That’s it? There are no cool magic effects, or some sort of device that’ll check for my magic power that’d surely show that I have unprecedented aptitude in magecraft, and there were definitely no gods that came down to announce me as their chosen one, thought Watanabe who was dreading to think that he might have just imbibed lye water for nothing.

While Watanabe was busy deliberating on his choices in life - and death -, the temple had once again emptied out as Hans had ordered his men to busy themselves with setting up camp for the day. After having ordered his troops, Hans conversed for a while with Anton.

After a brief conversation Hans approached Watanabe and addressed him. “Sir Watanabe, I have heard from the honorable preacher that you’re on a journey to the capital to observe the land of the faithful.” said Hans and added, “Me and my men are also travelling there, to meet up with other companies for deployment. It would be great for you and us if you were to be able to accompany my company along the way to the capital.”

Accompanying a company of troops… Since this is a fantasy world, there are bound to be plenty of monsters and highwaymen who are just waiting for the opportunity to attack a hero like me, thought Watanabe. Having a whole company of soldiers should be enough for most threats, though a dragon attack or two might be a problem if those are common. I wonder what wondrous magical attacks the men with those weird sticks would do in the case of a dragon attack? Actually, thinking about it, saving the company from a dragon attack might be my ticket to becoming known as a hero, yes, let’s hope that a dragon attacks the company so that I can become a hero, thought Watanabe as he did mental gymnastics so great that he could win Olympic gold, if he wasn’t disqualified due to the fact that dead people can’t participate in the Olympics.

Or would Watanabe not count as quite dead because he got revived? Did he die in the first place? What are the implications of some interdimensional organization transferring men like him to random worlds? Is there anyone on Earth who comes from another world? Do you, the reader, actually come from another world but have forgotten it? Is the author just a vehicle by the Tuvan Interdimensional Army to ease people into the concept of interdimensional caretakers like them? Are you, right now, reading a piece of propaganda commissioned by our interdimensional overlords?

These oh-so important questions were all irrelevant to Watanabe, as he neither knew of you, the reader, nor did he know the author outside of a vague concept he sometimes got angry at. Instead, what was relevant to Watanabe was gaining power and more power, so he accepted joining the army so that he could have a chance at being a hero whenever they got into trouble.

It’s common, whenever heroes get into a tight corner, for them to deus ex machina some new power out of wherever they put convenient hidden powers into, deliberated Watanabe further. Whenever a tough situation arrives, surely, the author will give me the required power-up for me to deal with it. Yes, don’t forget Watanabe, you need some progression to happen before you get to a level where you can annihilate anyone who dares to think that they can make you drink lye water. Great heroes like you don’t develop overnight, y’know.

With thoughts like this, after having accepted Hans’ offer, Anton bid farewell to Watanabe, and Watanabe bid farewell to Anton. Then, Watanabe parted ways and began following Hans to the campground of the soldiers.

O’ Brassicus Prima, grant the faithful Sir Watanabe a safe journey, prayed Anton as he watched Watanabe leave. I have cleansed him and inducted him to the true faith, he is as close to me as if he is my own son, for I am his father in the matter of spirituality. A pious man like him inducted into the faith by an equally pious preacher like me is sure to grow into a most faithful man and bring glory to his homeland.

At the same time, Watanabe was similarly having thoughts about his godfather as the doors of the temple closed behind him, signaling the beginning of separation between the two men that’d last for a long time. He was the least terrible preacher I have met in my life I suppose.

Watanabe and Hans quickly arrived at the scene where the company had begun setting up camp. There was much ruckus as men went to and fro setting up temporary shelter. Some of the more affluent ones, such as officers, had pitched tents while those less fortunate were making makeshift canopies to spend the upcoming night under. The lucky few who had finished setting up had already gathered up in small circles, and had already dived into conversation. The ones who were busy being idle instead of being busy with hard labor saluted their captain in passing and also exchanged greetings with the, in their eyes, the most faithful foreigner Watanabe.

“Here you see, Sir Watanabe,” said Hans while they passed through the busy camp “how civilized men set up camp! In just under an hour, they’re ready. If I suspected that any enemies might come, they’d set up field fortifications in just half an hour!” added Hans proudly. “Actually, batman, come here!” shouted Hans.

Batman, what is he doing here, pondered Watanabe before receiving his answer in the form of a men running through the cacophony of the crowd. “Yes, captain?” said the man who was having trouble breathing after running to listen to his boss.

“We need to show our former-heathen guest how civilized men set up fortifications, tell the men to set up fortifications as quickly as they can!” commanded Hans. Some idle soldiers who were nearby groaned in frustration as they heard that they might need to do more labor.

“You! You do not get to groan in front of your captain, Nicholas! If the heathen attacks, will you dare to groan like that when he buries you ten feet deep under the ground?” said Hans as he prepared to punish one particularly egregious offender, before Watanabe intervened.

“Sir Hans, surely, there is no need to tire the men needlessly? Don’t they have a long march ahead of them?” said Watanabe, who wasn’t particularly interested in field fortifications nor could he stand to see a poor worker of his ilk be needlessly punished by their boss.

“Fine, by the grace of Brassicus Prima and Sir Watanabe, you shall be spared.” said Hans as he withdrew. “But, groan like that in front of me again, and I swear that even Brassicus Prima’s mercy won’t be enough to save you!” he added.

The aforementioned Nicholas quickly uttered an apology as he quickly escaped from the sights of his captain.

“See, Sir Watanabe, the men of this age lack gratitude. I pay them, I give them a job, yet when I ask them to fortify their camp for a guest, they refuse and dare to groan in front of their superiors!” complained Hans with his arms crossed. “What a useless, uncivilized bunch!”

After having had enough about complaining about his own men, Watanabe and Hans finally arrived at the biggest tent in the camp, which was of course inhabited by Hans.

Hans held his hand in the general direction of the tent as if he was presenting a precious heirloom. “Sir Watanabe, as the sort-of homeowner of this camp, I’ll, with all my due grace, extend you the courtesy of staying inside the captain’s tent. Batman!”

“Yes, captain?” said the batman who had been following the two quietly.

“Make accommodations for our honored guest, bring a bed that is almost as good as mine!” commanded the captain.

“On it, sir!” said the batman as he disappeared as quickly as he had arrived off to Brassicus-knows where.

Poor batman, thought Watanabe who still wasn’t sure what a “batman” was in the current context. He still felt sympathy for the man nonetheless.

Watanabe’s sympathies notwithstanding, Hans was about continue gloating when another soldier arrived to speak to the captain.

“Captain! It’s Boris again!” shouted the soldier.

“By Brassicus’ holy name, be quieter and calmer soldier, even if you are about to report that the end days are coming. What is that fiend up to again?” said Hans nonchalantly.

“That aforementioned rascal mixed the barrels of beer with the barrels of gunpowder sir, and now all our stored beer has an explosive taste.” answered the soldier.

“All- All of the stored beer?!” said Hans chalantly. “Brassicus Prima smite that damned servant of Vasily!” added Hans, using profanity so horrendous and profane that Anton would be in shock if he was there. “Take me there right now! That curdog Boris will finally get what he deserves!” concluded Hans as he rushed to the scene of the horrendous crime with the soldier, leaving Watanabe alone.

Watanabe was now left alone, unsure what to do. By this stage, where he was in the sixth chapter of this story, he would have gotten an objective that he could work towards. If I am not training, going on adventure, or obtaining MacGuffins in my quest to fight a big bad evil guy, then what am I supposed to do, thought Watanabe who was having a slight existential crisis. When is the plot going to show up? The author is really dragging this out, he added.

For a minute or two, Watanabe stood in place for a plot thread to latch onto that’d lead him to somewhere. Adventure calls heroes like me, and adventure already called for me when she sent me to this world. Actually, he sent me to this world to be more exact but that’s beside the point. The call of adventure has arrived, yet where is the adventure?

More minutes passed. Eventually Watanabe sat down when he got tired of standing, and even more minutes passed as he idly observed the soldiers go about their business.

Yet, the call of adventure, the thread of destiny, the line to plot progression was nowhere to be found. Watanabe was nonplussed. No, it simply isn’t possible for anything plot relevant to not show up. This isn’t how it works; it isn’t how it should work. Come on, a monster attack, some urgent incoming news, I’d even accept a soldier to bully me just for plot to happen!

Watanabe continued sitting, as soldiers and various camp followers whizzed in front of him.

Second became minutes; minutes became an hour. Hours would have become days if the author hadn’t stepped in to protect the pacing and perfect progression (which I do most sincerely apologize for the lack of stat-ups in the last chapters) of the story.

Yet, no plot progression happened.

It felt like adventure had abandoned him, like he had been summoned to this world for no apparent reason. That can’t happen, can it? Things as mysterious and fantastical as a man getting transported to another world couldn’t happen without some grand plan behind it, thought Watanabe who was getting impatient. And hungry.

Yes, thinking about it, he was getting hungry too. He was also getting a bit thirsty. No, actually, he was really thirsty. I could use a drink, he thought.

The pangs of hunger interrupted the fangs of existential crisis as he was knocked off into the bottom of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Self-actualization was quickly dethroned by the need for sustenance and Watanabe stood up to gather required sustenance needed for his continued existence.

By now, many soldiers had similar thoughts to him. They had finished with the setting up of camp and some were busy tending to the culinary front. Watanabe also observed that there were villagers and camp followers who had joined the soldiers temporarily to assist them in culinary combat.

However plain the meals cooked might have been, to the now ravenous Watanabe, they smelled as if they were cooked in a five-star restaurant. Still standing idly, unsure how to get himself some food, Watanabe suddenly noticed that there was a man near a campfire waving at him. After staring at the man for a bit, trying to understand who he was, Watanabe finally remembered that the man was Nicholas, accompanied by a few others.

Watanabe approached Nicholas and greetings were exchanged between him and the group.

“Sir What-Err-Nay-Beer, was it?” said Nicholas in greeting, “If ya don’t ‘ave an appointment for dinner with the captain, would ya join us?”

Watanabe accepted the offer of Nicholas, who handed Watanabe a bowl. “Sir, I really can’t thank ya enuff for saving my precious bum from a lashing back there.” he said as revealed, to the cheers of the other members of the crowd including Watanabe, a waterskin full of liquid and poured beer out of it to a small cup. “Boris might ‘ave screwed up our rightful rations of liquid bread, but gentleman, we can’t celebrate my bum being saved without ale!”

With drink secured, the small group of soldiers (and Watanabe) entered a jovial mood as they each took a share of the food, which was cabbage stew. Each also took a share of precious beer from the waterskin, small as the share unfortunately was, which ensured their merriment.

Watanabe didn’t like cabbage, plus the cabbage stew lacking any salt or spice didn’t help, nor was the beer any better, for it somehow felt spicy and tasted odd to a man who was used to modern ale. Yet he paid no attention to those as he made merry, making small talk, singing and even dancing with a fellow group of galliard men.

Plot progression can be put on hold for today, thought Watanabe as he staved off needless existential meandering.