Campfire
I decided to add text to the subtitles.
Otherwise, it might get confusing if it drifts too far from the mild version's chapter numbers.
Swinging a sword around at goblins.
Even from the practice swings, I'd felt it—heavy. And I'd kept up push-ups and dumbbells during my NEET days just to kill time, but swinging it with brute force was still a real workout.
Against stray goblins caught off-guard by a preemptive magic gun shot, I could overpower them with raw strength. But against quicker monsters or people? Yeah, that'd be tough.
Time to butter up that sword-obsessed husband and get him to teach me more proper technique.
Anyway, magic gun practice was going smoothly.
Or rather, it had turned into experiments with mana control.
Skipping the nitty-gritty trial and error, the issue with the scattershot I'd developed was one big problem: insane MP cost.
Splitting it into eight shots, each infused with the mana equivalent of 1 MP, meant a total drain of 8 MP.
No way to use that in any real fight.
After trying all sorts of things, I settled on a method that cut the cost to around 3 MP—at the sacrifice of power and range.
The key to scattershot is that it works in close quarters, deals damage or slows enemies without aiming precisely. Area denial is the real strength, so I ignored per-shot damage.
Even so, to keep minimum viable power, 3 MP total was the floor.
For range, since I could manipulate mana to burn hot and fast for high power or slow and steady for distance, I ditched it to secure that baseline punch.
I wanted this for close combat anyway, so as long as the range worked for that, fine.
Basically, I got inspired by the classic game trope: "Shotguns hit hard but suck at range."
And so, my half-assed "make scattershot with mana control" project was complete.
Full hits at point-blank dropped a goblin in one shot, combat ineffective. Should be a solid trump card from here on.
I also practiced swapping between the magic gun and sword via subspace storage.
Well, since subspace could hold the sword anyway, I didn't need the belt that bad.
But no regrets. None.
Start fights with the sword sheathed on my back, draw over the shoulder.
That's necessary. Essential, even.
Can't exactly use subspace in public. Yeah, gotta have it.
This day too, I wiped out three goblin packs and headed back to town. Elliott had left a message: "Wanna grab dinner this evening?"
I shot back an instant yes, killed time wandering till evening, and met at the guild.
"Hey, good to see you!"
Elliott greeted me energetically, but he looked a bit worn out.
"What, you tired? Just get back today?"
"Nah, a bit ago. Then we did a temp party goblin hunt, and man, it was a pain."
The women behind him looked beat too. Probably ran into some elites.
"Anyway, let's eat. My recommended spot cool?"
"Oh, Yoyo's pick? Sounds good."
Lately, living full goblin hunter, I'd scouted tasty (and cheap) joints near the north gate. A bit lower-town vibe, but Elliott and his slaves should dig it.
A few minutes west from north gate, into a place called "Soramachi Liquors."
Calls itself a liquor store, but the food's killer.
Does rice and bread both—big points. And cheap. Owner's slum roots, targets low-class folks.
After repeat visits, he cornered me, spilled his whole dramatic life story unasked.
Heard Japanese folks look like good listeners. Probably figured I wouldn't bolt mid-ramble.
And yeah, I ended up ordering booze and sticking it out. My bad.
Got slum safety tips outta it, though—not a waste.
Now it's a key intel source.
"Uncle, got a big table free?"
"Whoa, Yoyo with company? You got friends?"
"..."
"Thought you were the friendless type, so I was chatting you up outta pity. Ha ha ha!"
So that's why the monologues. Nice guy. Half for his own ego, sure.
Owner seats us.
Sensing 1-vs-4 weirdness, Marie plops right next to me.
Elliott, naturally sandwiched by Patch and Trishiera—two flowers in hand. Slaves slot in smooth as butter.
"Slabgetta fried rice bowl for me. You all?"
Elliott's crew scans around, picks from wall menu.
No table menus—gotta squint at the posted sheets.
Some places have 'em, so not a cultural gap. Low-class joint, just casual.
"So, what's up? This meet got a point?"
"Nah, the girls suggested it. Wanna temp party again?"
Not Elliott, his slaves? Surprising.
Didn't think they liked me much.
Tilting my head, Marie wipes her face with a hot towel, sighs. Old-man stank.
"Our last temp party was a nightmare... couple, guy and girl."
"Couple shouldn't eye you girls, right? Sounds chill."
"But the chick especially—mocked the master-slave setup. Us especially... y'know, we scream 'Elli's mistresses.' Called us filthy, hated our guts."
"...Filthy how?"
Marie and Elliott trade looks, chuckle.
"See? That's why you're easy. Normies think banging multiple battle slaves is degenerate sleaze."
"Degenerate? Shouldn't that hit Elliott?"
"He got some shade too, maybe. But folks hate sex slaves—blame falls on us slaves."
"Illogical chick."
"Pfft, total virgin-incel line."
Marie cracks up, pleased.
Can't deny—never been a hit with ladies.
Patch and Trishiera cover smiles politely. Good, they're perked up.
"Right, temp party main topic? Hell yeah. Got gear now—won't believe it."
"For real?"
"Eh, traveler clothes for armor, cheap sword for weapon."
"Sword? Weren't you on spear?"
"Switched. Spears pricey, bad with shield. Friend advised—went sword."
"Oh yeah! Me and Marie too."
Right, both sword users.
Train with Elliott, maybe snag his Flower Warrior job.
...Want it? Marie teaches good too.
"Overnight this time. Got camping experience?"
"Expedition? Solo camped once... no proper setup."
"Seriously?"
"Right after dead broke... no inn cash, huddled in gate shadows, scared of monsters."
"You survived that? Impressive."
Time for real camping. I'll haul stuff—teach me, I'll owe ya.
"Ha ha ha, deal. You two?"
"...Fine by me. Yoyo's dumb but doesn't look down on us."
Patch approves.
"Cool. But no funny business with me—go to Marie-nee if ya must."
"As if."
Trishiera OKs. Overnight goblin tour locked.
Shit, hear 'em rustling at night? Sleep much?
"Got tent?"
"Nah, buying soon."
"Take our spare. Just bring sleeping bag."
"Thanks. ...Keep night noises down?"
"Ha ha ha, we'll try... "
"No weird stuff! Just sleeping!"
Trishiera bolts up. Sex Warlock but pure as fresh snow.
Ate while Elliott spilled on his away time.
Slabgetta fried bowl? Think chicken katsu don. Juicier, juicier meat juice than Earth's.
Not like I ate fancy—chain katsu don only. Can't brag.
4 coppers? Bargain.
Next day, camping gear haul—sleeping bag, fire starters—to merc guild.
No Elliott yet.
Fiddling status maybe.
Skills: Status View II, Status Manipulation, Job Add I, Status Display Limit, Magic Shot Slight Boost
Oh, swap jobs before Elliott shows.
Skills: Status View II, Status Manipulation, Job Add I, Status Display Limit, Slash Slight Boost
Swordsman came quick.
Pray better aptitude than Spearman.
Attack and Agility up—swordsman vibes. Skill: Slash Slight Boost. Boosts slash damage, duh.
Staring status in guild corner, sudden shoulder tap.
"Hey, let's do this. What're you staring at? Blank wall?"
Elliott eyes the empty floor my status floated over.
Status screens invisible to others—figured, confirmed weirdly.
"Nothing. You set?"
"All good. Marie's itching to roll. I'm beat, though."
Shrugs hand off shoulder. Not tired, but gesture makes him look cool. Weird.
"No rest since back? Take a day off?"
"Yeah. We'll chat en route. Before Marie snaps."
Herded out, link with Marie crew at guild front, north gate depart.
Elliott's no-rest expeditions? Goblin bonus time, short version.
Goblins breed fast, lately swarms bigger—spotlight.
But blood slimes hogging warrior squads, guards helping out.
Slagee short on solo mercs, tough times.
Other regions cut goblin magic stone flow, prices up—goblins profitable.
Warrior squads stretched, civvie bounties boosted.
Lotsa prey, big bucks. Local mercs hit bonus wave.
News to me—riding it blind.
Elliott's sniffed it early, overnight runs, good cash—but party vibes toxic, bailed.
Back in town, planning solo—Marie remembered me. Gotcha.
Peak season, no rest. Women gripping purse strings, wild drive—Elliott slaving, no chill kitty time. Amen.
They got a homebody slave, head slave running house.
Elliott henpecked by slaves, hard.
Chatting that, lopping goblin heads.
"Yoyo, sword newbie right? Looking sharp!"
"Thanks."
Marie, impressed frontline me holding vs goblins.
"Had a... mentor-ish guy. Sword fits me."
"Nice. Shield work improved too... hmm."
Mentor: morning chat sword-maniac hubby.
Image his moves—Marie says it works. Good good.
"Still Survivor?"
"Nah, Elliott—went Swordsman now."
"Swordsman!? Nice!"
"...Job change? Low level then?"
Marie frowns.
"Yeah, like 2."
"2? But..."
"Weird?"
"Moves too good... body lines don't match expected..."
"Expected?"
"I read bodies, guess moves. Off... not bad, just..."
"Sword sense?"
More puzzled than praise. Huh.
"Maybe. Whatever."
Care, but eh. Dull sword—thrusts pierce, smash for kill power. Goblins short, side-swipe hits head easy. Vs people? Different story.
"Goblin Woods ahead—early camp setup."
Goblin Woods spawn zone has camp spots.
Graded ground, fire pits, latrines—popular.
Vet goblins prowl, skip raids. Makeshift safe zone.
Borrow Elliott spare tent, pitch offset.
Want farther, but emergencies...
Tolerate moans.
"Night watch: Yoyo & me first, then girls. Dusk to midnight, guys."
Marie bossing full.
Slave harem like that? More girls, guy status drops.
But nod quiet.
Dusk-midnight? Sleep till dawn after? Lighter than thought.
Dinner: packed lunches scarfed. Mine rice balls & meat skewers classic.
"Wake me midnight. Watch night goblins close, Yoyo."
Marie dives tent, I blanket by fire, scan.
Camping real. School trip vibes, fun.
Earth trips sucked... seal bad memories.
"Night goblins—what? Never fought."
"Black skin usually. Varied types, but nocturnal—think night goblin."
Goblins mutate quick.
Not Darwin—game "evolve" post-birth.
Earth term: metamorphosis.
Not flasher pervs—caterpillar to butterfly science shit. Kinda forgot.
Goblins shift normal to variants by experience/talent.
Monster job system maybe.
Night goblins: night-active types go black camo, nocturnal, raid sleepers.
Weapons mixed, some magic. "Night Goblin Mage" or whatever.
Not dark magic—mostly fire, glows at night.
Spotlight target, poor bastards.
"Black hides 'em tough. Stealth low—ear for rustles. Grass? Alert. Archers scary—shield ready. Ditch blanket, grip it."
Follow Elliott: drop blanket, left shield.
Bit off fire? Hide spot.
"Overalert tires, but duo—focus up."
Elliott sword/shield handy, guards tent door.
Cool moves. Action handsome, not just vibe—mind rename.
Silence aids focus but sleepies—mutter chat.
"You party hop—why not more slaves?"
"Viable, but closes off intel, peer networking. No prime battle babes anyway—status quo fine."
"Huh... you think deep..."
"Ha ha ha, get slaves & run party, you'll ponder too."
"...Hit you up then, senpai."
"Yeah. But answers self-found mostly. Good luck."
"Yup. No merc band for me."
"Could join, slaves homebody."
"...True. But ideal's your setup."
"Oh? Why?"
"Org man? Fatal no. Hate harmony, drag-down quits instant."
"...You antisocial too."
"Yup. Misfit."
"Misfit—fun term. Me too, huh..."
Elliott floats orgs fine. Where'd he slip?
"Why slave harem?"
"Dunno, whim. Booted from home with cash. Young, horny—chat with work buddy: why fund pros? Buy personal sex slave quicker. Light talk now, but clicked then. First buy started it."
"Hooked on slave perks?"
"Nah, 1-2 suffices. But whims to market, pity-sale kid—bam, numbers grow. They prop me, live together now. Still peek markets—hobby?"
"No buys?"
"Yeah. None beat hers. Confirm, satisfied—hobby maybe."
"Weird hobby."
"Totally. But fun slave life. Hard to picture norm wife now? Hers more precious, never sold."
"Huh."
"Started as: tire, sell, norm marry. No slave attachment, pure lust dump. Now? They eased lonely, overcame shit together... non-sex support. Yeah."
"Slaves vary."
"Yup. No absolutes people-wise. Couples, families—unique bonds. 'Must be this' fantasy hurts. Slave = unhappy? Nah. We're master-slave, but happier than any couple/family. That's the plan."
"Nice story."
"Think? Normies call me abuser faking virtue, or loser no real fam."
"...Maybe me self-misfit, can't dismiss."
"Yeah, suits you... somehow."
Elliott chuckles? Fire shadows dance. He's pondered deep. Life, huh.
"Slaves gave purpose—what want, build. Found core. Lucky, no matter talk."
"Huh..."
Kid essay: "Your dream?"
Wrote honest: "Laze home, no scold."
Redo hell: "Fine salaryman" till teacher OK'd.
Still sour face: "Salaryman...?"
No sports dreams, pols too hard. Slave harem? Disaster.
Staring fire, recall joyless school campfire.