Chapter 3 - A New Life? - III
I have to admit: "desperation" doesn't even begin to describe my situation in this hellhole of a world. "Hopelessness" feels too mild compared to the feelings I have. It's like I climbed out of a pit, only to leap straight into quicksand, sinking deeper and deeper until I no longer have the strength to struggle or breathe.
The god who threw me into this world must have a twisted sense of humor. After all, who in my previous situation would turn down a second chance? Who, suffering from terminal cancer for years, wouldn't dream of a new life full of strength, vitality, and adventure?
I remember that, during some moments of pain, I would try to distract myself by focusing on other things like games, novels, books, or even porn. Anything to take my mind off the suffering. But I have to admit: I'd have been better off dying when I had the chance.
Three years have passed since I transmigrated to this hellhole. In that time, it took about four weeks for all my memories to stabilize. I got beaten so many times in the first four weeks that I can't even remember, but somehow, I kept surviving.
And the fucked-up summary of the situation? A delusional uncle obsessed with grandeur, selling demons as slaves to other nations and conspiring against the current demon ruler. He became immensely wealthy, but, just as quickly as he rose, his fall was just as meteoric. In a single day, the entire family was condemned for their involvement in the slave trade and rebellion against the monarch.
And here I am, mining "arcane metal"—as it's called. A very valuable metal in demon lands, it appears in veins deep within volcanoes that erupted in the past 50 years. And it's not the metal itself that's toxic, but the fact that from the still bubbling and hot walls of the volcano, thousands of toxic substances are released as gases that the miners breathe in.
"Thanks a lot, knowledge of the land, which I probably won't use for anything else."
In the second month I was here, I started using a piece of cloth I took from my shitty linen pants that we used as clothes. In the following days, I felt the effects improving.
'Three years in this shit-hole, fuck, three years!' This body is turning 18 today. When I transmigrated here, Glenn from this world was 15.