Pain radiated from his arm like lightning through a wet wire, but Yuuta couldn't even afford the luxury of screaming.
The arrow embedded in his green, frog-like arm throbbed, each heartbeat pulsing more blood into the grass. His amphibious body quivered with agony, muscles twitching from the trauma, but something more primal took hold—fear.
Instinct.
Something was hunting him.
He couldn't lie there. He had to move.
Yuuta gritted his teeth—wait, did he still have teeth? He wasn't even sure anymore. Regardless, he forced himself upright, balancing awkwardly on his stubby frog legs, each one trembling like jelly in a storm. His body protested every inch of motion, especially as his wounded right arm dragged limply, blood painting a trail behind him.
"Motherf—ahhh... Damn it!"
His breath came in ragged bursts. The pain was like fire licking up his spine.
He scanned the area through tear-blurred vision, turning toward the direction from which the arrow had flown. The light breeze carried the faintest scent of metal and sweat—predator scents.
And then he saw them.
Five towering figures.
Not men.
Not quite beasts.
They were pigs.
But not the cartoonish, harmless kind. These were monstrous, bipedal brutes. Each one nearly twice his old human height, built thick like tree trunks wrapped in rusted, dented armor. Their tusks curled outward in grotesque angles, and their pink-gray skin was thick with grime and battle scars.
They stood on two legs, snorting, armored hooves clanking against the dirt. Weapons gleamed in their hands—primitive but deadly.
The two at the front bore crude iron shields and jagged swords. Their armor clinked loudly as they stomped forward, clearly serving as the vanguard.
Behind them, two more pigs held massive battle axes—each axe head easily larger than Yuuta's current body.
But it was the fifth one—the one in the back—that made his frog stomach twist.
A bow.
Primitive, sure. But deadly.
The bow-wielding pig's small, piggy eyes locked onto Yuuta like a predator sizing up a squealing rabbit. Another arrow was already nocked. The tension in the string hissed.
"Are you serious?! Who gave bacon legs a ga-damn bow?!"
Yuuta cursed, sweat pouring down his squishy green face. His brain screamed at him to do something, anything.
Fighting them was suicide. He had no idea what powers—if any—this new frog body held. No magic interface. No tutorial screen. No mana bar. Nothing.
Just pain.
And fear.
So he did what any panicked, unarmed, underpowered frog would do.
He hopped!?
Or rather, he stood up and ran with his two, frogy, slimy legs?!.
Clumsily. Pathetically. Desperately.
His left leg tensed and launched him forward in a zigzag motion, while his right arm flailed uselessly at his side. Every leap jolted the arrow wound in his arm, sending fresh bolts of pain screaming through his body.
"Gotta get away, gotta get away, gotta get—"
TWANG.
Another sharp whistle in the air.
Yuuta didn't need to look to know.
THUNK.
The second arrow tore through his left leg, burying deep into the flesh just above the knee. The impact spun him midair, sending his tiny green body crashing onto the bloodstained grass.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH—"
This time, he screamed.
Loud. Raw. Ugly.
The sound that erupted from his wide frog mouth was unnatural—something between a screech and a croak, an amphibious howl that cracked the otherwise peaceful sky.
His body flopped uselessly on the grass. He writhed, gasping, clawing at the dirt, the pain overriding all rational thought.
The smell of his own blood. The sun above. The heat of fear.
It all swirled into a storm of helplessness.
"Why?! Why the fuck are these pork bastards shooting at me?! What the hell did I do?! I literally just got here!!"*
He dug at the earth with his three working fingers, trying to crawl away, but his leg was ruined—blood pulsed freely from the arrow's impact, and his muscles refused to obey.
Behind him, the pigs advanced.
They moved slowly. Methodically. Like they were savoring the kill.
The shield-bearing pigs stomped in a wide arc, boxing him in from the front. The axe-carriers flanked his sides. The archer remained in the rear, calm and collected, already reaching for another arrow.
Yuuta's heart thundered like a war drum. His breaths came fast, too fast. He was overheating. Shaking. Slipping into panic.
"No. No no. Fuck no. This isn't fair. This isn't how it's supposed to go!"
He had read the light novels. Played the games. Watched the anime.
This was not the protagonist's path.
You don't get trucked into another world just to be turned into a frog and skewered like a goddamn kebab.
Where was the overpowered starter skill?
Where was the cheat item?
Where was the cute girl in a cape who pulls you from the jaws of death and declares you her destined hero?
Nothing. Just blood. And pigs. And fear.
His vision blurred.
His body grew cold.
The pain from his leg and arm melded into one long, awful throb.
He turned his head slowly, his frog cheeks against the dirt, and stared at the five pigs inching closer.
One of the shielded ones grunted something guttural. Another oinked in response. Their tusks glinted in the sunlight.
Yuuta tried to crawl again. His right arm flopped uselessly. His left leg wouldn't move.
"I'm gonna die... I'm really gonna fucking die. Just like this. Shot down like a rodent. Bleeding in the grass. No loot. No glory. Not even a fcking inventory screen."
The archer raised another arrow.
Drew the string back.
Yuuta could only watch.
"Is this it...? Again? Twice in one day...?"
His breath hitched.
"No. No. I can't. Not like this. Not like this!"
But he couldn't move.
The blood loss made everything sluggish. His limbs felt like lead. His eyelids drooped. The warmth of the sun faded.
Only one thought screamed loud enough to remain.
"I don't want to die again!"
And yet, as the arrow neared loosed and the pigs closed in, death crept ever closer.
The wind carried the scent of blood and steel.
Yuuta's body lay sprawled across the blood-soaked grass, grotesquely twisted like a frog that had been flattened under a semi-truck. His limbs splayed in unnatural angles, and his right arm and left leg were still pierced through by the thick wooden arrows. From a distance, it would've looked comical—absurd even—if not for the gory details of twitching limbs and the dark red pool that soaked into the ground beneath him.
His ragged breaths came in shallow gasps, his bulbous frog eyes fluttering under the weight of exhaustion and pain. Each heartbeat was a hammer, driving the agony deeper into his being. And yet, in the cavern of his mind—somewhere between survival instinct and delusion—a strange feeling began to take root.
A warmth.
It wasn't comforting. No. It was something more primal. A sensation that itched and burned beneath the skin, like a parasite waking from a long slumber. It pulsed. It twisted. It throbbed beneath the muscles and bones of his unnatural body, coiling through his frog guts like a snake waiting to strike.
"W-what the hell is this…?" Yuuta mumbled, voice quivering.
His words were warped, gargled by the foreign structure of his frog throat. They emerged as croaks and clicks—grotesque parodies of speech. But the confusion was real. So was the fear. And as that instinct surged forward, his still-functioning left hand—green, slimy, and trembling—began to rise.
Slowly.
Shakingly.
Almost like it moved on its own, his hand extended toward the advancing pigmen. Five of them. Fat, monstrous bastards in heavy, mismatched armor, waddling forward on two stubby legs like grotesque parody soldiers. Two bore swords and shields, standing at the vanguard. The next two held massive axes, dragging them through the grass like executioners on their way to deliver a sentence. And behind them—eyes focused and cold—stood the archer. The one who'd already planted two of his arrows into Yuuta's body.
Yuuta's hand trembled midair. His body begged him to drop it. To curl up. To die.
But something deeper had stirred.
The pigmen slowed, noticing the movement. Their pig-like grunts shifted, wary. Shields were raised. Weapons readied. The bow-wielding pigman already had another arrow nocked, eyes narrowing behind his crude iron helmet.
"Fuck you..." Yuuta hissed under his breath. "You're seriously keeping your guard up against me? A squishy little frog? You bastards already won!"
His anger boiled.
It mixed with humiliation. With pain. With the overwhelming urge to survive.
And then—without warning—a white ball of light erupted from his outstretched left hand.
It shot out like a cannon blast, a blazing sphere of energy, shimmering with distorted heat and a humming vibration that made the air itself shudder. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as the glowing orb streaked through the field.
Yuuta blinked.
"What the hell did I just do?"
The shielded pigman at the front raised his iron bulwark. He braced for impact, stance solid and unflinching. There was a brief flicker of smugness in his piggish eyes, as though he'd already triumphed over whatever pathetic spell this little frog could muster.
And then the orb connected.
BOOM.
The explosion shattered the silence.
It didn't simply burst—it detonated, like a missile of pure rage and energy. A fiery shockwave engulfed the group of pigmen, throwing up dirt, grass, blood, and splinters of metal into the air. Chunks of armor were torn from their bodies, flying like shrapnel. Rocks and scorched earth erupted from the blast zone.
Yuuta's ears rang. His eyes widened.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
When the smoke and dust began to clear, all that remained of the lead pigman—the one who had so confidently raised his shield—was a splattered mess of burnt flesh, ruptured intestines, and what looked like a single, twitching blue orb where his head used to be. His shield had been blown in half. His torso was gone.
"W-what the…" Yuuta stammered.
The second shield bearer was still alive, but barely. His armor had melted to his skin, his left arm was completely burned off, and his face… his face was a nightmare. His eyes had ruptured, streaming blood as he screamed—high and shrill—like a pig being skinned alive.
The axe-wielders hadn't fared much better. One was trying to crawl away, his legs charred to bone. The other writhed on the ground, his belly ripped open, steaming intestines spilling out as he groaned in agonized gurgles.
And the archer?
He was on his knees, trembling. His bow was snapped in half. His helmet had flown off, revealing a bald, patchy head. His face was covered in burns and debris, eyes wide with terror.
He hadn't expected this.
No one had.
Yuuta blinked again, stunned. He was breathing hard, not from exhaustion, but from shock.
"What… what the hell was that?" he whispered. "Was that… magic?"
The pain in his arm and leg hadn't gone. If anything, it flared up stronger, reminding him that he was still bleeding out, still half-dead. But something had changed.
Something vital.
Hope.
It was faint. Desperate. But it was there.
The battlefield was silent, save for the whimpering of the dying pigmen.