Of Course It Starts With a Transmigration

Dazed and confused, Tian Sang felt as though he had just emerged from an incredibly long dream. The events within it were absurd, yet they felt so incredibly real.

"Is it time to get up?" Tian Sang savored the lingering fragments of his dream, feeling the hazy warmth of sunlight streaming through the window against his eyelids. He instinctively reached out with his right hand to touch his face, but he froze the moment he opened his mouth—there was something in the way.

Tian Sang moved his lips, sitting up in shock. He cast his gaze downward, past a blue-gray hooked nose, and saw tusks protruding from the corners of his mouth. They curved slightly downward like elephant ivory, stained a dull, yellowish hue.

"Ah!" Tian Sang stared at the tusks, his mouth agape. Was this real?

As the thought surfaced, Tian Sang reached up to touch the tusks to verify their existence, but he stopped dead before he could confirm anything. He was mesmerized by his own hands. His palms had shrunk, and each finger was as thick as a carrot. He tried curling them; they were nimble yet possessed a raw, latent power, but there were only three fingers on each hand.

"I'm still dreaming. That's right, I'm still in a dream." Tian Sang stared at his three-fingered hands, rolled his eyes, touched the coarse black hair on his head and the tusks at his mouth, then flopped back onto the stone bed and squeezed his eyes shut. This was just a dream.

"I'm still in a dream, yes, a dream. As soon as I wake up, everything will be fine." Tian Sang muttered neurotically, forcing his eyes closed and sprawling into a comfortable position. However, he felt an unnatural discomfort in his cervical spine, his knees, and his muscles, a sensation that made him want to curl his body into a ball involuntarily.

Ignoring the physical discomfort, Tian Sang forced himself to lie flat, desperately trying to hypnotize himself. But every time he closed his eyes, memories from the dream—strange yet familiar, surging like a tide—made him want to open them again. He fought the urge. This was a dream; there was no mistake. He hadn't woken up yet.

In the dream, Tian Sang knew his name wasn't Tian Sang, but Zul'ra. He was one of the Amani'lai—a term in an alien tongue meaning "the people of Amani." The Amani were a type of "Troll" living in the forests of the ancient city of Zul'Aman in the north of Azeroth. The outside world called them Forest Trolls, or simply Trolls.

Tian Sang, or rather the Troll Zul'ra, was an apprentice to the Witch Doctor Kal'ma, an old Troll healer, and also his adopted son—a very young Troll Witch Doctor.

"What the hell? Why is it that when others transmigrate, they become High Elves or Blood Elves, or at worst, humans? Why do I have to transmigrate into a Troll?" Tian Sang felt the memories flooding his mind, drop by drop, both foreign and familiar, and he couldn't help but sit up abruptly once more.

Transmigration itself was hard enough to accept, but as a long-time code slave, Tian Sang felt he could just barely manage it. Since his emotions hadn't fully caught up yet, what he found most unacceptable was that he had turned into a Troll—a Forest Troll of Azeroth, no less.

Although he wasn't a hardcore player of that online game, as a code slave, Tian Sang was no stranger to World of Warcraft, which frequently appeared in fan fiction. He knew plenty about the Alliance, the Horde, the Burning Legion, and the various arenas. Don't even ask him for links or sources.

Yet, it was precisely because he knew so much that he couldn't accept his identity. Trolls—what were they? A primitive, barbaric, man-eating race living in the forests, burdened with a long history of blood feuds against the beautiful High Elves and Blood Elves. And most importantly...

"This can't be happening." Tian Sang found a basin of clear water in the stone room. He looked at his reflection: blue-gray skin, a face devoid of eyebrows that gave him a naturally sullen expression, those massive tusks, the hooked nose, the pointed ears, and a pair of bright green pupils. Tian Sang felt like crying but had no tears left; this simply didn't align with his aesthetic standards.

Not only did the blue-green features clash with his tastes, but the Troll anatomy was entirely different from a human's: three fingers, two toes, tusks protruding from the upper jaw like a boar's, and a hunched, stooped posture.

When others transmigrated to World of Warcraft, they were at least handsome. They either had an unreasonable cheat, transmigrated into a prominent family, possessed total knowledge of the plot, or even had a resurrection mechanic. They could wipe out the Burning Legion with a laugh. But when it came to him...

"System sprite, are you there?"

"Cheat, are you out there?"

"Do I have any special, overpowered abilities?" Tian Sang stood up straight, feeling a body several times stronger than his original code-slave frame, before slumping back down in defeat.

"What am I supposed to do?" Tian Sang crouched on the ground, letting his shoulders drop to ease the physical discomfort, his face twisted in bitterness. When he used to read novels, the consensus in the reviews was that Azeroth was a fictional, high-stakes world; without a cheat, a transmigrator would find it nearly impossible to survive. And the world itself seemed to be on the brink of destruction.

Sargeras of the Burning Legion, Archimonde, Kil'jaeden, the unseen Void Lords, and the Old Gods imprisoned across the land—the mere thought of these entities made Tian Sang's head spin. Beyond them, Azeroth was filled with countless factions and racial wars, especially regarding the Trolls.

If Tian Sang remembered correctly, the Forest Trolls were a race that invited nothing but hatred. Aside from the Darkspear Trolls who joined the Horde, every other Troll tribe was just a boss in a daily quest or dungeon, destined to be farmed over and over by Adventurers—the players. As the saying went in fan fiction: eat, sleep, and beat up Trolls.

"Damn it." The thought of being a boss in an online game, killed repeatedly by players for loot and gold, made Tian Sang shudder. Even if he didn't know if this world had Adventurers, he absolutely refused to end up like that.

"Forest Troll... damn it, where is the World of Warcraft timeline right now? What should I do?" Tian Sang felt his mind descend into chaos. In his panic, he couldn't recall the specific plot points of the game.

"I need to integrate. Integrate with Zul'ra's memories." Tian Sang felt his chaotic mind, took two deep breaths to calm his nerves, emptied his head, and began to sift through Zul'ra's memories. Compared to his own blurry, inaccessible memories of Earth, Zul'ra's memories were crystal clear.

The teachings of his mentor, Kal'ma, every word, every voodoo potion—Tian Sang remembered them with perfect clarity. He suspected that even Zul'ra himself hadn't remembered them this well. But what was the nature of the relationship between him and Zul'ra? Was it Zhuangzi dreaming of a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming of Zhuangzi?

"Forget it. First, I need to increase my strength. Regardless of anything else, strength is the foundation..." Thinking about his relationship with the young Troll Witch Doctor, Tian Sang found no answers. He suppressed the questions and began to carefully browse the vital voodoo knowledge within his memories. This world was filled with blood and slaughter, and now that he had transmigrated, he was a prisoner of circumstance. All he could do was strengthen himself and strive to survive.