The First Transmigrat

There was no doubt now—he had grown stronger.

Kaiser stood before a rock the size of a small boulder, rough and jagged. His breath was steady, calm. He stepped forward, raised a fist thick with muscle and black fur, and slammed it down with all his strength.

The rock cracked. Then shattered.

Stone fragments flew in every direction, clattering against the trees.

He stared at the pile of rubble.

"…Oh damn."

It wasn't just strength—it was overwhelming. His veins pulsed with energy, a quiet storm beneath the skin. Every movement felt fluid, every breath easy. His claws could cut trees; his body could crush stone.

And then there were his senses.

He could hear ants moving beneath leaves, sense the vibrations of birds in flight from meters away. His vision had sharpened, colors growing deeper, the world more vivid. He could even taste the scent of sap in the air.

But regeneration—that was what truly set him apart.

He made a small, controlled cut along his forearm with the edge of his claw.

It closed within seconds.

No pain. No scar.

Just smooth, undisturbed flesh once more.

He flexed his fingers.

"Invincible," he muttered, but quickly corrected himself. "No… Not invincible."

He closed his eyes, calmed the thrill that ran through his body.

Not arrogance. Not yet.

That night, beneath a full, silver-drenched moon, Kaiser sat cross-legged outside the cave. His silhouette cast a long, stoic shadow, still and solid in the gentle breeze. He'd seen people in movies do this—sit and meditate beneath the moon, seeking peace, power, or enlightenment.

But this wasn't about symbolism.

It was practicality.

He was done carrying the Lumen Core around like a lucky charm.

The thought of losing it—dropping it during a battle, having it taken—left a knot in his stomach.

So, he took the sharpest knife he had.

Steeled his nerves.

And made a precise cut near his abdomen.

He winced slightly but felt no real pain. His body had changed. Even pain was dulled now, manageable.

He pushed the core in, embedding it beneath the flesh.

It nestled near his lower ribs, warm and pulsing faintly.

Then, carefully, he removed the knife and let his finger graze over the small wound.

It closed in moments. No scar. No blood.

"Perfect."

He leaned back against a tree, breathing slowly.

The core was safe now. Part of him.

No more worrying about losing it. No more keeping it in a pouch like fragile glass.

Now, it lived with him.

Inside him.

Day 130

A still morning.

The birds had returned, chirping cautiously in the upper branches.

Kaiser packed what little he had. A few tools, dried meat, his knife. He gave the cave one last glance—silent, still, and empty now that the old man had left days earlier to explore his own path.

He just nodded.

The kind of goodbye that needed no words.

He moved deeper into the forest now, a place untouched, uncharted. Trees towered higher. The shadows grew longer.

His instincts kept him alive.

That evening, after setting up camp, he opened the transmigration group chat.

The interface floated before him like a hologram.

No signal, no internet—but the chat still worked.

One name.

His.

He stared at the glowing panel for a while.

Then typed.

"Still alive."

No one replied.

He closed it.

Didn't check it again.

Day 140

Nothing much happened. But it felt like something was always watching.

He'd encountered a few wolves while hunting. They didn't growl. Didn't approach. Just watched from the treeline and vanished like smoke.

Maybe they sensed what he was now.

Maybe they feared it.

He remained cautious, laying traps near his new camp. Fishing in the nearby stream. Collecting edible plants. Occasionally marking trees to track his path.

But at night—under that silver full moon—he returned to the same position.

Cross-legged. Silent.

Cultivating, if you could call it that.

And something strange began to happen.

As he sat, the Lumen Core nestled in his abdomen pulsed faintly, as if breathing. And then—

He felt it.

Energy.

Faint, delicate, like light being drawn from the moon itself. Something invisible being pulled from the night air… and sinking inward, directly into the core.

His eyes opened slightly.

So that's why it was called a Lumen core.

It fed on light.

On moonlight.

He looked up at the sky, breath held.

The moon glowed quietly, indifferent and ancient.

And something inside Kaiser resonated with it.

He placed a hand over his abdomen.

The core pulsed again, syncing with his heartbeat.

He smiled.

Not because he understood.

But because he didn't.