He fell asleep late at night while hunting for a Shiny Pidgey.
When he opened his eyes again,
he was lying in the grass on Breeze Hill. He had transmigrated.
His elation lasted less than three minutes.
An owl identified him as a “Starless One” and smacked him into a crack in the mountainside with one wing.
After that came being attacked by a swarm of Queen Bees, escaping with mud smeared over his face, and being casually knocked off a cliff by the Frostwing Lord while he was climbing.
Transmigration isn’t a power fantasy with a golden finger. It’s hardcore survival, where you could die in any chapter.
His golden finger? An information-remnant System so low-key it’s practically nonexistent. Only when he comes into contact with a spirit does it passively flash fragments of related knowledge and memories. In other words, it’s pretty much useless.
At the Sleeping Owl Sanctuary, he meets his first spirit: a shell-covered Banban, barely clinging to life.
It survives on Cocoa Fruits, helps him cross a swamp with its bubbles, and gently touches his wrist with its tail.
Then it’s stolen by bandits on the trade road.
With a knife at his throat and blood running down his neck, he’s tied to a cart and taken to the shopping district to be sold.
His fantasies about transmigration shatter completely in that moment.
From slave in the shopping district to fugitive, from Starless One to capturing Demon Ding.
This isn’t a story about “transmigrating and immediately reaching the top.”
It’s a story about “starting lower than everyone else and climbing up.”
There's nothing wrong with the five points I wrote. It took a little effort.