The Transmigration

The world exploded into existence around him, a cacophony of screams, clashing steel, and the guttural roars of something… wrong.

One moment, he'd been staring at his computer screen, the glow reflecting in his tired eyes, the next… this.

He lay sprawled on the cold, damp earth, the scent of woodsmoke and blood thick in the air. His head throbbed, a dull, persistent ache that mirrored the disorientation swirling within him.

Where was he?

This wasn't his apartment.

This wasn't Earth.

Panic clawed at his throat, a desperate, icy hand squeezing the breath from his lungs. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain lanced through his side, a burning searing sensation that made him gasp.

He looked down to see a ragged gash, still bleeding freely.

He could feel the rough texture of the earth beneath his cheek, a gritty, uneven surface unlike anything he'd ever encountered before.

Around him, the chaos escalated.

A village, or what was left of one, burned in the fading light. Wooden houses, once homes, were now skeletal remains, engulfed in flames that danced like malevolent spirits. Screams echoed through the night, a chorus of terror that chilled him to the bone. He wasn't alone.

Through the flickering flames, he saw them: goblins. Dozens of them, perhaps more, their grotesque features illuminated by the inferno.

Their skin was a sickly green, their eyes glowed with a sinister light, and their crude weapons – rusty swords, jagged clubs, and even sharpened bones – dripped with the blood of their victims. They were small, barely reaching his waist, but their ferocity was undeniable. They moved with a terrifying efficiency, their rabid attacks focused and precise.

Fear, raw and primal, threatened to overwhelm him. He'd always been a gamer, a fantasy enthusiast, but this wasn't a game. This was real. This was horrifyingly, terrifyingly real. He had to escape.

He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the searing pain in his side. His body felt strange, stronger somehow, his senses heightened. He could smell the fear radiating from the remaining villagers, hear their ragged breathing, feel the vibration of the goblins' footsteps even through the chaotic soundscape.

It was as if he'd been upgraded, his entire system overhauled and enhanced. This was… an Awakening.

The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. He'd read about this in the countless fantasy novels and LitRPGs he devoured.

A world like this, a world ripped from the pages of his favorite stories, a world where people underwent an Awakening Ceremony, granting them extraordinary classes and powers. Swordsmen, mages, archers, paladins… each with varying rarities and potential. He'd always dreamed of such a world, but never expected to actually find himself in one. And yet, here he was, thrust into this nightmare scenario, bleeding and surrounded by goblins.

He stumbled towards the edge of the village, desperate for an escape route. He had to find shelter, find a way to survive. As he ran, he noticed a peculiar sight – a group of villagers huddled together, their eyes wide with fear, but their expressions strangely… calm. They weren't crying out for help, they weren't fighting back; they simply waited, resigned to their fate. Then, one of them, a young woman with fiery red hair, looked at him, a strange glint in her eyes.

"The Ceremony," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the din of battle, "It's beginning."

Suddenly, the earth began to tremble. A blinding light erupted from the heart of the village, a pulsating energy that washed over him, pushing him to his knees. The goblins paused their attacks, their movements frozen for a moment. The light seemed to pierce into his mind, probing, searching, analyzing. It was intense, overwhelming, but strangely… not painful.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the light vanished. The tremors stopped. Silence descended, a heavy, suffocating blanket over the ravaged village. The goblins stirred, their eyes shifting back to their prey. And within him, something changed.

A voice, cold and clinical, echoed in his mind. 'System Activated. Player Level 1. Class: Summoner (Ultra-Rare).'

Summoner? Ultra-Rare? His mind reeled. He'd heard whispers of Summoners, the rarest of all classes. They were said to have the ability to call forth other classes, creating an army that grew in strength and number as they leveled up. He'd dismissed it as mere fiction, a fantastical power set, but now… he knew the truth. He was a Summoner. And his life was about to change forever.

He focused, his mind reaching out, searching for something, anything. A mental image flickered before his eyes: a simple, unadorned figure, holding a sword. A warrior.

'Summoning… Swordsman (Common).' the voice echoed in his mind.

And then, there he was, standing beside him, a young man clad in leather armor, his sword gleaming dully in the dim light. The swordsman looked up at him, his eyes filled with an unsettling mix of loyalty and… something else. Understanding? Acceptance?

The goblin horde surged forward, their bloodlust renewed. He felt no fear, only a surge of adrenaline, a primal urge to fight. He wasn't just surviving; he was fighting to live. He was fighting for something more. This wasn't just a new life, it was a new mission. He was a Summoner in a world consumed by chaos, and he had an army to command.

The swordsman moved with surprising speed and skill, his blade flashing in the dying light. He was no match for a fully leveled warrior, but his movements were efficient, precise, and lethal. His small stature, that previously seemed a detriment, was now an advantage, allowing him to slip into the gaps and cut down his foe with brutal efficiency.

The initial shock and panic had subsided, replaced by a cold, hard determination. He was a Summoner. He had a job to do. He was going to survive, and more than that, he was going to conquer. He glanced down at his wounded side and realized the pain wasn't as intense. He was healing, faster than should be possible. His body was changing, adapting. It was incredible, terrifying, and invigorating all at once.

His level one Summoner was able to hold his own against a wave of goblins; their attacks were largely ineffective. This was something far beyond the simple, hack-and-slash style of fighting he expected. There was a strategy to this, a skill to be learned. This wasn't just about fighting; it was about understanding his power, managing his resources, strategically deploying his army. The Summoner class was more than just summoning; it was about command, control, and strategy. It was about building a force, a legion, that would rise to meet any threat.

He watched the swordsman, focusing on his movements, learning how best to utilize him. He was a Common class, nothing special, but he was loyal, he was effective, and he was his first summon. He would learn to use this new system, he would learn to command, and he would level up. He would unlock his full potential and discover the mysteries behind this sudden, violent transmigration. He would find out how he ended up in this world of monsters and magic, and whether there was any chance of returning home. But for now, survival was the first priority. Survival, and the mastering of his newfound, incredibly rare power. He knew he was just beginning; a long, dangerous journey lay ahead, but for the first time since he had arrived, he felt a flicker of hope. He was a Summoner, and he would not go down without a fight. The escape from the goblin horde was just the beginning of his story.