"Fight! Fight! Kill!"
Somewhere in an unknown part of the continent, deep in an enormous, nameless forest, a small clearing had been carved out in an inconspicuous corner. Countless trolls formed a circle around it, crying out with frenzied, bloodthirsty enthusiasm.
At the very center of the circle was a fight to the death between two strong trolls. Now, one lay on the ground while the other stood. The younger one had paid with an arm, but he had crushed the old chief's skull and survived.
His dark blue skin bulged with muscle. Rings—each a symbol of valor—circled his long, sharply pointed tusks, which curved upward. Every ring represented the life of a warrior from an enemy tribe. At a glance, aside from the old chief lying dead, he was undoubtedly the bravest of them all.
"I, brave, Giant Tusk! Chief!"
"Giant Tusk! Giant Tusk!"
The primitive, savage troll tribe, whose members could barely speak coherently, had simply chosen their new chief. The dead troll's tusks, reminders of his past accomplishments, were left behind as tokens of ancestral worship. His body, meanwhile, was buried haphazardly.
The cheering continued, but the crowd's attention had already drifted from the new chief. With no enemy heads left to take, their inflamed bloodlust quickly turned to lust, and they began pairing off for shameless, casual sex.
The old trolls at the front grinned at the scene, pleased that the tribe had a bright future.
"Chief! My mom gave birth! Your child!"
In the chaos, a troll hurried over. He called out to the new chief, who had just regrown his arm and was about to move on to a different kind of battlefield to help increase the tribe's population.
Giant Tusk looked at the female troll waiting expectantly, hesitating only for a moment. His desire to procreate won out over the offspring he'd already brought into the world. He waved the messenger away. Honestly, compared to the pleasure at hand, a newborn who might not even be his held no appeal.
The troll he'd waved away didn't mind, and didn't bother going back to report. His eyes had settled on a "sinuous" young adult female troll, two heads taller than him and noticeably broader. He sucked in his gut as much as he could to look stronger, then strode toward her.
"Female troll! I, Sharp Tusk, strong!"
The female troll seemed to take his words as a challenge.
About three minutes later, the female troll got to her feet and spat out a couple of contemptuous insults along the lines of "weakling" and "Is that all you've got?" before walking away.
Sharp Tusk, meanwhile, lay on the ground with a silly grin, as if savoring the experience.
Leaving that mess aside, let's turn our attention to a particular "cluster" of buildings in the tribe's inner circle.
The tribe's generally crude buildings were scattered throughout the forest, but here, a group of relatively refined structures had been built close together. A simple wall separated them from the rest. In the distance, the trolls' revelry continued. The troll warriors patrolling the area grumbled enviously, but kept their urges in check and diligently went about their rounds.
This wasn't the home of some noble, either. The only trolls inside were of three kinds: witch doctors responsible for passing on knowledge, pregnant female trolls, and female trolls caring for young children.
Without a doubt, this was the most important place in the tribe—even more important than the chief's home.
In one of these dwellings, a witch doctor who had just helped deliver a baby troll held the newborn and wiped away the blood and grime clinging to his body.
Pointed ears, a pointed nose, and wrinkled dark blue skin. Aside from the tusks he hadn't grown yet, he was unmistakably a newborn troll.
After cleaning the little troll, the witch doctor turned him over and inspected him from every angle. At last, he flicked the little thing between his legs and came to a conclusion.
"Hmm. Not crying, but sturdy."
Then he handed the little troll to the slightly exhausted female troll on the bed and said,
"Drink milk, grow fast, become new witch doctor."
The female troll took the baby and, without much concern for modesty, brought him to her breast. She muttered,
"Warrior, brave warrior."
The witch doctor laughed, stroked his wiry beard, and left the room.
Warrior or witch doctor, it didn't matter. A new life meant hope for the tribe, and that made him happy. Of course, he'd be even happier if the child became a witch doctor. The tribe already had more than enough silly warriors.
The little troll drinking milk in his mother's arms was undoubtedly strange, different from the others. The lively light in his eyes was more than the unclouded innocence usually seen at that age. There was a hint of confusion, faint but unmistakable, though no one knew it was there.
"Holy shit."
A newborn's brain couldn't support overly complex thoughts. After that bone-deep "holy shit," instinct overcame the strange, unknown unease, and he soon became absorbed in the sweetness of his mother's milk like any ordinary little troll.
As spring turned to autumn, the little troll grew quickly. His thoughts came and went, growing clearer with time. Then one day, the unease that had accompanied his first cry finally awakened in full.
"Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!" Looking at his own blue skin, the unfamiliar surroundings, and the faces all around him—which, by the standards of his previous life, could only be called monstrous—the little one let loose the "holy shit" he'd been holding in for two lifetimes.
Still, he had once been a fully grown adult. He might not have been particularly exceptional, but his education and years of being an avid reader helped him quickly understand what had happened to him.
"So I've transmigrated. It's a little cliché, but that's how it goes. Getting another life can't be a bad thing."
The transmigrant took it all remarkably well. In his previous life, he'd been utterly ordinary, with average grades from elementary school through university. After graduating, his family had sent him abroad to study because they had a little money to spare. While doing his master's, he'd spent too much time having fun and only just scraped through. After that, not wanting to become a corporate drone so soon, he'd used the money he'd earned working during his master's to pursue a doctorate.
The pressure of his studies and age had made him anxious during his doctoral program. After a moment of grim reflection, he'd decided to make up for all the time he'd wasted as quickly as possible.
Night after night of staying up late, coffee, cigarettes to keep himself awake, and the strain he'd put on his body since his university days of fooling around finally caught up with him the instant he finished his doctoral dissertation.
And so, he'd died suddenly.
He clearly remembered the stabbing pain in his heart at that moment, followed by darkness that swallowed everything.
The little troll jolted out of his memories, wiped at his forehead—even though there wasn't a drop of sweat there—and looked around. A deep sense of relief washed over him.
"A muddled life like that is enough to go through once. This time, I'm going to accomplish something."
Before you continue