Brandon Jenkins had been thinking a lot. He still hadn’t fully accepted reality, but waiting in the Chapel of Anticipation was nothing more than waiting for death.

He laid the witch’s corpse flat on the ground, then covered her face with her hat. That was the greatest respect he could offer.

After arranging the witch’s remains, Brandon Jenkins also found the last item in the room: the Tarnished’s wizened finger.

Once he had scoured the room, Brandon Jenkins began to take stock of his belongings: a helmet with a broken visor that couldn’t be removed, a set of battered but still reliable full armor, a straight sword, a halberd, a medium metal shield, and in his pouch, two stone keys shaped like swords, a packet of white meat slices, two pieces of jerky, some scattered runes, and finally, the Tarnished’s wizened finger he had just picked up.

Aside from the extra meat and runes, this was the standard Vagabond Knight starter kit in the game. If this really was transmigration, then bringing food and runes as travel funds made sense.

After inventorying his supplies, Brandon Jenkins felt heavy-hearted. Although he was a little better off than at the start of the game, it was only a negligible improvement. For now, he could only take things one step at a time.

He pushed open the main door, letting light into the room, finally bringing a bit of brightness. However, the sky was thick with dark clouds, and the never-ending storm seemed an ominous sign.

The wide-open scene before him didn’t make Brandon Jenkins happy, because he knew what kind of opponent he was about to face.

It was the Grafted Scion—a bona fide elite enemy in the game, whose stats alone could even overpower their boss, Godrick the Grafted, with ease.

If this were just a game, Brandon Jenkins would have many ways to defeat it. But now, he had to challenge it with his own human body.

He knew nothing about real combat.

Besides, even if he did win, the Chapel of Anticipation was built in the sea; he’d still have to jump off a cliff to leave. The game’s protagonist could respawn infinitely, but he certainly couldn’t. He didn’t want to risk his precious life on a gamble.

In the end, Brandon Jenkins didn’t even know if he had really transmigrated, or if this was just a dying hallucination.

“Is this really transmigration? I guess I’ll only know after I learn magic, incantations, or some other power-infused skill.”

“If I can truly feel supernatural power, and not just trigger skills like pressing a button, maybe that’ll prove I’m really alive.”

As he left the room, Brandon Jenkins suddenly remembered that there were two important in-game items in the side room nearby. According to the game’s progression, you had to teleport back after leaving this isolated building to get them, so they were currently inaccessible.

But since he’d managed to get the witch’s hat, he wanted to give it a try. He went to the side door, pulled the ring, and tried to open it, but it still wouldn’t budge.

However, it looked like the wooden door had grown weak with age.

Brandon Jenkins first took out the long halberd strapped to his back. The halberd combined the features of a spear and an axe. He wanted to try chopping the door with the axe blade, but after sizing it up, he realized the halberd was too long, and the side door was wedged between two walls. Using it would definitely hit the walls, and he didn’t want to damage his weapon here.

So Brandon Jenkins drew his straight sword. He didn’t plan to use the sword in the upcoming fight—the Grafted Scion was huge and very agile, so the longer halberd would be better for attacking. So it didn’t matter if the sword got damaged now.

Brandon Jenkins gripped the sword with both hands, stepped forward with his left foot, twisted his waist, and swung hard. With a swift diagonal slash, he actually shattered the wooden door in one blow.

“What’s going on? My body is so agile—is this muscle memory from this body?”

Brandon Jenkins was surprised by his own strike. Someone who had never touched a sword in his life could swing so fluidly—there must be years of rigorous training behind this muscle memory. No wonder the Tarnished were descendants of warriors.

Brandon Jenkins carefully checked the straight sword. Seeing no obvious damage, he sheathed it and stepped inside.

After just twenty or thirty steps down, a ruined terrace appeared before him. At the edge, closest to the sky, sat a small stone box—the ashes of the Stormhawk King.

In the distant past, the Storm King ruled the southwest of the Lands Between. The stormhawks were one of his powerful armies. Though they were hawks, the strongest among them had the fighting power of human heroes. They soared in storms, summoned tempests, and tore apart all enemies. The Stormhawk King was the king of their kind, and his ashes naturally rested closest to the sky.

Brandon Jenkins stepped forward to pick up the ash box, but as he approached, the never-ending storm above the Chapel of Anticipation suddenly grew more violent. Yet after a few seconds, it calmed again, as if it had all been an illusion.

Brandon Jenkins waited a few more seconds. When nothing else happened, he stepped forward and put the ash box into his bag.

Brandon Jenkins just thought it was ordinary weather, but he didn’t know that even time could not erase the Storm King’s pride. Only those with the right to be king could earn his recognition, and not everyone could reach the Chapel of Anticipation.

------------

Chapter 3 My life is over... Eh, I got a death screen!

After picking up the Stormhawk King’s ashes, Brandon Jenkins walked through the door on the terrace.