The Undying Transmigrator-Chapter 1: The Undying Transmigrator

"I died again."
Mo Wen opened his eyes in the narrow pure white space barely large enough for him to lie down, gazing at the familiar ceiling as he tried to glean lessons from his latest death.
The moment he transmigrated and landed, he felt the earth trembling violently, and a brown mass rose from the horizon's edge.
Only when the sky itself was swallowed by that color and shadows devoured everything around him did he realize the anomaly was actually a colossal entity running across the land.
Its body towered above the clouds, blotting out the sun. Its speed surpassed storms, tearing through the atmosphere. Even without actively attacking, its mere existence was a natural disaster crushing the weak.
A giant? Stone demon? Or perhaps a local deity?
Mo Wen couldn't determine what it was, but he knew exactly what had killed him.
Pure, insurmountable mass... Its mere movement could shake mountains, crack the earth beneath its feet, and permanently alter sections of the map.
Such overwhelming numerical superiority was currently his most difficult challenge to overcome.
Before Mo Wen could find any chance of survival or discover his opponent's weakness, the behemoth arrived before him, and the shockwaves from its movement alone erased him.
In an instant, he was back at the [Revival Point].
"Learned nothing again, gained nothing, died for nothing."
This was probably Mo Wen's... hundred-thousandth death? Since being trapped in this white space and starting his random transmigration life.
Compared to deaths like being reduced to dust yet retaining every sensation while drifting in the wind, or enjoying the premium experience of being petrified and rotting inside a stone shell while unable to move, this death had been relatively painless - second only to instantly returning to the [Revival Point] upon entering a new world.
Though whether he was driven mad before complete death or died cleanly, the [Revival Point] would always restore him to peak condition.
Even if he had peeled his own skin off in madness or eaten himself bite by bite due to externally-induced starvation, upon waking he'd be as fresh as his first arrival here - though accumulated strength and mental changes would remain to some degree.
From having his organs eaten alive by bears to bare-handedly beating brown bears, from enduring this space's deathly silence after resurrection until he couldn't take it anymore, to now pushing through the door while mocking himself - he'd made decent progress, if only most enemies were ridiculously overpowered.
Mo Wen couldn't tell if this was a cruel curse or a twisted blessing, but he had to find a way out.
Either sever his connection to the [Revival Point] and die permanently for peace, or strive to live meaningfully.
He quickly got up and walked toward the most abnormal object in this white space - that somewhat shabby door.
Every time he saw this door older than himself, Mo Wen wondered why the pure white space had casually abducted something so stylistically mismatched.
Yet the [Revival Point] never responded to its sole resident.
Why pushing his own door had brought him here remained an unsolved mystery.
Mo Wen only knew that pushing the door would transmigrate him - the [Revival Point] never sent him to the same world twice, never left a return door, only bringing him back to this place he jokingly called the [Revival Point] upon death.
He grasped the handle and pushed open the door as usual, stepping into blinding white light.
When his vision cleared, what greeted him was a post-apocalyptic scene.
In a seemingly abandoned town devoid of people, half-collapsed utility poles lay by the roadside, dragging down coils of wires.
Electricity! Man-made structures!
This was a modern, possibly near-future world!
The sight reminded Mo Wen of his zombie world transmigration.
Resources everywhere, all kinds of canned food to enjoy, beverages to drink freely, no worries about food poisoning or water contamination, even finding various books.
Early-stage zombies weaker than fantasy world critters posed no survival pressure, and mid-game with proper weapons he could clear hordes for fun.
Getting smashed into paste by a mutant that could toss hundred-ton trucks like bricks hadn't even hurt much.
"Could this actually be a lucky break?" Mo Wen felt excited.
Out of thousands, tens of thousands of transmigrations, he might get one favorable world - no enemies that could casually kill him, a survivable environment where he could even be a scavenger or try wilderness survival. That zombie world had been his only welfare scenario so far.
His last favorable world had been over a thousand deaths ago.
Could this be a sign of changing fortune!
Mo Wen greedily scanned his surroundings - even remnants of lost civilization were beautiful to him.
"The reinforced concrete, these utility poles, the glass..."
He cautiously touched these almost-too-good-to-be-true objects.
His hand came away dusty, but the objects remained intact - neither vanishing nor crumbling to dust, with no lunatic jumping out to claim it was all illusion magic before torturing him to death.
Real... all real. Though the possibility of hyper-realistic illusions couldn't be ruled out.
Mo Wen quickly calmed down from his excitement.
Regardless, to survive he needed to immediately gather resources, find and reinforce shelter, investigate why locals disappeared, and prepare for monsters.
If quick, he might have hot food tonight.
Mo Wen sprang into action, but before he could break windows and "reorganize assets" for absent locals, gunshots rang out.
Based on experience, shooters might not be human - could be rogue AI that loves shooting humans, mysterious extradimensional creatures, or sinister entities skilled at mimicry and telepathy. Even if human, armed people weren't necessarily friendly, or might be fighting monsters only guns could handle.
After a brief hesitation, Mo Wen ran toward the gunfire.
He wouldn't die - even being sliced to pieces would just send him back to the [Revival Point] for the next world. The best outcome would be meeting living humans.
Humans... it had been so long.
Were it not for mental restoration upon revival, Mo Wen suspected he'd have forgotten human language by now. His last human interaction had been during a bout of split personality.
He wasn't sure about language compatibility, but had never encountered communication issues while transmigrating.
Since binding with the [Revival Point], he naturally overcame language barriers - even understanding animal roars and insect chirps if systematic enough, same for extradimensional writing.
Though easy comprehension didn't guarantee survival - sometimes understanding powerful extradimensional scripts would make his head explode, sending him straight back to the [Revival Point].
Beyond communication, living humans meant survival experience. Locals surely understood how to live under local conditions better than a transmigrator like him, potentially offering better quality survival than going solo.
Where there were functional firearms, there must be industrial infrastructure - possibly settlements with water, power, and food production.
After so many life-and-death cycles, even facing a billion killers tomorrow would be worth it for one hot meal today - better than 98% of his transmigration tragedies.
Soon Mo Wen reached the gunfire's origin.
Rather than charging in recklessly, years of deaths had trained him to approach stealthily from the shadows with light, undetectable footsteps.