For ten whole days, Transmigrator One, Two, and Three remained safe and sound.
As a slave of the Ottoman Empire, Number Three was worked to the bone, given little to eat, and frequently whipped. Yet he was still alive, becoming a tiny cog in the grand campaign to attack Constantinople.
Number Two was living the happiest life of all. The dead transmigrators probably never could have imagined that the impoverished little village of Tuqi, where people could barely afford rice, would turn out to be a paradise for transmigrators.
With his height and powerful build, he was regarded as a mountain god in that ignorant, backward village, and he had offerings to eat.
Not only that, but the natural ecosystem there had barely been developed. For dozens of miles around, it was practically a Ghost Land. There were only two small villages, no roads to speak of, and the villagers knew nothing at all about what the outside world was like.
Number Two made traps and easily caught mountain dogs and wild chickens. He ate until his face shone with grease, while the villagers grew even more fearful and respectful of him.
It turned out that, despite relying on the mountains and waters, they were so poor because, aside from fishing, they hardly hunted in the mountains at all.
Even though they were this poor, they still followed vegetarian customs... They did not eat any of the mountain delicacies or game. On one hand, this was because the nobles outside the mountains had issued a ban. On the other, the monks claimed that all the beasts in the mountains were protected by the gods.
From bees to elk, and then to wild chickens, wild dogs, and wild foxes, they were all mixed up with gods and demons.
The only creatures