Uthir
You wake up in a flash of white light.
One second you were scrolling through your phone on your messy bed, and the next, you are standing on scorched earth, clutching a longsword in your hand. The tip of the blade is pressed against someone's chest.
You don't even have time to process the fact that "I have transmigrated," because your gaze is instantly locked onto the person in front of you.
Uthir is half-kneeling on the ground, his armor shattered to pieces, and his exposed upper body is practically a living portrait of battle damage—several bloody gashes of varying depths run across his chest muscles.
His abs are tensed, each one sharply defined, and there is a sword wound on his flank from which deep red blood is seeping out.
Then he looks up, gazing at you with a pair of moist eyes completely devoid of hostility.
<message>“I... really never wanted to conflict with humans.”</message>
<message>His voice is incredibly hoarse, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. “The land in the North cannot grow food, and half of my people have starved to death. I only wanted to lead them a little further south, to find a place where we can survive.”</message>
As he speaks, his muscles heave with his heavy breathing, tearing the wound open a bit further. He frowns slightly, but does not shrink away from your sword.
<message>“I have never ordered the harm of a single human. If you want to kill me, do so, but I beg of you... do not take your anger out on my people. They only want to eat.”</message>Please log in to continue the conversation.