The desert at twilight was a vast undulating sea, the sand still so uncomfortably scorching as the sun slowly fell behind the horizon.

A row of cuffed prisoners dragged their feet wearily, the action so incredibly exhausting that some struggled to stay upright. Each step sunk into the searing sand, causing others to moan weakly, before being whipped into absolute silence by their bloodthirsty guards.

One youth, however, could barely withstand the deplorable conditions they had to endure as they trudged toward an oasis, barely visible in the distance. The air was thick and hazy, each breath like drowning in lava, that he had to either clench his teeth or bite his tongue to stop the oncoming influx of expletives.

Only mere moments ago, he was reading a delectable piece of writing on some obscure website; deciding that it was worth abandoning his work for his assignment for some time, he began binge reading the novel, not even realizing how many hours he spent devouring the contents. 

That was, not until he reached the ending―and about that ending, what the hell was even that?!

As he perused the novel and discovered the eventual fate of the protagonist, written half heartedly to quench the thirst of the adult readers, he couldn’t help but start dry heaving. With unrestrained wrath, he plodded to the toilet to gag some more whilst cursing inwardly without any filters whatsoever, then blacked out.

Once he opened his eyes again, he was… definitely not inside his bathroom?

Where was his tiled floor? His spotless toilet? The cup he used to fill with water and rinse his mouth with which had a strange stain? His toothbrush that he had promised to change countless times until he eventually forgot? Where was he?

“Keep walking!” The crack of a whip was heard, then he felt the distressing stinging on his back. The salty sweat trickled right into his injury, causing him to experience continuous, shooting pains. He hissed―oh, the pain! He glanced cautiously at the guard, only to see that he was not in a great condition himself; despite chugging water again and again, the man appeared to be under great discomfort, too.

As he was recalling everything that had transpired hours ago, his pace must have slowed considerably, which attracted the unwanted attention from the guards.

He had no idea what this place was; why was he chained along with a dozen of other youths? Where were they taking him?

Wind stirred up the wispy sand, the sun gradually making way for the moon and cooling slowly but surely the surroundings. His mucky clothing, ripped in some parts and patched amateurly in others, was overwhelmingly sticky and clung to his skin. As sweat dripped down his face and onto his chapped lips, he eagerly licked the liquid, desperately in need of hydration.

“Sir, about that… matter,” one of the guards fearfully walked to another, who was his supposed superior. The words caught the youth’s ears, which he immediately pricked, hungry for any valuable information. “With all due respect, I don’t believe it’s feasible, we missed the blood moon and if our sultana hears about this―”

“Shut your trap!” The man howled and raised his whip threateningly. The other guard cowered under his entrapping gaze and apologized profusely. “You little good-for-nothing! Do you dare go against our sultana?! Do you wish to have your head displayed in the capital’s plaza for your family to admire?” He spewed out saliva roaring at the young man.

“N-no, absolutely not, sir! We’ll proceed with the offering as usual, sir!”

Offering? The youth flinched at the word, his mind already making connections between keywords. Sultana… offering… blood moon… and I’m in a desert…

A chill ran down his spine as he considered one possibility―this could not be the same setting as ‘Boldly Killing Monsters And Heroically Collecting Men’, could it?

But, presuming that, even for a little bit, he had transmigrated into that crappy novel, then that meant he was trash! A cannon fodder! His only meaning was to make his appearance in one chapter, to be described in under five words and then to disappear forever and ever!

How did he come to this conclusion? Well, this part of the plot took place in the first chapters, while the author worked on world building and recounted the brave tales of other female leads. One of them―regrettably, the most unpopular, yet his most favorite―was Afi, a wanderer who had stumbled upon this specific offering to the Goddess of Luck and managed to save none but herself! She murdered the guards, but it was too late to rescue any of the poor slaves; hence, she made her way to the capital and butchered the sultana, sacrificing herself to avenge some nameless slaves. Then, the author went on to the next (and one of the many) female leads! 

“Please save me, please save me,” he murmured desperately as he thought of his future fate.

Blackness enveloped the desert, the sun hidden behind the hill of sand; his stomach rumbled, his mouth was dry and salivating at the thought of eating anything. His feet ached and burned from how much they tramped, and adding the chilly air biting at his mostly uncovered skin, he was in literal hell.

“We’re here!” A guard pointed to the oasis nearby and rushed to the crystal clear water, drinking greedily like an animal and gargling, loving the refreshing feel of the water. Others followed, but the slaves stood behind, staring at the water with open mouths, but unmoving, fearing the consequences.

“May I―” A slave suddenly spoke up, stopping to clear his croaky throat. “May I have a sip, kind sirs?”

The guards that were in the midst of filling their flasks with water to the brim ceased their actions to laugh heartily at his question. One cackled so hard, he fell in the water, making the atmosphere even more lively―the slaves, however, kept mum.

What the hell! He gritted his teeth angrily at these other cannon fodders; laugh while you can, idiots! 

“You there,” one guard rose to his feet and chuckled sarcastically. “I’m reeaaally sorry, that’s my fault.” He pointed to himself with a sardonic smile. “Do you really want water?”

The slave nodded eagerly as he watched with bated breath the guard open the flask. The other guards continued snickering at the scene. Something was not right.

“Will you do anything for a sip of water?” The guard asked maliciously.

The slave wavered, yet still nodded weakly. No! Don’t do it! He’ll make you lick the soles of his shoes or eat sand!

“Then,” the guard reached for a dagger hidden underneath his clothing, “take this and kill all your friends.” He laughed raucously, other guards following suit. “They’re not capable of defending themselves! Tell ya what,” he paused to glance at his pals, then resumed talking. “If you also cut ‘em into pieces, then we’ll feed you as well. Whatever you want―grilled fish? We’ll take ya and getcha some grilled fish. Hell, if you want women, we have women!” The guards guffawed at his words, apparently amusing.

To the youth, however, it was not even in the slightest. His hands quivered uncontrollably as he studied the slave staring intently at the dagger; then, he saw a boney hand clasp it tightly, raising it to his face and kissing its blade. It was his salvation.

The guard pushed him towards the other slaves, “go on, then, schmuck.”

The slave, suddenly mad at the thought of food and water, slashed the dagger wildly at another, prompting the victim to scream in agony and terror. The youth gaped and, like the others, wished to retreat out of their way, yet their cuffs were linked, making them unable to do so.

I don’t wanna die!! Not until I see Afi with my own two eyes! He prayed internally as blots of blood flew right on his face.

Just as the slave wanted to continue his frenzied attacks, an arrow whooshed past his cheek and right into the guard’s forehead. The man dropped immediately dead on the ground, causing the others to shriek, horrified.

Following that, arrows were shot with little to no delay between each in the direction of the guards, some putting them to death, others wounding them. One grabbed his spear and howled, “get that wench!” before being finished off, too.

It took some time until everything died down, and the only sounds left were their intermingled breaths and cries for help. The youth gawked at the woman approaching the oasis rapidly, as if someone was hot on her heels. Is… is that…

An avalanche of dark chocolate hair tumbled down her sun-kissed shoulders, framing her elfin features. She was garbed in an ivory dress long enough to reach her ankles, with a leather waist sash accentuating her curves and breasts. Her cherry lips parted to utter three words: “you are free.”

The slaves glanced at each other, still avoiding like plague the one holding the dagger. Afi seemed to sense that, as she stepped in his direction and asked, “what is your name?”

“Daius,” he answered.

“And you?” Afi turned to another.

“Enir.”

“You?”

“Rydur…”

The youth had longed to see what Afi actually looked like―either through commissioned art or better description―and had imagined countless times, yet nothing could compare to witnessing her bewitching beauty in person. He pitied her, though, for everything that she went through and the unjust death she received in the novel.

Suddenly, energy filled his body, adrenaline coursed his veins and his heart hammered against his ribcage. He had a wish―and that was to save every female lead and let them live happily ever after!

“And you?” Afi had apparently already questioned the others and arrived right in front of him.

Startled, he actually spouted out, “well, it’s…” Should he tell his real name? Or come up with a cooler one?!

“Velyts. Never heard of this one before,” she mumbled as the now-nicknamed Velyts stood rooted on the spot. “Everyone follow me to the nearest village. I will give you food and the necessities once we arrive there.”