Terry nudged Kelima with his toe for at least the tenth time, but the girl remained steadfastly, obstinately unconscious. He’d expected as much. Those healing potions were no joke. Still, it didn’t make her limp body any less of a problem for him. Sighing to himself, Terry tried to decide which annoying task to deal with first. There was, naturally, the problem of the unconscious girl. He could just leave her where she was for now. Then again, there were probably insects and invisible bear-snake hybrids lurking around and just waiting for an opportunity to eat her.

  There was also the problem of the monster carcass. Since he didn’t especially love the idea of carrying Kelima over his shoulder until he found another suitable location, he was more or less committed to setting up camp where they were. That meant he couldn’t just leave the dead monster where it was. He also thought that he should probably retrieve its core for Kelima and maybe harvest some of its meat. Unfortunately, he didn’t especially feel like doing any of those things. What he really wanted to do was set up his tent and take a relaxing nap during this glorious moment that was free of chatter.

  Pushing aside that very pleasant notion, he went over to Kelima’s pack and, after several long moments of doubt, opened it up. His own social ineptitude aside, even Terry felt that he was engaging in a next-level privacy violation. Still, he needed to get out her tent, and her tent was in the damn pack. God knew he wasn’t put her in his tent for any reason. Deciding that the privacy violation was the lesser of two evils, he started to dig through the pack. The tent was, mercifully, near the top. That spared him from digging through her underwear, at least. He wasn’t sure either of them would survive the horror of that.

  Her tent was a little different than his. That added irritation-inducing minutes to the process of putting it up. Even after he got it assembled and unrolled a blanket inside, he still had to get her into the tent and onto the blanket. He’d thought that would be the easiest part. It turned out that even superhuman strength couldn’t fully overcome the awkwardness of moving the dead weight of an insensate human being. He almost dropped Kelima twice while trying to maneuver the girl into the tent. What a pain in the ass, he bitched to himself.

  He even had a brief fantasy of just leaving her there. It would solve the issue of having an unwanted companion along for this adventure. But she probably would get eaten if he did that. Cue the hideously uncomfortable conversation and sobbing mother he never wanted to deal with. That put a final stake through the heart of that stillborn plan. He considered Kelima, who was sprawled in a way that didn’t look terribly comfortable. He hadn’t seen a pillow in her pack, so he dug a clean shirt out of his pack. That involved semi-waking Dusk, who angrily batted at his hand and let out a discontented noise. He folded the shirt into a small pad and tucked it under her head. After another long moment of contemplation, he adjusted her arms and legs into positions that looked at least somewhat less uncomfortable.

  That was sweet of you, opined other-Terry.

  Shut it, barked Terry mentally.

  Alright. Alright. Geez, don’t get your man-panties in such a twist.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Deciding that he would take that nap, Terry put up his own tent, only to discover that fresh habits took over while he wasn’t paying attention. By the time he realized what was happening, he’d already set up a fire pit, scouted the surrounding area, gathered fire wood, and even started a small fire. A steadily increasing gloom in the forest told him that the afternoon, and his chance at a nap, had been lost to his unintentional productivity. Grumbling under his breath, he walked over to the dead monster. He glared down at it.

  “I should have just killed you,” he muttered.

  He knew that wasn’t true. He’d made Kelima fight it for a reason. The whole situation was just sub-optimal for his purposes. Any delay made him fret, even if these kinds of inconveniences were par for the course. He kept worrying about what that camp of monster soldiers was going to do. His knowledge of tropes told him that they wouldn’t do anything until he was back. However, he was very aware that conclusion was built around watching and reading stories about heroes. The operative word there being heroes. Terry wasn’t at all convinced that he was the hero in whatever story he’d found himself in. If he was a hero, he’d still be with the stupidly pretty people. Not wandering around in an uncharted forest looking for some unobtanium guarded by a mystery threat on a lonely mountain peak. Terry ran that last thought through his head again. Then, he did it a third time.

  “Fuck me!” he shouted at the sky.

  Well, he tried to shout it at the sky. He supposed shouting it to the dense canopy overhead was good enough for his purposes. Terry was pretty sure that he’d somehow escaped from some cultivator isekai story by fleeing south. Except, he was pretty sure he’d traded that story for one of those quasi-medieval isekai stories. One where at least some of the nobility were corrupt as hell and probably planning a coup or a civil war. There would also be some bullshit prophecy about the end of days that some wandering hero from a distant land was destined to prevent. Or die trying, he thought. You can never forget about the die trying part.

  “No,” he said. “No. I will not be a party to this. I’m gonna get those metal rocks. I’m gonna get my swords. And I’m gonna go home. Do you hear that? Do you? Whoever the hell you are. I’m not playing. Tell Truck-kun to go run someone else over. Someone braver, or stupider, or whatever the hell it is that makes someone decide to go along with this suicidal crap!”

  It seemed that Terry’s angry words had startled the nearby birds and insects, because there were several moments of creepy silence and stillness. Then, he heard a nearby buzz, and soon after, the background sounds of the forest resumed.

  That seemed very productive, said other-Terry. Do you feel better?

  No, admitted Terry.

  Good. Because you shouldn’t. When has calling out the powers-that-be ever worked out for any isekai protagonist? I mean, ever?

  I’m sure it’s happened, said Terry. Just because I never saw it or read it, it doesn’t mean it never worked out.

  That sounds a whole lot like the monkeys typing Shakespeare if you give them enough typewriters and time argument. Sure, statistically, it might happen eventually. Once. Are you feeling that lucky? Do you really think that you’re monkey Shakespeare?

  Terry’s brain immediately conjured an image of a monkey wearing a dark shirt and a ridiculously huge white collar like that traditional image of Shakespeare that showed up on the back of all the books. He started to chuckle out loud.

  You know that’s not what I meant, said a defeated-sounding other-Terry.

  “Monkey Shakespeare,” said Terry, still laughing.

  That was sweet of you, opined other-Terry.

  One of these days, Alice. Bang! Zoom! Straight to the moon!