1-5 Day Of Departure

I was seriously going to get killed.

Even as I thought that, I couldn’t truly accept that reality—mind or body.

Something so impossible I couldn’t even adapt to it: an attack in another world that shouldn’t exist for a middle-aged guy who’d simply come camping in twenty-first-century Japan.

I couldn’t move.

No—my body wouldn’t move.

My mind was desperately screaming for me to move, but the body that mattered didn’t so much as twitch.

I’d felt that before in the financial markets.

But this was worse—far worse—because this one was actually life-or-death.

All I could do was watch it coming.

Not “see” in the easy biological sense that involves moving your eyeballs.

It was more like some cold video feed being streamed, and a third party watched it without emotion—witnessing rather than seeing.

Ah… the classic snake-and-frog story.

So this was what it meant for a living thing to meet an overwhelming predator and get eaten.

Maybe pointless resistance gets shut down by instinct.

A deep enough experience that it could’ve spawned a resistance skill to binding, petrification, paralysis—something like that.

I couldn’t even crap myself or wet myself.

Even that—those instinctive emergency behaviors that should kick in and lighten the body to make survival easier—had abandoned me at the edge of death.

It felt like I’d been possessed by some vengeful spirit or malevolent specter.

Damn it—at this rate it wasn’t just an “attack.” I was about to reach the final curtain of my life.

Move. Move already!

And, unfortunately, it wasn’t me who started moving—it was it.

It crept forward little by little, inching toward its prey.

Maybe it was being careful not to startle me and let me escape.

As it stepped on dirt and small stones, a sound came—creeping, pushing through the silence that belonged to the dark.

Each sound was the footfall of death.

Somehow, it even looked like it was smiling.

Maybe it was intoxicated by the pleasure of crushing and chewing juicy prey.

Drool slipped from the corner of its mouth.

Its eyes were a burning, locked-on red.

If I ran and showed it my back, it would probably explode into a leap and strike instantly so I couldn’t escape.

Those many legs weren’t for show—they existed for high-speed pursuit and for exactly this kind of moment that demanded sudden, violent acceleration.

I understood that fact without reasoning—just through my special ability.

Without thinking, I prayed.

I don’t want to die.

Even though I’d spent so long wishing, “I can’t stand living in this body anymore—just kill me already,” the moment I faced an unjust death, I clung pathetically to life.

Even in a situation like this, I learned again: humans are like that.

And then, for some reason, the Item Box activated automatically.

It was the instant the creature contracted every muscle in preparation to leap for its prey.

The grotesque thing suddenly shrieked—its whole body pierced by dozens of large blades that attacked from above.

There’d been no sign anything was going to fall, so it hadn’t been guarding against an ambush from that direction at all.

Its mind must have shattered from the surprise.

Its roar—like a demon’s scream, overflowing with curse and pain—made my whole body shudder.

But I didn’t have the luxury of reacting to that.

Thanks to it, my body snapped awake as if the binding had been broken, and I could finally spring up.

What kind of alarm clock hits this hard?!

“I can kill it with my power. I can hurt it and make it scream.”

I understood it instantly—not through logic, but through the scene in front of me and the cry it had made—and strength surged into my soul.

A thick, massive steel plate—once the exterior paneling of a rugged off-road vehicle—I now summoned more of it into the air from the Item Box by my own will, and dropped it like a guillotine onto the still-writhing demon.

With a dull bash, it lost its head and sank heavily into the forest ruled by darkness.

Then, with the sound of the steel plate biting shallowly into the ground, only a weighty silence echoed through the night.

The only light left was scattered charcoal embers, still burning in small patches—like the last afterglow of the attack.

All the strength drained out of me, and I collapsed back down on my rear, limp.

Then—

A sudden rustle, like a cheap shot knock against my ears.

I jerked up again in a ridiculous panic.

Still on all fours, I frantically looked around, but there was nothing.

And then, floating in the dark, I saw two small red eyes staring at me.

After what had just happened, it put me on edge—but even with the darkness magnifying shapes, it didn’t look like a terrifying monster.

It seemed like a small animal.

Or maybe a small monster.

Maybe it was a kind of forest “cleaner”—the sort of thing that normally survived by scavenging leftovers from kills made by something like that bigger monster.

Right—the Radar!

I hastily opened it.

No red dots nearby.

So the small thing probably wasn’t a hostile threat.

On the MAP, the monster I’d just killed had neatly turned gray.

Cautiously, I tried storing it in the Item Box.

It didn’t get rejected by the magical resistance of a living being—so it went in cleanly.

My shoulders slackened like my whole body had loosened.

Still trembling a little, I finally breathed again.

Yeah.

It was dead.

With its head cut off, it should’ve been dead—but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to approach and poke it to confirm.

That had been bad.

I’d been far too defenseless in a place like this.

I thanked “the one inside me” who’d killed the enemy in my place.

After seeing how heavily armed the people in town were on the MAP, what a disgraceful state I’d been in.

If I stayed in a defenseless camp and waited for some “rebound” that might never come, I’d just die.

There wasn’t even a road to escape from here.

Maybe this had been the monster Gryon’s nest.

I had noticed the strange terrain.

Or maybe it was a trap designed to catch prey.

That thought made me shiver again.

Looking back, it had been an absurdly reckless “camp.”

If I stayed here, I could get attacked again.

If that thing was a pack creature, what then?

It was possible more would return in force.

Even if I fled after being attacked, there was no way I could outrun them on foot.

That monster had moved easily through the deep forest, silent, and had attacked from behind.

The small creature just now seemed harmless—but if something small came in a swarm, I’d have no escape.

There were ancient dinosaurs like that—tiny pack predators.

And if I got raided by a horde of goblins, I’d hate it beyond words.

They’d probably be dangerous like a troop of monkeys.

If they chased me through the trees—grabbing branches and leaping after me—I’d cry.

And being humanoid, they’d likely carry weapons.

I had zero confidence I could beat a monkey in a grapple.

Even monkeys the size of a house cat or human child far exceeded adult men in raw biological combat power.

Give them weapons and it’s game over.

I once saw wild monkeys near the company I used to work for—walking on two legs and swinging sticks around.

A lot of time had passed.

The “rebound” I’d been clinging to as my only hope was probably not happening anymore.

Now I understood why the people in town were armed.

This was a world where monsters roamed.

People lived in towns.

And thinking that there might be reasons besides monster defense to be armed… that was depressing too.

Because that would be for a reason familiar even on Earth.

For now, I set the Radar and alarm, and decided to sleep in the bungalow—heavily reinforced—wearing something I could move in instantly if anything happened.

I also used storage to clean up the scattered fire properly.

That night, there was no further attack.

I spent the night unable to relax, but at some point the tension snapped and I must have fallen asleep.

Morning sunlight stabbing into the bungalow created a dazzling world.

I let out a long breath.

Spending a night facing monsters that lived only in your mind—inside the dark—was mentally brutal.

Then I ate breakfast in this reinforced safe zone.

I’d also reinforced the car, clothes, and boots.

I even stored the bungalow once and copied it.

Now I could abandon this bungalow and run without regret.

For some reason, this bungalow had electricity.

How did that work?

Was it being generated by my MP?

It seemed MP could circulate as matter or energy.

My MP had exploded to ridiculous levels and recovered over time, and some items were set to auto-copy constantly and consume MP, so I still didn’t really understand the mechanism.

The copied bungalow also had electricity.

Anyway—breakfast.

Inside the safe bungalow, I started cooking, and out of habit I began with vegetable juice.

People said the sugar was bad or there wasn’t much nutrition, but for me it was mainly about getting fiber.

I didn’t drink a whole small carton—just some.

Then I used a tabletop gas stove to fry ham and eggs.

The eggs were the slightly expensive red ones.

Worth it—they tasted better.

I was also glad I’d brought pre-sliced ordinary ham in a pack.

Leftovers, but still useful.

While the ham-and-eggs cooked, I opened a pack salad and poured on my usual French dressing.

I added mini tomatoes, which I ate regularly.

Then I poured 100% orange juice into a paper cup and took out a familiar brand of yogurt.

I also lined up sweet-potato flavored stick bread I’d bought on sale.

It ended up looking like the same breakfast scene I ate at home.

It wasn’t really “cooking,” but I copied the whole set anyway.

My standard comfort breakfast.

That “relieving taste.”

In disasters, that kind of comfort mattered.

And honestly, this was worse than a disaster.

Even without injuries, massive disasters could still damage your mind.

Emergency rations you weren’t used to could be rejected by your stomach—or your heart.

Next time I’d also make a rice-and-miso-soup version.

I had nori, furikake, and pickles too.

For a Japanese person stranded abroad in a special situation like this, it would have real meaning—mentally and physically.

I’d even brought umeboshi, Japan’s super soul food.

As I ate, I kept thinking.

The campground.

The rental items I’d never returned.

The bungalow I’d dragged over with its foundation.

And my apartment—management fees, neighborhood association fees…

The building was approaching the time for major repairs, wasn’t it?

Some steps required residents to be present—what would I do about that?

There was no guarantee I’d ever return to Japan, but if I said that out loud, I’d lose my emotional support: I will definitely get back.

There were bank auto-debits too.

What if the credit card used for them expired?

If I couldn’t receive the replacement card delivered by registered mail, renewal wouldn’t complete.

I’d just renewed a five-year card so it wasn’t imminent, but still.

What was happening at the campground now?

Phones didn’t work, and my status-PC didn’t have IP phone functions I’d never used.

If it came down to it, I’d manage with email.

I stopped thinking about Japan’s loose ends.

Thinking didn’t change anything right now.

Today made day three.

There was no point expecting “rebound return” anymore.

This was full-on spirited-away territory.

I needed to cut my losses and leave this dangerous place.

For now, I’d head toward the nearest town shown on the map.

While preparing, I simulated what to do next.

I’d decided to wait three full days for a rebound, but after yesterday’s near-death event, there was no choice but to depart.

I was grateful that my PC had a map.

Prioritizing safety, I decided to find a road a car could use on foot, cross-checking MAP and real terrain.

I wore jeans, a T-shirt, a sweatshirt, a bomber jacket, a knit cap, and leather boots.

The boots were unfamiliar and the terrain was rough, but I chose them in case of venomous snakes.

My hands were just in work gloves.

With my younger body, I didn’t need glasses anymore.

Everything had multiple layers of reinforcement.

I also kept Physical Enhancement active.

In my hand was a sturdy branch as a cane.

If I hit dense brush, I’d switch to the machete.

And I kept weapons ready to deploy at any time.

If I was dealing with B-movie-style monsters, maybe big blades were better than some weak pea-shooter gun.

That kind of thing happened a lot in vampire fiction.

Though in this world it felt more like things would bite your head off.

I pushed through the mountain woods, clearing brush with the machete, watching the Radar.

With this, something like yesterday probably wouldn’t happen again.

After about two hours, relying on the MAP, the “path” suddenly opened up.

Not exactly roadless—more like an animal trail than a human-made road.

It was narrow, so even my wide car would struggle.

But the fact it had some width at all was unsettling.

What kind of thing had trampled this down?

If it was bears or boars, that would almost be “better.”

They weren’t a completely overwhelming predator—if you handled it right, you might even be the one eating.

In the area near my father’s old home, boar was basically hot-pot meat.

Or maybe this was a Gryon trail.

That was entirely possible.

This place had been its territory.

There might still be others lurking nearby.

What if a “shadowing Gryon” followed me, padding silently behind me?

The bungalow I’d been using was a copy, so I decided to leave it behind like a villa.

It could serve as a landmark—my marker for where I’d appeared.

A precious marker for returning to my original world.

Maybe someday, a door back to Japan would open again at this starting point.

If I couldn’t enter town, I might have to return here.

So I’d keep it as a base.

If the town didn’t work out, this might be a good hidden stronghold that other people wouldn’t come to.

Even if monsters appeared.

If I couldn’t enter town, it might be better to be alone.

Anyone choosing to live outside town in a world like this… would probably be more dangerous than monsters.

Fortunately, as a former hermit, my tolerance for solitude was high.

Worst case, I’d end my life in these mountains.

That was still a harsh choice, even for me.

But life came first.

I kept Physical Enhancement running and pushed forward hard.

Aim for an HP level-up!

If I leveled up, survival odds should increase.

When the ground was decent, I eventually found myself half-running.

A distance that would’ve taken twelve hours on foot—I made it in about eight, reaching a broader road before it got dark.

The road wasn’t great, but my wide car could probably manage it, barely.

I brought out the car and decided to make it a car-camping night.

My vehicle was huge outside, but surprisingly cramped inside.

Well, it prioritized off-road ability—couldn’t be helped.

After thinking it through, I decided to fold the rear seats, widen the cargo space, and sleep curled up in the back.

If I slept upright on the seats, I’d probably just get more tired.

Deep vein thrombosis scared me too.

If I’d chosen a type with a wider cargo bed and seats, it might’ve been easier.

No—this was exactly the car for this world.

This brute, off-road-first monster was dependable.

A T-company vehicle wouldn’t break easily.

Even if I had some American military-style off-roader, I could fix it with Regeneration or swap to a copy.

But I didn’t want to be in a situation where I had to do that while “something” was chasing me.

In those moments, you’d have to get out of the car.

And if you were surrounded by Gryon-types, you’d die.

If it was huge, you’d get crushed.

If it was fast, you couldn’t escape with a zero-start after contact.

A vehicle designed with the philosophy “If it breaks, fix it” wasn’t a vehicle you could survive with here.

Refueling was also possible directly from the inventory.

That was a blessing.

I’d originally wanted the civilian version of a Self-Defense Force vehicle, but when I contacted the nearby manufacturer at T-company, they had no planned production run, so I couldn’t get one.

Since it was basically discontinued, they wouldn’t build it unless there was a bulk order from the Maritime or Air Self-Defense Force.

It was an old model, and the used ones available were in terrible condition.

A shame.

That car would’ve been perfect for this world.

The cargo space was big—you could remove seats and sleep normally.

Now that I had Regeneration, I wouldn’t even care if it was old.

But in Japan, even with 800 million yen, I’d hesitate.

Fifteen- or sixteen-year-old vehicles were priced nearly like new.

There were just too few units on the market.

Even a T-company affiliate running an off-road course had bought a second-generation one used, despite it being their own product.

And the width was almost like a large bus—hard to drive.

My current car could barely fit into my usual parking garage.

That civilian SDF vehicle would’ve been about thirty centimeters wider than even my already-wide car, with poor rear visibility.

Honestly, it was small-bus sized.

It even carried a massive spare tire so huge you’d need a crane on the back door to move it.

It came with a simple tire-change crane built in.

So the rear view was bad.

Normal people couldn’t reasonably daily-drive it.

Only hardcore 4WD maniacs and military-gear maniacs would.

I wasn’t that far gone, so I passed.

After driving a bit, I found a spot: a slightly wider area with a step-up and a gentle slope.

Most cars would hesitate, but my car’s ground clearance made it trivial.

I’d stay the night here.

There was no way I felt like camping outside, so I ate in the car.

Because I’d parked tilted left-right on purpose, sitting inside made me naturally lean toward the door—but I didn’t care.

I’d prepared enough.

Retort pouches and pack rice were already warmed and stored as “master copies” in a dedicated file, and hot water for cup noodles was ready too.

I’d also grilled sausages and ham, and made fried chicken.

Dinner was fried chicken and beer, plus a convenience-store inari-and-roll sushi set.

After that, I had nothing left in me, so I slept.

I didn’t even want to play games.

I kept the engine running for the air conditioner.

This engine wouldn’t care about that.

If it somehow wore out, I’d just swap the car for the next copy.

No one here complained about Earth’s environment, so I didn’t worry about CO₂.

Besides, this probably wasn’t even Earth.

There weren’t any other cars spewing exhaust around here anyway.

I folded the rear seats to make a sleeping space.

With the heater running, I laid out a futon in the cargo area, put down an aluminum mat, then a sleeping bag and blankets, and finally covered myself with a comforter.

I had to curl up a bit to fit.

But it was still better than sleeping in the seats.

There was no way I’d bring out a bungalow in a place this exposed.

With the engine running, I could flee instantly if something happened.

All I could do was pray I wouldn’t get shaken awake in the middle of the night and end up playing tag in pitch-black off-road terrain with something like a tyrannosaurus.