, muttering curses at the goblin, at the system, at my own bad luck.

By the time I reached the town—called Oakhaven, according to a wooden sign—I was sweaty, grumpy, and hungry. The town was quaint: cobblestone streets, thatched roofs, a well in the center square. People milled about, some in armor, some carrying sacks of grain. A few glanced at me, then looked away. I didn't exactly inspire confidence.

The Adventurer's Guild was a large stone building with a red roof and a sign that read "Guild Hall" in bold letters. A crowd of people loitered outside—men and women in chainmail, carrying swords and bows. One guy had a battle-axe as big as my torso. He flexed. I felt inadequate.

I pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside.

The interior was noisy, warm, and smelled of ale and sweat. A long counter stretched across the back, behind which a harried-looking woman sorted papers. Adventurers sat at tables, laughing, arguing, or staring at quest boards. A few looked up as I entered. I was clearly not their kind.

I shuffled to the counter. The woman—a redhead with sharp eyes and a scar on her chin—raised an eyebrow. "You're new."

"Yes," I said. "I need to join. The quest told me to."

She smirked. "The quest told you? First time, huh?" She slid a form across the counter. "Fill this out. Name, age, any skills. We'll get you a beginner badge."

I picked up the quill. My handwriting was shaky. I wrote "Carl," age "18," and under skills, I hesitated. I knew farming. Did that count? I wrote "gardening" and hoped it wouldn't be laughed at.

She took the form, glanced at it, and chuckled. "Gardening? That's a new one. Well, welcome to the guild, Carl. Your badge will be ready in an hour. In the meantime, you can look at the quest board. Stick to the simple ones. Herbs, delivery, maybe rat extermination."

"Rat extermination?" I repeated, horrified.

"They bite," she said cheerfully. "But you'll survive. Probably."

True to her word, while I was milling around the quest board, she called me back to the counter. I took the, apparently previously used, badge—a cheap iron pin with a star—and pinned it to my tunic. I was now an official adventurer. Level 1. No class. Twenty stamina. I had never felt less heroic.

I turned to the quest board, scanning the options. There were plenty: "Collect five pounds of moonflowers" (reward: 50 silver), "Escort merchant to Aldermere" (reward: 200 silver), "Slay the cave goblin of Mossy Rock" (reward: 300 silver). The word "goblin" made my backside clench. Some of these quests were truly ridiculous though. "Fetch 3 land shark teeth" (reward: 100 silver). Surely there's no such thing as a land shark. It's got to be a snipe hunt.

Then I saw a notice pinned at the bottom: "Party of four seeks fifth member—no experience necessary. See Elara at table seven."

I looked toward table seven. A woman with silver hair and kind eyes sat there, nursing a mug of tea. Next to her, a burly man with a beard was polishing a shield. On her other side, a young woman with fiery red hair was doodling fire runes in the air with her finger.

They looked competent. They looked like they wouldn't die to a goblin.

I took a deep breath. My new body was weak, my skills were laughable, and my dignity was already in tatters. But I was here. I had a quest. And if I was going to survive this world—and maybe, just maybe, get a little revenge—I needed to start somewhere.

I walked toward table seven.

The red-haired girl looked up, grinned, and elbowed the bearded man. "Barty, look. Fresh meat."

"Wonderful," the man grumbled.

I stopped in front of them. "Hi. I'm Carl. I saw you're looking for a fifth member."

The silver-haired woman—Elara, presumably—gave me a gentle smile. "We are. Have you any experience?"

"I'm level one," I admitted. "But I'm a fast learner. And I know gardening."

There was a pause. Then Barty snorted. "Gardening?"

"It's a skill," I said defensively.

Elara's smile widened. "We all start somewhere. Sit down, Carl. Let's talk."

I sat. The chair creaked. My stomach growled. Lyra—the red-haired mage—laughed. "We'll get you a proper meal first. You look like you haven't eaten in a week."

I hadn't, technically. Not in this body.

She waved a hand, and a server appeared. I ordered a bowl of stew and a tankard of water. While I ate, they introduced themselves properly. Elara, the party leader and healer. Barty, the tank. Lyra, the fire mage. And the fourth member, a quiet elf named Thorne, who was apparently scouting outside.

They asked me questions. I told them the truth—mostly. I was a farmer who died and woke up here. I left out the goblin-ass part. Some things are too embarrassing even for a fantasy reincarnation.

By the time I finished my stew, I had agreed to join them on a simple quest the next day: clearing a small goblin den near the river.

Goblins. Again.

But this time, I'd have backup. And maybe, just maybe, a plan that didn't involve getting stabbed in the rear.

I left the guild hall feeling lighter than I had all day. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Two moons were rising. I still didn't know where I was, or how I'd survive, or if my gardening skills would ever be useful. But I had a party. I had a quest. And I had a second chance.

Now I just had to not die again.

I found a cheap inn, rented a room on credit as an adventurer (already in debt, fantastic), and collapsed onto a straw mattress. The blue box in my vision had updated:

Quest Complete: Join the Adventurer's Guild

Exp gained: 50

Level: 1 (Exp: 50/100)

New Quest: Survive Your First Adventure

Accompany the party to the goblin den and return alive.

I groaned. "Survive" was not a high bar. But it was a start.

I closed my eyes, and for the first time since dying, I let myself smile. Tomorrow, I'd face goblins. Tomorrow, I'd prove I wasn't just a farmer who died embarrassingly. Tomorrow, I'd become an adventurer.

Or I'd die again. Either way, it would be interesting.