It was the healer who ultimately took pity on my circumstances and asked if I wanted to come along with them. An offer I was all too happy to accept. I was still fairly sure I was drifting through some nightmare parody of an isekai novel, but even if it was a dream, it was still safer to travel in a group. The girls for the most part ignored me, clearly not trusting my presence. I found it hard to blame them as a sudden stranger popping up in the middle of a haunted forest didn’t exactly rate high on the totem pole of trustworthiness. The only one who spoke to me as we walked was the healer and it was through her that I started to learn about this particular world.

Like most fictional examples of the genre, there were multiple kingdoms and empires consisting of a myriad of races, all with their own religion, creed, and traditions. This Drakvald Forest was within the periphery of the Kingdom of Etraivell, which ruled a not insignificant swathe of territory partitioned into fiefdoms governed by landed nobles. Unfortunately for Etraivell, it was bordered by greater kingdoms and dynasties that continuously overshadowed it in terms of population and wealth. The only thing that prevented its neighbors from coveting its lands was seemingly the crisis that every country found itself embroiled in.

Usually, this category of fiction had some sort of big bad that the heroes had to unite against and here it was no different. The aptly and stereotypically named Demon Lord controlled vast hosts of demonkind that eked out an existence in the Blasted Lands. From fortified citadel-keeps, these legions of demons would launch massive invasions that led to death and misery to all those unfortunate enough to be in their path. A loose alliance of nations, of which Etraivell belonged to, was the only barrier that prevented a tide of destruction from rolling over the civilized world.

Not that they were doing a particularly good job of it, mind you. Besides the normal distrust and petty infighting that usually sprung up in coalitions like this, the stronger kingdoms used the threat of looming demonic incursions to bully their fellow alliance members into humiliating tribute conditions. And that was the best-case scenario. In extreme conditions, the more powerful nations would outright demand territory in exchange for the protection of their armies.

No wonder then that a normal, ordinary forest that grew on the outskirts of a mundane kingdom could become so infested with monsters. As my newest friend explained, the Drakvald Forest originally didn’t even have a name. It was only when an overflow of monsters from a nearby dungeon began to take residence in these woodlands that the nearby townships and villages gave this place its dark moniker. The dungeon itself should have been long ago dealt with by an adventurer company or even a hero party but for a myriad number of reasons, had been allowed to fester until now.

Hence, the goblin subjugation campaigns. Etraivell could only scrape up resources for the occasional mop up operations in the forest, but never enough to cleanly solve the problem at the roots.

“You were lucky we found you, Sir Warren,” Elise, the support girl, was saying to me, “Even with many adventurer companies working together in the forest, some of them still don’t make it out.”

I took this opportunity to study her closer. She had a small, heart-shaped face with lilac-colored irises. Half-hidden beneath a healer’s cap, glimpses of long silver hair could be seen. She seemed to be the tender, caring type, as expected from a healer. Not that I was complaining. I’ve read enough RPG novels to know that getting close to the party’s healer was never a bad thing.

Elise noticed me staring and blushed prettily.

“Um… If you don’t mind me asking, Sir Warren, but if you’re not from the Eastern Provinces, then where are you from?”

I thought about making something up or even outright lying but decided what was the point? It’s not like the isekai world would know my own world.

“Ever heard of the United States?” I sighed.

The healer shook her head.

“Then someplace really far away.”

“How far is really far away?” spear girl tossed me a glance from over her shoulder.

Unlike Elise who fit the meek and empathetic archetype, Selene had a straightforward personality that matched her chosen weapon of choice, the spear. Her red hair was tied into an uncomplicated ponytail that seemed to move with a life of its own every time she turned her head. Emerald green eyes challenged me from below a bronze head band, the only protection she chose to wear over her most vital area. It made her look like some Amazon warrioress out of Greek myth.

I met her gaze evenly.

“Do you know where Earth is?”

“No?”

“Then really, really far away.”

“I can’t believe you all believe this liar,” a harsh voice interjected itself into the conversation. From her position trudging at the front of the party, Amarys didn’t even deign me worthy of a look back, “Who knows what this guy will do to us once our backs are turned?”

Now that was uncalled for. I understood her caution, but this was bordering the limit of insulting. Yet pushing the limit described Amarys to the tee. Part of this was due to her natural role as leader of the party. As the oldest in the group, she must have felt a certain degree of responsibility for her party members. It was displayed in the way she carried herself, tense and to the point, and also in her appearance. Long brunette hair had been tied up in a business-like bun. Sharp blue eyes stared out from a firm, aquiline face. If the other girls retained a youthful prettiness to them, then their leader was just on the cusp of womanhood.

That didn’t mean I was going to take this lying down though.

“Assuming I want to do anything,” I muttered to myself but also loud enough for them to hear. And it was true. While my newfound companions were all easy on the eyes, they were also several years younger than me. Amarys was the oldest out of the bunch at eighteen. Granted, a medieval fantasy setting’s perception of age was vastly different than the modern world’s, but that still wasn’t enough to get me interested. For God’s sake the co-worker I was talking to back home was a woman a year older than me!

The entire group flushed at my words save one.

“I do not detect any lie in that sentiment,” Shelmir said neutrally and I nodded gratefully in the archer’s direction. As the primary ranged element within the party, the girl was well used to making judgements based off cold, calculated logic. One of her eyes surveyed the surroundings with cool detachment. The other was hidden by long blue bangs so dark they might as well been black. The rest of her hair was cut short, most likely so she could better access the quiver full of arrows slung over her back, “But that doesn’t mean that sentiment won’t change in the future.”

…

Well so much for being grateful.

“Yeah!” Amarys pounced on the idea like a dog would a bone, “He’s probably tagging along just so he can mooch off us.”

I actually scoffed at the statement. Mooch? Based off what? Certainly not their equipment. In fact, that was something I had noticed when I first saw their party but refrained from commenting on. The state of their equipment. Or more specifically, the utter lack of it. Besides Amarys who wore a leather vest so frayed and battered it might as well not have existed, none of the girls had any body armor at all. All of them were dressed in simple linen frocks and cloth tunics. While this might allow for greater freedom of movement on the battlefield, it also meant that their wearers were devoid of any protection whatsoever. Their weapons were also in a disappointingly similar state. Our sword and board party leader’s shield was literally a board. Several planks nailed and glued together to form a passing resemblance of a shield. The worn sword gripped in her hand had no edge and looked like it was in dire need of maintenance. The trio of javelins Amarys carried over her shoulder didn’t even have metal points. And this was the party leader! Spear girl and bow woman were even less well equipped and our healer didn’t have anything to defend herself with except for a sling.

Now I may be a relative newcomer to the fantasy genre but even I knew adventurers should be kitted to the teeth. Plate armor or at least half-plate armor, magical equipment, enchanted weapons. The “adventurers” I was stuck with looked nothing like the part. They didn’t look like adventurers. They looked like village girls playing adventurers.

I was about to make a scathing remark based off these observations when a sudden tingle down my spine pushed the thought to the back of my mind.

“Stop.”

Only Elise stopped and gave me a quizzical look.

“Stop!” I said, more urgently this time, “Movement ahead.”

Spear girl and bow woman turned to glance at me. Only Amarys plodded onwards, her figure dripping with confidence.

“Trying to scare us…” and then she stopped for there was movement up ahead.

Three of them came into view. Hunched, diminutive creatures. They emerged from the undergrowth like shadows oozing up from the ground. I caught sight of green skin and knobbed hides. Beady evil eyes on feral faces that split into toothy grins as soon as they saw us. Animal hide pelts covered their groins but from their waist up they were naked as the day they were spawned. Two of the creatures had gnarled wood clubs. The last one who was most likely their leader swung a jagged stone axe in our direction.

“Goblins!” Selene cried out, “What are they doing here?”

I frowned at her surprise. This was a goblin subjugation campaign, wasn’t it?

“The adventurers should have taken them out already!” Shelmir’s usually steady voice betrayed a hint of unease.

Adventurers? Aren’t you all adventurers?

“Should we run?” for whatever reason, Elise had latched onto my shirt sleeve.

Run? These are goblins! The lowest of all the mobs… And that’s when I noticed that Selene’s legs were shaking. Behind the spearwoman, Shelmir’s fingers were trembling so much that she couldn’t fully knock her arrow to her bow. And Amarys… Amary’s face had gone as white as snow.

“Haven’t you all fought these things before?” I asked with a creeping sense of dread.

Elise’s grip on my arm became even tighter.

“This is the first time we ever had to fight!”

What.

And then the analytical part of my mind took over. I processed everything. Absolutely everything. The ragged state of their dress. The mismatch of equipment. The sudden nervousness they displayed in the face of by all rights what should have been a lowly foe. It all made sense now.

Whenever an ancient or medieval battle concluded, there were always swarms of hanger-ons who swept over the battlefield picking over the dead. Camp followers or even peasants from surrounding villages and towns. Their purpose was simple. Used arrows and crossbow bolts could be bundled up and sold back to the nearest army quartermaster. A dead man’s breastplate could fit just as well over a living man’s so armor too was a high-priced commodity. And discarded weapons could be either sold or even heated and reshaped into farming implements at the local blacksmith.

These girls looked like villagers playing soldier because they were villagers playing soldier.

“You guys aren’t adventurers,” I breathed as the realization struck me, “You’re scavengers!”