Isekai Terry TOD: Chapter 8 – Here’s Your Poop Emoji (Patreon)

Okay, so I guess it's time that I give this thing a name, if for no other reason than so I can make a collection on here with it. Right now, I'm strongly inclined to called it Isekai Terry: Chinese Period Drama Hell. What do you guys think? ~Eric

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Given the number of unfriendly stares that were being directed his way, Terry did not take his time in leaving. You’ve got the money. Just get the hell out of Dodge. There is absolutely no reason to stick around now. For a few, beautiful, glorious seconds, he thought his skedaddle-at-speed plan was actually going to work. He’d gotten out the door and down the steps. If anyone was going to follow him, they would have already…

“Hey friend,” said a man from about where the door to the Adventurer’s Guild would be.

Terry kept walking, but he felt something shift in that other-knowledge. He braced himself for some kind of intrusion into his thoughts, but nothing like that happened. The only thing he noticed was a little surge of warmth near his stomach, and then all of his senses seemed to find a new gear. It was disorienting as hell for a second or two when he could suddenly smell the woman who was fifty yards away and hear the breathing of the men, three of them, behind him at the door of the guild. If he hadn’t been the victim of Truck-kun’s tender affections, and been hurled into Chinese Period Drama Hell, and chased off a… What was that stupid monster called? A chickatrick? No, that wasn’t it. If he hadn’t chased off the chicken-lizard and all that other stuff, magically finding his senses enhanced probably would have left him dazed and terrified for a week. At this point, though, he’d have been more surprised if he couldn’t do shit like that, even if he didn’t understand how he was doing it. Problems for later, he told himself.

“Hey friend,” said the same voice.

That voice did not sound friendly to Terry, so he decided to just keep going. He was steadily putting distance between him and them. A result which he saw as an unalloyed good. He did allow himself a moment to mentally glare at the Wheel of Destiny and think, God damn poop emoji.

“Don’t you walk away from me! Don’t you know who I am?!” shouted the man.

Terry’s attention seemed to zoom in on what was happening behind him. It wasn’t anything as clear as vision, but he seemed to be able to gauge the approximate distance between himself and the three men. He was aware of their general positions and even their shapes. There was skinny, shorter person in the middle. Mr. Shouty, thought Terry. Flanking him to either side were two much large figures. Even though things like geometry and trigonometry had always been weak areas for him back in his education days, he somehow knew what kind of angle an attack would come from. He always watched as the short man drew back his arm and threw something at Terry. It was as if he could feel the air moving ahead of whatever it was. He knew how fast it was moving and exactly when it would crash into the back of his head. A split-second before it would have done just that, Terry tilted his head to one side. Something whistled past his ear and then crashed into a cart down the street, very nearly taking off a little boy’s head.

It was only then that something else seemed to take possession of Terry. He felt his body turn, watched as something else seemed to lift his arm, and saw his finger point at the shorter man. Then, he heard his own voice shouting in indignant rage.

“That bastard just tried to murder that little boy!”

Everyone within earshot looked. The short man still had his hand extended, a malicious smile on his face. It was only after he saw Terry thrusting the Finger of Accusation at him that he seemed to realize what was happening. The short man, who was dressed in very nice clothes, tried to calm the angry people.

“No. No. it was just… An accident. It was just an accident.”

“You tried to murder that child by accident,” something shouted using Terry’s mouth. “Look at that cart. That doesn’t look like an accident.”

The people in the street were getting angry now. The boy, who had been stunned at first, finally seemed to realize that something terrible had almost happened to him. He was clinging to a burly man and trying to hold back sobs, which somehow made him look even more defenseless than open weeping would have done. People were starting to close ranks and move toward the front of the short man and his defenders. Whatever had taken hold of Terry gave the short man a vicious little smile. I invoke the Power of the Mob. Just to make sure that the fire didn’t die down, actual-Terry added his own contribution to the conflagration.

“I bet it’s not the first time. How many children have you killed?”

That did it. The crowd that had been working itself up suddenly had something to hang their anger on. An idea. The idea of the vicious child killer. People started shouting. Demanding answers. The burly man had handed the boy over to a woman who looked livid and pulled a shovel out of his cart. He was storming toward the short man with murder in his eyes. The short man could see it too, because he turned to rush back into the guild hall, only to find the neatly dressed woman blocking his path. Her eyes were cold, icy cold, northern Siberian winter cold. The short man stumbled back from that merciless gaze before he recovered himself.

“You have to let me in,” he shouted. “You know who I am.”

He tried to shove past her. Terry didn’t see her move, but he did hear it when her fist landed. He heard bones snapping. He definitely saw the man fly backwards and land in a pile in the street.

“I just watched you try to commit murder,” said the woman. “I don’t have to do anything for you ever again. By the way, if you live, your membership in the guild is revoked.”

Then, she stepped back inside and closed the door. That door slammed home with a noise that had to be magically enhanced somehow because it sounded the echo of doom. The injured, furious man stared up at the closed door with blank incomprehension for a moment before reality reasserted itself. The short man looked around wildly before his gaze landed on Terry. There was hate in those eyes. Although, Terry suspected that there was probably hate in those eyes all the time. The short man seemed like the type who was fueled by hatred. He pointed at Terry and turned to the two big thugs who were still at the top of the steps.

“Kill him,” the short man screamed.

I guess he wants revenge more than he wants to live. The two thugs looked from the short man to Terry. They looked at the crowd of angry townspeople. They looked at each other. Then, they leapt down the steps and ran away in opposite directions. The short man was staring after one of the vanishing thugs in total disbelief, which was why the man completely missed it when the burly man with the shovel brought that implement down on his head. Part of Terry thought he should stick around to make sure the crowd finished the job, but the rest of him thought that best thing he could do was leave immediately. He wasn’t sure what, if any, official authorities there might be in the town. Nor did he have any wish to meet them. So, he slipped away down the street, only pausing long enough to take a quick look at the wreckage of the cart. If he’d harbored any doubts that the short man meant to kill him, those doubts were put to rest by the sight of that cart. It had been split nearly in two.

Terry was walking down the street that led to the market by the time he saw some people in what looked like blue and white tabards with some kind of crest he didn’t know stitched over their hearts. They were running down the street toward him. There’s that authority I was trying to avoid, thought Terry. He came to a stop near some townspeople and pretended to gawk at the passing men. It seemed like the safest thing he could do. If he acted like everybody else, there was no reason to pay extra attention to him. Right? Once the men had disappeared down the street where Terry had started a small riot, he continued on his way toward the market. If he was going to keep heading south, he needed to buy some food and some kind of a canteen or water skin. He was also going to need a pack of some kind to hold items. He’d have to see how much things cost before he got too extravagant in his purchase planning. He supposed he could always give the head sack a very thorough cleaning and use it as a makeshift pack. However, he hoped things didn’t get quite that desperate. He did take some small comfort in the knowledge that he hadn’t needed to personally end anyone’s life. Remember rule number two, he reminded himself. It wouldn’t have been so easy to whip that mob into a murderous frenzy if they weren’t inclined that way already.