Banishment Sucks When It's Real
I couldn't for the life of me figure out how I'd ended up like this... fuck. My thoughts kept derailing. Someone was happily chomping away at my dick with her lower mouth.
"That's enough—"
"Urgh, haaah... you wanna get fucked?"
"Can't we take a quick break? Kugh?"
"No way, you fucking dog. Keep that waist straight!"
"My hips feel like they're gonna snap, fighter. Please..."
I begged humiliatingly to a girl four years younger than me, but just like always, it was pointless. In the darkness, yellow eyes curved like crescent moons.
"You still haven't grasped the situation, porter?"
She didn't stop hugging me tight and slamming her body against mine. Her breath tickled my ear, sweet and melted, dangerous to my heart. And the words that followed.
"You don't get a break until you fuck me unconscious with that dick."
...Unconscious my ass—what if I pass out first? There'd be no next round. I fought to steady my sweat-soaked, feverish mind and reflected back. How the hell had I ended up like this...?
One year ago.
"As party leader, you're fired. We got nothing left to discuss, so get lost."
My name is Tan Bantai. Twenty-four years old. Twelve years as a professional porter with A-rank guild credit. A veteran who's dashed through monster-infested wilds, delivering cargo without a single scratch.
I'm not some lightweight who'd flail in shock at a single word like "fired." That hero punk—what did he take me for, pulling that lame joke?
I let out a big laugh, clapped once, and pointed at the hero with both hands.
"Oh, I get it. Banishment trope, right? I know all about that."
"You do?"
"It's all the rage these days—everyone's joking around with it. Kinda disappointing to hear it for real, though. What if I was one of those unlucky saps from the novels? Stuck with evil teammates, dreaming of retirement? Might've made the joke funnier."
"Yeah?"
"Don't worry. I'm 100% satisfied with this party. You know I respect you tons, hero bro."
Of course it had to be a joke. Look at him—the hero who'd dropped "fired" was smirking too.
"...You get it, right?"
Food and travel supplies. Spare clothes and worn ones. Used weapons and backups. Fresh monster hunt hauls—totaling 300kg. Hauling a hydra skeleton 120km without damage takes more than ordinary strength or skill. One slip, and the venomous bones could melt each other, or the porter and backpack along with them.
I'd squeezed out every last drop of strength—like sucking on mom's tit—and dragged it all to the guild logistics center, only for them to bid me farewell. Before even splitting the expedition payout.
What kind of trash pulls a real firing at this timing?
"What makes you think it's a joke, you societal trash—porter scum?"
There it was. With lines like that, I could finally gape in real shock. A chill ran up my spine. This hero fucker was serious.
"C'mon, don't do this. My birthday's in a few days. Gotta be today?"
"Birthday? As if a nobody like you expected a surprise party. Tough luck—your surprise is 'replacement.'"
The mage bitch, always a prickly ass, sneered and snapped her fingers. What I'd thought was a rock statue stretched and stood up beside me. I swallowed hard.
"Thought it was some new rock decoration at the guild entrance."
Even the other porters gawking at our party went pale.
The diabolical invention from Mage Tower 'Three Stars,' released a year ago. Porters' nightmare. Their mortal enemy. The blasphemous contraption smashing the sacred tradition that cargo needs human sweat...
"Auto Golem..?"
"That's right, you porter trash. How's it feel to be obsolete?"
The other porters heard that. The guild logistics center's air turned hostile in an instant. The hero sneered, hand on his Sunsstorm family sword, and the porters finally averted their eyes.
A clear display of the hierarchy: combatants over porters. A porter's wealth is their body. Bravely mouthing off to a lunatic backed by a hero clan could end with a sword slash, leaving nothing but a pathetic old age.
"We won't hire porters anymore. This brand-new golem won't dirty the hydra bones with filthy sweat. Won't lay a hand on my girls either."
"You magitech piece of shit—get those dirty granite palms off my cargo! Wait, what'd you say?"
I shoved at the golem struggling to hoist the dangerously stacked hydra bones, then whipped around in horror.
"Lay a hand? On who?"
Our party's lineup was simple: two guys, two girls. Guys: me and the hero. Girls: priestess and mage. The priestess peeking shyly from behind the hero's shoulder eyed me ominously.
"Yesterday, the Moriba sisters confessed all your crimes to me. Your leering perverted stares, always trying to hold hands... and sneaking into her room, fleeing when caught. Touching a priestess? No shame?"
"He did it to me too!"
The mage shouted in feigned shock, then spilled every supposed detail of my "lust-crazed beast" deeds.
"That dog did this to me—"
Weird. None of it was true. Staring like I was undressing them with my eyes? Pouncing? I'd have to be suicidal to try that. Both knew they shared a bed with a swordmaster hero.
My vision blurred, their voices turning to tinnitus squeals.
"I'm your party member. You can't do this to me."
"You thought you were one of us? You're not. You're irregular staff. We pitied a worm with only Porter Aptitude, fed you scraps—and you repay with horniness? Worse than beastkin..."
The hero glared at me; mage and priestess glared at each other. I vaguely guessed what happened between the girls. Love triangle drama. Each wanted more of the hero's attention. With golems replacing porters, they could sacrifice one disposable guy. Bad rep for firing a porter? No need to hire another anyway...
Something solid snapped inside me. Folks call that rope "reason."
"Severance? This mission's payout?"
"Dream on, attempted rapist."
The hero drew his sword an inch—final warning before dismemberment? Fuck that. I glared and spat.
"I don't like banishment tropes much."
"What?"
"I'm not some masochist pining for the firing moment. Building up for revenge just to burn bridges? Boring as hell. World's not that convenient."
"Don't care what you like, meat golem. Scram before I slice off your balls too."
"Meat golem? Harsh words, you fucking cunt."
The hero had never heard such vulgarity from me. Hell, not even from other heroes.
"He's lost it."
"One thing I do like about banishment stories... the assholes who betray loyal service like trash..."
I kicked the intact hydra bone stack with my good leg. The precisely braced frame collapsed, venomous ribs and fangs clashing messily. Before the crash, it liquified. Horrific fumes rose.
The hero's face went ghost-white. Slap a red clown nose on, and he'd be set. Perfect for wailing on the street that his 100,000 gold was melting. No—my 100,000 gold, thanks to me.
"...Drowning in regret and despair."
Four days later, I wallowed in deeper regret and despair than that hero. Soaked in booze too.
"They say you gotta pay."
Wasn't that baseless bullying from the hero asshole? The bar owner asked just that. I slid over the court notice. He sighed in pity as he poured.
'Monster Dismantling Local Liability Clause.' Until dropped at the cargo center, hydra bones aren't party property—no liability. After drop-off, they are. Law born from porters getting screwed on damage claims mid-transit. A sort of porter protection act.
In name only—it doesn't fully shield us. Guild ruled my case as "post-drop," so liability mine.
"Normally, it'd be your responsibility once it hits the commercial district terminal, right?"
"They say since I literally set it on the center floor, it's on me."
"...No way. Even with customary law, can they bend it that far for hero convenience?"
Apparently yes. Absurd, but hero parties are hero parties for a reason. World spins around heroes here. If venting on hydra bones, better do it pre-drop—and take the sword to the gut.
100,000 gold. Sneaky hero fired me right after drop-off, of course...
"Should've just endured."
"You know I had debts already. Getting canned now..."
"Find a new gig."
"Places paying decent barely exist anymore. Everyone's on golems. Romance's dead. Cargo needs human hands."
"Want me to scout non-porter jobs?"
"My family's porters for generations! Twelve years accident-free, A-rank credit! You'd quit easy?"
"If parties won't hire porters like you say, where's the 100k coming from?"
I deflated. My slurred tongue, my pointing finger at the sympathetic owner. Shoving reality at a drunk lamenting it is foul play. Should be illegal cruelty. Like trash-talking banishment to someone hooked on it from party hate.
I lifted my head from the banishment novel on the bar, flipped a tear-and-drool-smeared page. Owner recoiled.
"Why read that crap? Like listening to breakup songs post-split? That drunk, words even registering?"
"Wish a hydra would pop out somewhere."
"Where's a rare hydra gonna pop? Need to hunt one for 100k. You gonna?"
"Nah. Want it to chew me up slow."
Owner sighed, poured his one cure into my glass. I drowned my despair in beer, then slammed my lolling head onto the book with a thunk.
Can't even deny it wasn't worth 100k—I appraised it myself. Expert appraiser, transporter, traveler. Expert at owning my fuckups. Experts, fuck.
That hero four years my junior? Just coasting on innate Hero Aptitude. What gives him the right to boot a pro who'd poured life into this gig, frame me on whims?
All heroes are the same. Call porters thugs, rootless scum—but you lot...
Thothe mage an' priest bithces... no. Mage-priestess? Detergent? Vinegar in ash water makes fine laundry soap. Leftover ash with vinegar sprinkled 'round tent repels snakes. Camping pro porter 101.
Two snake bitches, one ash fucker. Bad eggs. Bad eggs.
In sorrow worth ten 10,000-gold bars, the bluebird in my glass melted away...
"Looking good, Tan."
"Ehwhaaa?"
"My name's not Ehwhaaa—it's Tena."
I forgot snakes, vinegar, ash, gold bars. The blue reflection in my glass? Eyes I knew. Mind cleared. I bolted up, fell backward. Clutching my pounding heart, I scanned frantically.
The packed pub? Empty now. Just me and Tena. Dream? Too real—Tena tilted her head at me. Braided blue hair, vivid rippling blue eyes—unchanged. Oiled porcelain skin. Like a legendary justice goddess.
Beauty appreciation brief.
"Hey."
Drunk me didn't grasp the situation—booze gave courage over sense. Tena. Azure Tena. Hotshot these days. Gave me my first banishment pain. We were kids then. Immature, couldn't forgive easy. I'd tried brushing it off.
But enduring hero insults, bullying, unfair firing taught me: they're all the same. Treat you like swappable parts.
I bared poisoned words through twisted lips.
"You trash—"
"Came to hire you on great terms. 20,000 gold upfront. Pretty generous by industry standards."
"—thank you for finding. When do I start?"
Tena chewed her lip. Made me uneasy—that was her tell for hiding tough terms.
"...Not time—location's the issue."