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That's how my life ends, Andy thought, a cold smirk flickering in his mind despite the darkness closing in. No regrets, no tears—just a quiet satisfaction that he'd fucked his way through life exactly as he wanted, leaving a trail of moaning, dripping women and jealous men behind. He had taken what he craved, used them, discarded them, and never once looked back. If this was the price, fine. Worth every thrust.
But something bothered him. If he was dead, why was he still conscious? Maybe he wasn't dead after all; then I was dreaming. That would mean I'd never be a father.
Andy opened his eyes and scanned his surroundings. He realized he wasn't in the comfort of his own home, nor in the safety of a normal bed. Instead, he found himself sprawled on the cold forest floor in broad daylight. "Where the hell am I?" he wondered aloud.
Determined to find answers and a way back, Andy stood up and started walking through the silent forest. He lost track of time as he wandered for hours, searching for any sign of civilization. Finally, he reached the bank of a crystal-clear river that flowed quietly through the trees.
Kneeling down, he looked at his reflection in the water. His face was still as handsome as ever, despite his dirt-stained clothes. His dark brown short hair framed his features, and his brown eyes stared back at him, sharp and unchanged.
Tired of walking endlessly with nothing to show for it, Andy dropped to one knee on the riverbank. The gentle rush of water calmed his nerves for a moment—until a sharp, equine sound cut through the air.
"Neighhh!"
Andy's body snapped to high alert. A horse? Where?
"Neighhh!"
"Neighhh!"
"Neighhh!"
The whinnies came again, louder, closer—directly from behind him.
Andy spun around, startled to see three men on horseback staring down at him.
Their clothes weren't normal; they looked like something out of a magic and medieval fantasy Isekai novel. In perfect unison, they drew their swords with a metallic rasp, the blades catching the sunlight as they slowly circled Andy like wolves closing in on prey.
One of the riders, a burly, overweight man with a greasy grin, eyed Andy up and down like fresh prey. He turned to the man beside him and chuckled darkly.
"Hehe, look'ee here—prime goods we've chanced upon, wouldn't ye say, Captain Stank?"
Andy fixed his gaze on the man they called Stank. His face was concealed behind a dark metal helmet, his entire body clad in heavy black armor, a red cape flowing down his back. He radiated raw authority and menace, an unspoken threat hanging in the air.
The tension thickened as the three riders slowly closed in on Andy, their swords drawn and blades catching the daylight with cold, menacing gleams.
The three men on horseback kept talking in an old-fashioned English, thick with archaic words and phrasing, but Andy could still understand every word they said.
Confused and desperate for answers, Andy cleared his throat and spoke up politely, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Excuse me, gentlemen… do you know where Murphy's apartments in New York are?"
The men stared at Andy in total confusion, clearly not grasping a word of what he meant. The overweight one, still smirking from earlier, scratched his head and let out a dumb chuckle.
"New York? What the hell is that—some new cut of pork?" he asked, completely oblivious to the meaning behind Andy's question.
Andy let out a sudden, nervous laugh, his lip curling in a sneer. "Pfft! A cut of pork? Are you for real? It's a city, you absolute clown. You're even dumber than you look. Hahaha!"
But Andy's laughter died in his throat, his face twisting into shock as the overweight man—now furious at the insult—gripped his sword with white-knuckled rage and raised it high. In a flash of impulsive fury, the blade whistled down, slicing clean through Andy's white shirt. The fabric tore open with a sharp RIP!, exposing his chest, but the sword stopped just short of flesh—no blood, no wound, only the ruined shirt hanging in tatters.
"You fat piece of shit! Do you have any idea how much this costs? You just trashed a thirty-five-hundred-dollar Italian suit, you absolute greaseball!" he exploded, glaring at the ruined shirt hanging in shreds from his chest, completely forgetting—or ignoring—that the man still held a drawn sword inches away.
At first, the overweight man had been determined to force Andy into submission, to make him understand obedience. But after being insulted twice—first with mockery, then with that explosive "greaseball!"—his patience snapped. His face twisted into pure rage. Andy no longer deserved leniency; he deserved to die.
With a grunt, the man swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted heavily, boots thudding against the ground. He advanced on Andy step by step, raising his sword high overhead, the blade catching the sunlight in a deadly gleam. His eyes burned with murderous intent—he was going to end this insolent stranger once and for all.
Just as the overweight man's sword began its deadly descent toward Andy, a firm hand shot out between them, halting the blade mid-swing. It wasn't brute strength that stopped him—it was the sheer authority radiating from the one who intervened.
"Leave him alone, Gunther," the voice commanded, low and unyielding.
It was Captain Stank, the overweight man named Gunther had been addressing earlier. His imposing figure loomed over them, exuding the kind of cold, absolute authority that silenced even his own men without a single word.
"Why, Captain?!" Gunther protested, his voice thick with indignation. "This bastard insulted me twice! He deserved to die—I care nothing if he's worth 30 gold coins!"
"Thirty gold coins?" Captain Stank drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he looked down at Gunther. "You're not a very good judge of stock, are you, Gunther?"
"Huh?" Gunther blurted, blinking in total confusion.
Stank quietly pointed at Andy's torn clothes and said in a low, measured voice, "Take a good look at his clothes. That's not from around here. He looks like he fell out of the sky—an alien in our world."
"....Al-alien?!!!" Gunther and the other man stammered in perfect unison, their eyes wide with astonishment as they both turned to stare at Andy like he was some impossible creature dropped from the sky.
"What exactly is an alien?" asked the younger hunter, his voice full of genuine confusion, still too green to know much about the wider world.
"Aliens are folk who died in their own world and were cast here by Goddess Veldra for a second go," Stank explained, his voice uncharacteristically steady. "Their old lives ended in blood and sorrow, so the Goddess grants 'em a clean slate and a purpose in these lands. It's a rare thing to see; the last one fell from the sky fifteen years back."
"Aye, I've heard that too," Gunther muttered, a dark smile creeping across his face. "So, what's his price, Captain?" he asked, practically drooling.
"Thirteen hundred gold pieces," Stank replied calmly, his eyes narrowing as he appraised Andy like a prize steer. "That is the price on this alien's head."
Gunther and the other man couldn't mask their greed, their eyes widening at the thought of so much coin. A wicked grin spread across Gunther's face as he yanked a heavy coil of rope from his horse's saddlebag.
"Then we'll have to take real good care of him," Gunther said with dark determination, stepping toward Andy while gripping the rope tightly.
Gunther swiftly tackled Andy to the ground, his massive weight crushing him into the dirt and pinning him down completely. With surprising speed, he tied Andy's arms and legs tightly with the rope, binding him securely so he had no chance of escaping.
"What the hell are you doing?! Let me go, you fucking bastards!" Andy shouted, thrashing wildly against the ropes. "Do you have any idea who I am?! I'm Andy Collins—I'm one of the richest men in the goddamn United States!"
"Punch!"
Tired of his insults, Gunther snarled and punched Andy hard across the face with a meaty fist. The brutal blow knocked him out cold instantly, silencing his protests in a single strike.
After binding him tightly, they dragged Andy onto one of the horses and tied him securely to the saddle, making sure he had no chance of escaping during the ride.
Meanwhile, Stank drifted for a moment in nostalgia, a faint smirk crossing his lips as he thought to himself, Hmm… those delicious hot dogs in New York…
Snapping back to reality, he gave the order in a firm voice: "Let's go. We're heading to the Brothel of Lust."
"Yes, sir!" the men replied in unison.
They guided the horses forward, taking Andy deeper into the forest as the afternoon sun began to fade, slowly casting long shadows between the trees and carrying him toward an unknown and uncertain fate.