Fried Chicken vs. Giant Killer Slug

The giant killer slug let out a hideous screech. "Kyaaaooong──!"

Was I supposed to be shocked that a slug was making a noise like that? The effects of Clear Mind seemed to hold firm against mental attacks too. Was it dulling my cognitive abilities or reflexes? This was my first encounter with a monster in this world.

Even plastered to the ground, the slug was about the size of a wagon. If it reared up, it had to be at least four meters tall. Every time it moved, slime oozed from its body, turning the ground into a filthy mess. Its antennae were topped with eyeballs swiveling around wildly. It looked exactly like a slug from my old world—just disgustingly oversized, which was the only thing stirring any revulsion in me. Was that why the fear felt muted? Or was it thanks to my skills?

Out of my seventeen skills, which one could help right now? The one I'd just picked up, Curse of Longevity, was the ultimate life-extender. Who knew how many decades it'd take to defeat the Maou? At least I wouldn't age. If it slowed aging by a factor of a hundred, that meant a seventy-year lifespan stretched to seven thousand years, right? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But slowing aging didn't mean immortality. I could still get eaten by this slug and end up as "Ah, the hero has perished" in some tragic epilogue.

What should I do?

I was shockingly calm. I grabbed a knife from my attache case, clutching it tight as my legs started moving on their own. I couldn't outrun it, and I'd tumbled off the wagon during the ambush. The merchant who'd fallen with me was its target—and my legs were carrying me straight toward the crawling beast.

In novels, protagonists might freeze in terror at a monster or hesitate to kill. But this thing just looked like a slug, so maybe that was numbing the fear? I had no idea how dangerous Po'runga's initial shout of "Giant Killer Slug" really was. Yeah, the unknown—blended with what little I knew—was probably shoving me forward.

"Stop!"

The words burst out before I knew it. The stammering guy from my chat with the receptionist was gone. Legs first again in a life-or-death pinch. Didn't this get me killed in my past life? my survival instincts screamed. Think, think! The world never flows kindly!}

I had seventeen skills. Exclude the useless ones and focus. Time Rewind needed touch, but getting squished by that bulk would flatten me. Too risky without knowing how it worked. Seducing the slug? No communication, and slugs are hermaphrodites anyway. Fireball might need oil for real flames—it was barely a spark. Forest race or Plant Conversation? Useless here. I had no clue what Levifoot meant—some race I hadn't looked up. "Shared racial value"? What did that even entail? Turning into a two-meter hamster? How?

The distance had shrunk to about a meter. My mind raced while my body sprinted wildly. I hurled the knife at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the slug. In my imagination, it sank in deep. In reality, it just bounced off with a pathetic ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thunk.

My hand reached instinctively for the fallen knife—and it flew right into my grip, ignoring all sense of distance. Amazing...! This is a skill! But the user himself had no clue how to throw a knife!

The slug screeched again, rearing up threateningly to reveal a round maw lined with something white inside. Teeth? Too small to tell, but it slammed down toward my head. I shoved the merchant aside and slid across the dirt. My landing was a mess—my glasses shattered and flew off. My vision flushed red; forehead gashed, blood pouring.

"Wait─" Disaster strikes.

"Hiiing!!"

The slug's roar must've been short-lived. The wagon horse reared, neighing madly. I barely rolled away before the giant killer slug crushed it flat—like squashing a tomato. The beast pressed its maw to the ground like a suction cup, pulsing as it slurped up the blood.

Should I be grateful the horse nearly saved me? Or that it became the slug's meal instead? Even in this mess, I felt no fear—just an eerie calm that was starting to unsettle me. Knife and case lost somewhere, hands empty. In desperation, I chucked some fried chicken.

"Kieek!"

The spot it hit writhed in agony. The slime must've been sticky—the chicken adhered perfectly, sending the beast into convulsions as it twisted to shake it off.

"No way... It's that big, and a little salt hurts it...?"

I'd half-thought it, but never expected it to work! As it roared at me, mouth agape, I shoveled in a handful more. Some went down the hatch; the rest clung around its lips, torturing it like medieval punishment.

"Duck, over there!"

An adventurer with a staff warned and unleashed a barrage of fire magic. Flames engulfed the slug; it thrashed, then slowly contracted. Soon, it curled into a ball, motionless.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Did you throw salt or something?"

"Th-thank you for saving me. Are you alright?"

Dazed and slumped, I was suddenly swarmed by adventurers checking me over. No time to recover—someone wiped the blood from my forehead, another applied medicine and bandaged it. The merchant bowed repeatedly in gratitude; I waved him off.

"Sorry, my screw-up. Never expected a giant killer slug... They're usually in caves. Must be one chased from its turf."

Po'runga apologized while helping me onto the wagon, icing my wound. She'd never foreseen such a foe. Apparently, the slug's roar of slowdown dulled prey before it gnawed them to death. Weak to fire and salt—but salt was too wasteful. C-grade mid-sized monster, tricky without earplugs. Its slime was gluey; step in it wrong, and you're stuck. High physical resistance too—even for a C-grade like her, better to run than fight.

"Weird though... It can't survive without water. Popping out of the forest like that..."

"That unusual?"

"Yeah, like a vampire forcing a robe in broad daylight."

Ah, vampires exist here too. I got the picture from the description. That abnormal? Meant environmental shifts—or something else claiming the slug's territory.

"And hey, you got lucky... But not my place to say, adventurers gotta prioritize their own necks. Charging in with no odds just piles up bodies."

"S-sorry..."

"Still, better than freezing up! You're a good human. The gods'd bless someone like you."

She pulled earplugs from her bag for future threats. ...Wait, where were her ears? Curious, I watched as she parted her hair to reveal tiny holes.

.....That was kinda creepy. Reptile ears worked that way, sure, but still...

"We'll rest here a bit."

About two more hours passed before the caravan leader announced a break. Parties circled the wagons defensively, settling in.

"We're on escort, so no slacking on watch—even resting. You rest up, human."

"Y-yeah."

I kicked off my shoes, massaging my swollen feet. Blisters from overdoing it—sigh. Stretching, I gazed at the blue sky and vast plains when Po'runga sidled up, whispering cautiously.

"Um... that salt you threw? Sorry if it cost ya."

"Uh..."

"Oh, skill-related? Best not spill. Adventurers gotta keep secrets—even from mentors. Union checks strict, but prep for betrayal anytime."

"It was fried chicken."

Her eyes widened—should I tell? We'd be together a month; no way I could hide it. Promising it was just for her, I summoned some in my palm. I'd figured out I could spawn handful-sized batches.

My first weapon: fried chicken? Isekai Musou with chicken? God, no...

She gawked as it appeared, snatched a piece, squeezed it, sniffed. Crispy batter, warm heat, heavenly aroma—freshly fried perfection. Ultimate scam skill.

.....Won't help against the Maou!

I summoned wet wipes for her greasy gloves. She alternated stares between chicken hand and wipe hand, sniffing the wipe in shock.

"...Not water? Ethanol? Grainy scent—edible ethanol?"

This world had ethanol. And she could ID that by smell? Not even canine...? Reptilian, right?

Ultimate scam skill: summon moist ethanol wipes for cleaning and sanitizing anytime.

.....Won't help against the Maou!

"...Why are the wipes booze-grade ethanol...?"

"Constellations' secret?"

She hesitated, then nibbled the chicken. "First time eating chicken?" I tilted my head—what?

"We sell eggs sometimes, but live chickens are rare. Monster chickens are a hassle. Can't eat Aran-kind anyway."

She flapped her arms—Arans were winged folk. Chickens raised for eggs; old hens hit the table sparingly. Frying? Oil's the killer. Edible, sure, but luxury. Even roast ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was pricey.

"How much for this?"

"Best I've ever tasted..."

She frowned gloomily. So jealous—unlimited daily feasts? Dream skill. Never heard of food-summoning ones. Envied humans, even sighing dramatically.

She kept muttering too loudly, so I stuffed chicken in her mouth.

"Never sold stuff..."

Sell chicken for cash? No combat skills—might as well lean into what I had. But kidnapping risk or lab-rat fate loomed; better consult the receptionist or Po'runga.

.....Another constellation ticket, right on schedule. Generous with tickets—and randomly busted skills. "Unnoticed changes"... Was that slug part of it? The goddess reincarnating me probably meant big trouble brewing. But flunking entrance and escorting caravans? Shaky start—is this really okay? World ends, I save it with chicken legend?

No point brooding; still adapting, know next to nothing. Live faithfully day by day—I ripped the ticket, steeling myself.

A real attack skill at last?! Thrilled, I yanked open my skill window.

"....."

......

.......

It gave a real attack skill. Top-tier stuff—you could count faster upward. But the Maou uses this...?! Truly random—and you're just handing these out?! One look crushes hope! Ah! Maou's too scary..!