1-6 To The First Town

And then the morning of the fourth day in this other world arrived.

Ugh, my whole body hurt.

Sleeping curled up in the cargo bed of my car had probably been pushing it.

It put pressure on the backs of my legs, which was bad for circulation, so next time I really should recline the seat and sleep there.

During disasters it was considered the worst way to sleep in a car, but if I stuffed something in as a cushion, it might be a little better.

Breakfast was a quasi–Japanese-style set: vegetable juice and salad, pre-cooked ham and eggs, onigiri, and miso soup.

I had to push on through the wilderness again today.

I needed to take in proper nutrition from the morning.

All right, let’s get going.

Into the wilderness of this other world.

I had at least prepared a rough backstory for entering a town.

I would be a merchant from far away.

“I lived quietly in the mountains, but monsters started appearing, so I left the remote area and began trading. I don’t remember the country where I was born. I think I was traveling with my family, but before I knew it, I was alone. Perhaps we were attacked by bandits or monsters. I lived by self-sufficiency, but eventually I was forced to abandon my home. I’d like to try doing business here, so I want to enter the town.”

I had no idea whether such a vague story would actually pass.

If this world managed household registration as strictly as Japan, I’d be done for.

Not having identification might even be a capital crime.

In Japan, just being without a fixed address could get you treated like a criminal and detained.

It would be a big problem if I were arrested as suspicious, but continuing to travel the wilderness—or rather, just wandering aimlessly—was also harsh.

Still, torture or execution was a hard no.

It was truly a dilemma.

If it came to it, I’d take out the car and run for it at full speed.

In an open area, even if the other side boasted the fastest ground speed like some cheater, I should be able to escape.

Even over rough ground, my car could easily leave something as slow as a Tyrannosaurus behind.

With that in mind, I steeled myself.

I had merchandise prepared.

I had empty glass bottles and plastic containers left over from buying seasonings in small portions.

Using my copy ability, I remade them into low-grade glass or wooden containers.

Inside my item box, I could do that kind of material substitution.

It was even possible to deliberately mix in impurities to downgrade the material quality.

Inside were relatively harmless things like sugar, salt, and pepper.

I also had towels.

They might have been a bit too high quality for this world, but they were cotton products, so I figured it was fine.

I avoided anything too colorful.

From the map’s photo function, it seemed that similar items existed in this world, but modern mass-produced industrial products from Earth were simply too alien here.

And then there was the whiskey.

I had removed all the labels and packaging.

I also prepared a special aged awamori.

The bottle shapes themselves felt dangerously advanced, so I planned to avoid taking those out as much as possible.

Once I obtained substitute containers for alcohol, I’d reconsider.

There were probably ceramic vessels here.

I also prepared cookies with the packaging removed.

If I could find suitable containers, those might work too.

Pasta might be sellable if I removed the outer packaging.

I also owned a high-end fountain pen with an ink-absorbing system, but that felt like a bad idea.

They probably used quill pens or something similar here.

Foreign-made luxury crystal glasses also seemed questionable.

Just by looking at them, it was obvious they were no ordinary goods.

I didn’t have cash, so I needed to prepare gold plates somehow.

Inside the item box, I copied a square-shaped whiskey bottle using gold that had been used in a watch as the base material.

Something called “Whiskey Bottle Copy (Gold)” came into existence.

I made about ten of those, strengthened my body, and cut them apart with a knife.

The knife was also reinforced, and with my own strength enhanced as well, cutting a soft material like pure gold posed no difficulty.

And just like that, an object properly displayed as “Gold Plate” was completed.

As a trump card, I also had stainless steel—non-rusting steel—but that was definitely dangerous, so I didn’t want to bring it out.

In this world, it would probably be as outrageous as a rustproof pure iron out-of-place artifact from Earth.

Just in case, I prepared stainless steel anyway.

As for clothing, I went with a low-key, inconspicuous style: jeans, leather boots, a sweatshirt, a turtleneck sweater, a bomber jacket, and a cheap black knit cap.

Sticking to black and navy tones should be safe.

The slightly large daypack was also black, with zippers concealed from view.

It was actually a magic bag as well, but in case it was confiscated, I deliberately used a detuned version with limited capacity.

To avoid mistakes when taking things out, I separated and packed only carefully selected trade goods into it.

Since I’d be driving for now, I decided to wear lighter clothing.

My body had regenerated, so I no longer even needed glasses, which was comfortable.

I rattled along a narrow mountain path that barely qualified as a road.

Since I didn’t know what might happen, I kept it around thirty kilometers per hour.

As I drove, the auto-map function created a detailed map on my magic PC.

The initial map showed towns and highways, but mountain paths weren’t included, and there were no landmarks.

As the detailed forest map was recorded, I could use it to return to the place where I had first appeared, if I wanted.

That location was, for now, my only clue to returning to my original world.

After about an hour, I finally emerged from the mountain path.

According to the map, this place was about fifty-four kilometers from my original position.

Oh—looks like I’d come out onto something resembling a highway.

There was no stone paving, but it was unmistakably something that could be called a main road.

There were probably places ahead with deep ruts.

With this car, I wouldn’t get stuck in ruts, and even if I did, I could just store it in the item box and redeploy it elsewhere, so it wasn’t really a problem.

Since it was a copy anyway, even if it broke, I could just switch to another vehicle.

If it really came down to it, I could even walk until reaching a place where driving was possible.

According to the map, the town was still about fifty kilometers away.

The clock showed 8:00 a.m., so there was plenty of time.

I even had the leisure to enjoy driving along this slightly rough road, which suited the newly purchased car.

Maybe it was because I’d defeated that monster alone yesterday.

I started to feel like I might be able to get by in this world after all.

And being inside the car, combined with faster travel, gave me far more peace of mind than walking.

I had also reinforced the vehicle with skills.

I even prepared spare reinforced vehicles for swapping.

The view from the window was overwhelmingly green.

There were no signs at all—just a road flattened out of bare ground.

If it rained, this road would probably become a disaster.

I’d once seen footage on TV of American full-size four-wheel-drive vehicles getting hopelessly stuck on what looked like a sea of mud on Russian roads that were barely roads at all.

If that happened, this car’s ground clearance wouldn’t stand a chance.

It was a vehicle originally made for rough terrain long ago, remade in a retro style, so compared to ordinary cars it was definitely designed for bad ground—but even so, this other world’s wilderness was another matter.

Because of the season, some trees had autumn leaves, but they weren’t beautiful like Japan’s.

They were rough and coarse, like those in America.

When I was younger, I once did a cross-country road trip across America.

It was around this same time of year in autumn, and for nearly seven hundred kilometers the autumn colors continued, but the hues were bland and not beautiful at all.

Autumn leaves really are best in Japan.

Moving slowly along the gently sloping unpaved road, I reached the destination town before ten o’clock.

Seeing it in person, it felt quite imposing.

I got out of the car and stored it away.

The thick iron-bar gate itself, with its heavy, rugged construction, gave me the illusion that it was rejecting my entry.

I hesitated, but after writing the character for “person” on my palm three times and swallowing, I approached the gate, mustered my courage, and spoke to the guard.

“Hello. I am a merchant who has come from far away. I would like to do business here, so I want to enter the town. I don’t have identification, though.”

They understood my words, but it seemed they weren’t convinced by my explanation.

“What did you say? Aren’t you a bandit’s accomplice? Or perhaps an agent of some foreign country? If you falsify your origin or status and enter the town, it’s a capital offense.”

Ah, no matter the country, people in this line of work make a living by being suspicious.

“Do you have money? To enter the town, one silver coin is collected.”

“Oh—sorry. I don’t have any…”

I showed my goods as well, but they looked at me with suspicion.

That was understandable.

I was a merchant without cash, and when they told me to write my name—well, I couldn’t write the local script.

I couldn’t even read it.

“So you’re a merchant who can’t read or write?”

They said, doubting me again.

That meant I couldn’t read or write contracts either.

I was completely unqualified as a merchant.

It also seemed identification was strictly managed.

“Because of the head tax, registers are maintained. Even villages manage this strictly, submitting written reports every year from the village head to the responsible official, and they are kept under the jurisdiction of the local lord. There’s no way someone like you would just conveniently exist.”

Ugh, my thinking had been too naive.

I was crushed.

Apparently, if I could have named my place of origin, it might have gone better—but I didn’t even have that.

Using a town name from Japan wouldn’t work.

Since this town didn’t look very large, I’d secretly thought it might work out.

But because this was a frontier, that was precisely why the rules weren’t lax.

“There’s no town beyond this. If you want to trade, go back along this road and visit villages. People rarely come to frontier villages, so you’ll probably be welcomed.”

That was what they told me.

Well, in their own way, they were being kind…

I thanked them and trudged back to the road.

I was left at a loss, but in a country that scrutinized identity this strictly, I supposed I should be grateful that I wasn’t arrested despite having no identification.