Despite the surname, I'm 100% Bangladeshi.  

I’m a so-called honeymoon baby, conceived when my parents were on their honeymoon in France.  

Caught up in the excitement of their newlywed bliss, they decided to name their fully Bangladeshi son 'Arthur' on a whim.  

And that’s how I, Shahzad Noor Arthur, came to be.  

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I go by Shahzad and stream my solo camping adventures.  

How I ended up here is a bit complicated, so let me explain.  

To do that, we have to go back to my childhood.  

The root of everything was my name.  

Having a surname like "Arthur" as a pure Bangladeshi kid was, as you can imagine, an endless source of teasing.  

From as far back as I can remember, I was ridiculed.  

It wasn’t full-on bullying, but it was emotionally draining.  

Eight years of enduring this, by the time I hit my 8th Grade, I’d had enough.  

“I just want to be alone.”  

Exhausted by human interactions, I began taking solo trips on weekends, eventually falling in love with solo camping.  

A space just for me.  

The calming embrace of nature.  

Nobody knowing who I am.  

Forgetting, even if just for a while, that I was Arthur.  

But over time, dissatisfaction crept in.  

Even in solo camping, true solitude was hard to achieve.  

Other campers were always around at campsites, and even if I had the place to myself, there was always a manager nearby.  

Campsites themselves started to feel off.  

Nature, but managed and curated by human hands.  

Could that really be called nature?  

During the summer of my 9th Grades, I ventured deep into the mountains in search of deeper solitude.  

I attempted a self-sufficient lifestyle there.  

But this was a huge mistake.  

It wasn’t camping anymore; it was survival.  

Constantly facing the threat of death, frightened by the presence of wild animals, I spent sleepless nights in hunger.  

“This isn’t what I want…”  

What I loved was camping—not surviving in extreme conditions.  

Should I settle for the artificial solitude of campsites?  

On the twelfth night of my survival stint, driven by hunger, I ate an unfamiliar mushroom.  

It turned out to be poisonous.  

I spent the entire night writhing in pain, my body burning up and my throat unbearably dry.  

When the agony passed, all that remained was my fading consciousness.  

The wind, the beasts.  

The stars spinning and falling.  

Caught between life and death, I came to a realization.  

“Oh… It’s simple. If I can become strong enough to enjoy camping even in harsh conditions, that’s all I need…”  

Morning came, and light streamed in.  

By sheer luck, a group of hikers found me and got me to a hospital.  

Dehydration was the real issue, far worse than the poison, and I ended up hospitalized for three days.  

After being discharged, I dedicated myself to training.  

From then on, every day, I did 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, and 100 squats, and ran 10 kilometers.  

It’s a wonder I didn’t go bald, given how intensely I pushed myself.  

I also acquired every possible survival skill and piece of knowledge.  

I decided not to go to school.  

I didn’t see any value in what I could learn there.  

My parents didn’t object. In fact:  

“Well, sure, why not?”  

That was their reaction.  

These were, after all, the same people who named their son Arthur. Their mindset was on another level.  

However, there was one problem.  

I had a much younger sister named Nadia, who hated my camping obsession.  

“Don’t go anywhere!”  

“It’s fine, Nadia. I’ve trained and learned a lot since last time. I won’t make the same mistake again.”  

“No!”  

Apparently, my near-death experience had traumatized her.  

I couldn’t just ignore my little sister’s tearful pleas.  

So, I sat her down and had a proper conversation.  

We reached a compromise: I’d check in regularly.  

It’s a convenient age we live in.  

No matter where you are, you can connect through video calls.  

Though I didn’t love bringing digital devices to my camping trips, I didn’t have the conviction to argue against it.  

Eventually, I began traveling overseas, enjoying the camping life while hopping from place to place.  

But sometimes, trouble found me.  

I stumbled upon a suicidal person deep in the woods, listened to their life story for hours, and even helped them get revenge.  

I nearly got killed after wandering into a drug cartel’s plantation.  

I rescued a girl who had been abandoned in the wilderness and raised by wolves.  

I accidentally witnessed a kidnapping and ended up helping free children from a human trafficking ring.  

Ironically, I found myself entangled in deeper relationships than I ever had in the city.  

I had a bad habit of resetting my social connections, running away to new places whenever ties grew too strong.  

That’s partly why I was constantly on the move around the world.  

In the end, I realized one thing:  

“Humans are everywhere.”  

The true rulers of Earth.  

No matter where I went, I couldn’t escape the influence of humanity.  

But that was okay.  

I was reasonably content with my camping lifestyle and planned to continue it.  

Or so I thought.  

---

Seven years ago, just after I turned 21, something was discovered: a Gate.  

In northern Alaska, a French tourist who’d strayed off a hiking trail stumbled upon it.  

Three meters tall and fifty centimeters wide, it was—  

A crack in the world.  

There’s no other way to describe it.  

Beyond the crack lay a vast expanse.  

A dungeon.  

Soon, gates started appearing worldwide.  

Panic ensued.  

Dungeons teemed with unknown flora and fauna, forming unique ecosystems.  

People feared the potential harm they might bring to the surface world.  

But true to my parents’ legacy of impulse and spontaneity, I snuck into a dungeon in Dhaka’s Central Area, where security wasn't high due to Dhaka's Glorious over-population problem, in fact, the central area of Dhaka was kinda abandoned due to this sudden appearance gate....  

It was paradise.  

Untouched wilderness, free from human interference.  

Though the dungeon was harsh, that didn’t matter.  

I just needed to grow strong enough to handle it.  

For the first time, I was truly alone.  

That was enough for me.  

Back then, there were no dungeon links, and communication with the surface was impossible.  

But I kept my promise to Nadia by recording videos and sending them to her.  

“Nadia! Look at this! A giant lizard cow! What even is this? Haha!”  

Unsurprisingly, she was furious.  

“Are you an idiot?! What if you get caught?! How can you go somewhere full of unknown creatures?! Get back here, you idiot Shahzad!”  

“It's like I’m a demon's brother or something, Haha...”  

“That’s what you say to your angry sister?!”  

At the time, civilians were strictly prohibited from entering dungeons, and they were undeniably dangerous.  

Nadia had every right to be angry.  

But even for her, I couldn’t give up this ultimate camping experience.  

I explained everything to her in detail.  

That dungeons weren’t as dangerous as people thought.  

That I was genuinely enjoying my time there.  

Whether it was my passion or her resignation, she stopped asking me to come back.  

Instead, she said:  

“Well, then I'll upload these videos online!”  

Two years later, dungeon links were established, and I began streaming my adventures.