God's Eye View

A stench of cow dung filled his nose and mouth.

Duncan felt his head buzzing. His right cheek felt as if it had been struck by a heavy blow; it was swollen, and the taste of blood flooded his mouth.

His face and body were covered in dung, and he was sprawled beside a pile of manure and hay. Before he could even figure out what was happening, he heard shrill, miserable screams coming from not far away, followed by the sound of blades hacking into bone like meat being chopped.

A thick, bloody scent rushed into his nostrils.

Duncan scrambled to his feet, stumbling. The moment he looked up, he saw a corpse with eyes still wide open in death—a middle-aged man with Western features who looked like a farmer, dressed in tattered rags. He was already dead, yet bloody foam still seeped from his mouth; his chest was covered in gore, and he was pinned beneath a pitchfork.

Another scream rang out.

Thirty meters away, a farmwoman was cut down by a sword, the blood spraying from her severed carotid artery reaching over a meter high.

A burly, vicious figure withdrew his blade, kicked the woman's corpse aside, and with a backhand strike, stabbed another farmer who was attempting to resist, piercing him through the heart.

A massacre.

This was an absolute, cold-blooded massacre.

Three fully armed soldiers were slaughtering a group of defenseless farmers. They tore through the disorganized mob as easily as cutting vegetables, and with every swipe of their weapons, they claimed an innocent life.

He had transmigrated.

Duncan realized this the very first second, and the next, he reached out and gripped the pitchfork nearby.

The weapon didn't bring him the slightest sense of security.

But in this situation, having a weapon in hand was a completely different concept from being empty-handed. He spent a second observing himself: tattered clothes, reasonably sturdy, a new body, very young, with no serious injuries other than the blow to his right cheek.

He could fight, but he had no chance of winning.

They were a group of stragglers.

The information in his brain was incredibly chaotic—likely the memories of the body's original owner. Duncan had no time to digest it; he used his powerful willpower to strip away the information most useful to him right now.

The Empire had been defeated again.

The stragglers were looting the village, clashing violently with the farmers, and had set about massacring this sparsely populated village.

They didn't intend to leave any survivors, as they could pin the crimes on the enemy.

Survive first!

Duncan realized he could die here at any moment.

Bandits pass like a comb, soldiers pass like a fine-toothed comb.

As for these stragglers, their actions were no different from beasts.

Facing a group of farmers, these stragglers acted like ferocious hyenas, as if this were the only way to reclaim the courage they had so easily lost when scattered by the enemy.

Duncan gripped the pitchfork and retreated quietly.

He didn't believe he had the ability to take down three well-equipped soldiers trained in professional warfare with just a pitchfork. One of them even looked like a Middle Ages knight, though he lacked plate armor and a helmet, wearing something more akin to a tabard over chainmail.

"Where's the cheat? Where's the system?"

"Deep Blue!"

"Add points!"

Duncan received no response. He had already retreated several meters by then; without a cheat, he had no hope of winning. Although he didn't know the relationship between these farmers and the body's original owner, since he had transmigrated and been granted a new life, he was unwilling to throw it away so easily.

So, he prepared for a strategic retreat.

"There's another one over there!" the man dressed as a knight, already bloodthirsty, scanned his surroundings with bloodshot, sinister eyes and immediately ordered, "Hyena, go finish him!"

Not far away, a gaunt man with a savage expression turned and began to close in on Duncan.

He unhooked a short-handled throwing axe from his waist, bypassed the haystacks in front, and began to accelerate, attempting to take him out with the axe at the corner.

"Entering combat mode!"

In a daze, Duncan seemed to hear something. The next second, his consciousness began to rise. In an instant, his mind seemed to enter a void, and then he could see everything around him clearly.

A dilapidated, sparsely populated village.

Three men dressed as soldiers were marked prominently in red within the village map.

In front of him appeared to be a projection screen, showing everything around him from a 360-degree, omniscient God-view.

Duncan saw a young man running for his life, clutching a pitchfork tightly. About fifty meters away, a gaunt straggler was holding a throwing axe, circling around the side of a haystack. Nearby were a pile of haystacks and two wooden houses; if they bumped into each other head-on, he probably wouldn't even have a chance to fight back. If the guy threw the axe, Duncan would be dead or at least severely wounded.

Duncan wasn't wearing any armor, just tattered linen clothes.

In the bottom right corner of the projected screen:

The two other red-marked stragglers were still slaughtering other villagers. One of them had a star icon, likely the stronger knight. The corpses on the ground were clearly visible, and the scene was as bloody and cruel as watching an immersive movie.

Duncan's consciousness floated in the void, and the projection screen before him felt like a game interface.

"A game interface?"

Duncan moved his intent, and the black-haired youth standing still in the image suddenly moved. He took two steps forward, then one step back, and followed it with a hop in place.

He was still controlling the young body in the projection screen, just like manipulating a character in a game from his past life.

But this time, he wasn't using a mouse and keyboard; he was using his intent, fully immersed as if playing a virtual game.

"Is this my cheat?"

"Since it's a game interface, at least give me some stats, right?"

"Health bar? Mana? Stamina bar or something?"

With a flicker of his intent.

The projected image before Duncan began to shift slightly. A short health bar appeared, missing a small corner; the blue mana bar was completely empty, while the stamina bar was quite long, though it had been depleted by a small fraction.

He was currently like someone playing an action-RPG virtual game, controlling the youthful body he now inhabited after his transmigration.

Duncan's consciousness was currently hovering above the body, overlooking everything happening around him as if viewed through a God's Eye View!

"Are there any skills?"

"I can't possibly rely on basic attacks to win this nearly impossible encounter, can I?"

How could a boy from a peasant background possibly defeat three professionally trained soldiers?

Not to mention the fact that the opponents had armor, and the weapons in their hands were far superior to the pitchfork Duncan was currently gripping tightly.

--"Pitchfork Mastery: Your background and your experience doing farm work in your youth have granted you skilled mastery over the pitchfork, far exceeding that of other weapons. When fighting with a pitchfork, significantly increase lethality, backstabs, attack speed, etc. No one will pay much attention to a peasant holding a pitchfork."

--"Combat Tab [Stab]: You have not received formal combat training; the only combat technique you have mastered is a single stab."

--"Combat Tab [Roll]: You frequently got into fights during your youth; thanks to this, you have mastered certain rolling and dodging techniques. However, it does not work every time, at least not against enemies with quick reflexes."

Just this?

Looking at the lonely combat tabs for Stab and Roll, Duncan felt a bit nervous. Fortunately, having played countless games in his past life—even managing to win the arena championship in Calradia with nothing but a wooden stick—he began to feel much more relaxed after seeing the familiar game interface. At the very least, he still had a cheat; it wasn't as if there was no chance for a comeback.

Besides, this time he wasn't operating with a mouse and keyboard; his mental reaction speed was much faster. One shouldn't doubt the combat skills of a hardcore gamer. Having switched to the God's Eye View to overcome his inner fear and bodily instincts, he was now feeling a bit eager to try.

"I can beat Souls-like games without dying once; I refuse to believe I'll die here."

Beside the haystack.

Once his consciousness entered the God's Eye View, the youthful body he controlled immediately transformed into an expressionless, cold warrior. The fear that had previously been on his face vanished entirely, leaving only a hint of excitement and readiness in his eyes.

He first hopped in place, gripped the pitchfork with both hands, and thrust it into the air. Then, he rolled to the right, covered in mud and filth, and entered the other side of the haystack.

"The controls feel great! Not a hint of lag!"

Duncan's consciousness was piloting this body. He silently calculated the pitchfork's attack frames and range, watching through the God's Eye View as the tall, thin soldier nearby stopped in his tracks with a puzzled expression. (60 frames per second.)

"Where did that brat hide?" The tall soldier looked confused. As he tilted his head slightly, a scar could be seen on his jaw.

Although the village was small, there was a makeshift fence around the perimeter. As a veteran with rich combat experience, the tall man had originally intended to circle to the fence entrance and blow Duncan's head off with a throwing axe.

His specialty was throwing Farron Throwing Axes.

But the opponent had suddenly stopped halfway, remaining in the gap between the wooden house and a stack of hay.

The visibility in this area wasn't very good.

The tall man instinctively switched to dual-wielding weapons, but soon he offered a contemptuous smile. After all, the opponent was just a peasant holding a pitchfork; there was no way he could be his match.

He only needed to be a little careful to drag out this fleeing little rat and execute him.

The tall man tilted his head slightly to listen. He heard footsteps, very close, just behind the side of the haystack. These haystacks were two or three meters high, neatly stacked with two-meter gaps between them. The peasants relied on them for winter fires and livestock feed, and they were the blankets of this era; once winter arrived, one would freeze to death without them.

The tall man kept his eyes on all directions, moving forward with great caution.

Squelch!

But what he never expected was that his every move was under the surveillance of Duncan's God's Eye View. The moment he poked his head out, a pitchfork thrust forward at lightning speed, scoring a headshot on the spot. Amidst a shrill, piercing scream, the tip of the pitchfork punctured the eye socket of the deserter.

These deserters were relatively well-equipped, but they lacked helmets and shields, and they had likely discarded their heavy armor, wearing mostly light armor.

One inch longer, one inch stronger.

Duncan's train of thought was extremely clear. He had the God's Eye View, allowing him to catch the enemy off guard.

Although the pitchfork wasn't a great weapon, it had the advantage of reach. This body belonged to a young, strong lad with sturdy muscles from years of labor; a full-force strike would certainly deal damage. With the support of the God's Eye View, he could skirmish, and this massive pile of hay was his natural barrier.

Ah!

With a scream, a health bar appeared on the enemy the moment he was stabbed, and then it vanished in a flash.

He was dead just like that?

This wasn't just dealing damage; it was a one-hit kill. Duncan had directly punctured the skull of the veteran deserter; the tip of the pitchfork had sunk in several centimeters, and he clearly felt the bone catch when he pulled it out.

Unlike playing games in his past life, everything here was true damage: hit a leg and it was crippled, break an arm and it was useless, a headshot was an instant lethal strike. Otherwise, how could a veteran deserter be killed by a peasant with a single pitchfork thrust? If this were a game, there would at least be some back-and-forth trading of blows.

When Duncan pulled the pitchfork out, he found the tip was quite sharp. This headshot likely had the bonus of "Pitchfork Mastery"—after all, this was an old tool used for over ten years.

Furthermore, under the control of the God's Eye View, the "Skill: Stab" he executed was clearly a full-force blow that synchronized waist and horse stance. If he were doing it himself, he certainly wouldn't have managed it; he would have been too nervous to even move. But under the God's Eye View, the moment his intent flickered, the body he controlled immediately erupted with all its power.

His efficiency in controlling this body was pushed directly to over one hundred percent!

"I can win this!"

The commotion here had already alerted the other two enemies. The entire small village only had thirty or forty people, and they had already slaughtered almost all of them. Hearing the scream coming from this direction, another vicious enemy rushed over immediately.

Even more dire, the grim-looking man dressed as a knight also killed a peasant who had given up resistance and knelt to beg for mercy with a single sword stroke, then raised his weapon and rapidly closed in on this position.

He was an enemy unit marked with a star.

Two against one—this was suicide!

The Gloomy Knight, dressed in a surcoat and chainmail, was far better equipped. Though he lacked a helmet, he wore a hood with a metallic sheen along the edge. He had vambraces, elbow guards, and gauntlets on his arms, with poleyns, greaves, and metal-plated boots on his legs. If not for the missing plate armor on his chest, he would have been a walking tin can.

This was going to be a tough fight.

Duncan controlled his character to pick up the throwing axe from the ground. The moment he grasped it, a flickering Cross Star aiming reticle appeared, and he instantly realized where his chance for a comeback lay.

"One shot!"

"I have to aim for the head!"

At this moment, Duncan channeled the same intensity he had once used to battle his roommates in internet cafes for days and nights on end. All his focus converged on the reticle. The Cross Star, constantly expanding and contracting, represented his mastery over the throwing axe. Lacking any professional training, he had to rely solely on this violently shaking, unstable reticle to aim at his enemy.

Just like in a game, mechanical skill could compensate for a lack of stats.

Hit!

Thud.

With the aid of God's Eye View, it was as if Duncan were using a wallhack. He caught the exact moment the enemy poked his head out, even predicting it by half a second. He hurled the throwing axe with all his might. At a distance of eight meters, it struck the man dead center in the forehead. The hulking body collapsed with a thud, once again performing a disappearing act on the health bar.

These enemies had health bars just as short as his own.

On the projection of Duncan's consciousness, his Stamina Bar dropped by a chunk before beginning to slowly regenerate.

"Only one enemy left!"

Duncan heard a faint wheezing sound—it came from the body he was controlling. His own consciousness felt nothing, but upon observation, he noticed nearly half of his Stamina Bar had been depleted.

Although the physical exhaustion didn't feed back into his mind, the body he was controlling still showed the effects.

Wheezing.

It was a sign that two bursts of full-strength effort had already left the body feeling a hint of fatigue.

Just then, the Gloomy Knight appeared. His expression held a trace of terror, his eyes locked onto the boy not far away, seemingly in disbelief. The boy he had knocked unconscious with a single punch during the chaotic skirmish had, upon waking, finished off two of his squires in an instant.

He should have finished him off when he had the chance.

By a haystack on the other side, the boy expressionlessly pulled the throwing axe from the enemy's forehead and began to retreat. He had absolutely no chance of winning in a head-on confrontation with a trained knight.

The enemy's only weakness was his head; without a headshot, it was hard to inflict serious damage.

Duncan's consciousness controlled the body to fall back. Without looking back, he ducked behind the corner of a wooden shack. The Gloomy Knight hesitated for a moment before giving chase, though he remained extremely cautious. The enemy was familiar with the terrain, and he had to be wary of an ambush.

His two squires had clearly died to sneak attacks.

Duncan controlled the body to retreat at a steady pace, keeping an eye on his Stamina Bar. Under the God's Eye View, every move the enemy made was laid bare. When the enemy sped up, he sped up; when the enemy slowed down to circle around, he changed direction to avoid him.

The distance between them remained at roughly twenty meters, but the Gloomy Knight simply couldn't find him, feeling only as if the boy were haunting him like a phantom.

What the hell!

No line of sight.

How does he know where I am?

The Gloomy Knight, weighed down by his armor, wasn't fast. Within this area, barely fifty meters in diameter, no matter how he chased, he couldn't catch his opponent.

Wallhack.

The enemy's mental defenses were crumbling, bit by bit!

God's Eye View.

Qin King Circling the Pillar.

After discovering the obvious emotional shift in the enemy through the God's Eye View, Duncan's focus reached its peak.

Now, it was hunting time!

[PS: Started a new book. Please follow and read.

That's all.]