Unfortunately, I’m Not A Hero: 12 (Patreon)

Unfortunately, I’m Not A Hero: 12

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Wordcount: 2500

Commissioned by Shaderic.

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Perfect answers aren’t required. In fact, I’m of the firm opinion that it’s best to avoid them entirely. Perfection means no room for improvement. It means complete satisfaction. Perhaps, it even means being so content that there’s no longer reason to do anything else. However, that’s naturally not the reason why I dislike perfection. My reasons are more prudent and logical in nature. 

Perfect answers take too much time and money compared to adequate solutions. 

Why would I bother creating a mechanism to scoop up fish that lasts for years, when I can have a bunch of available manpower make some baskets and drudge them up? Shouldn’t I focus on getting the most work possible done with the resources at hand, instead of getting a single objective finished to an absurd degree? Couldn’t I simply stick a knife into someone and end their existence, thus avoiding all the effort of befriending them and allying them, so that they’d join my forces?

Example: Amazon Log Delivery Service. 

I could’ve put time, effort, and manpower towards making siege engines. That would’ve let my limited number of Amazons do something else, while giving me the advantage of having dedicated weapons for specific purposes. Heck, if I manned them with Amazons, I could relocate them with ease and probably avoid counterattacks. However, why the heck would I make that when my Amazons do a good enough job and excel at killing what I want them to kill. 

Adequacy, not exceptionalism, made the world I was born in what it was. Any fool who tried to pursue the perfect path, who never accepted people are just different shades of terrible, simply never got anything important done in their lifetime. Maybe, they even started some shitty cult and fucked over a lot people, but that’s digressing. Those who understand that the average person is an idiot, who decide to make machines, solutions, and processes that let that idiot competently achieve something comparable to someone skilled? They’re great. They deserve everything. They need to be genderbent and turned into SSR waifus for shitty gacha games.

Those who accept humanity’s inherent stupidity and incompetence are the real, great achievers who’ll change the world. 

The whole affair might be slow, incremental, and boring, but if it gets the job done and saves resources?

Who the heck cares?

Besides, if something is going too slowly, then all I’ll do is cheat.

…

The mountainside collapsed as expected, while the Dwarf signed and my Lamia Secretary peaked from behind the small of my back.

“It worked. Now do your job.” My words were met by a glare by the head of the crew of migrant dwarves. Naturally, since their species only had a few males suffering Harem Protagonist Syndrome of the Fatal variety, dwarven troupes went about the whole of the monstrous alliance led by Roseanne to lend their skills and find men. There were great ones, lauded for venturing deep underground to find mithril and other important, shiny things, but I took the cheapest, most inexperienced, and smallest group of them all. Then, I blew up a mountainside, so anything on the surface was easily accessible… as well as anything a few meters below it. “Get too it. First day here’s first day on the job. Sunup to sundown, as discussed, and I expect passable weapons and armor by next month. If you ever see me again, it’s because I’m replacing you or firing you. Goodbye.”

Automatic Miner #1 had many bad things to say about me, most of them regarding the sanctity of mountains, harshness regarding forcing travelers to work the moment to arrive, and yadda, yadda, yadda, I’m a bad person who reneged on a deal based on trust. Hey, I get it already. You’re stupid and want to prove yourself. My ears are hurting and you’re not doing your job. Shut up and get to work, so that I get the most out of you before you quit without pay. Then, I’ll just find the next group of fresh, young Dwarves looking to poach men and make money.

I spoke to Tanis after my ears stopped ringing from the continuous stream of screamed curses sent my way. 

“Alright, that’s dealt with. Keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t steal anything. If they meet their weekly quota, pay them properly, and get them housed.” Tanis blinked, but jotted down my words quickly. Pencils apparently never existed before I came up with them, since refilling quills were a thing, so I was making a fair amount of money with some charcoal and split sticks until people caught on. Then, I’ll introduce sharpened charcoal and smooth shafts. That ought to really get the living fetishes going. They love coal. “If they don’t, have them escorted out of my region and find another.”

Tanis’s twin eyelids shut and closed as she blinked at me with a stupefied expression on her pale, slender features. 

“The end of the week is in two days Hikigaya-dono.”

“And, I used a scroll of explosive magic to level the side of a mountain to ease their burdens. They’ll keep their oath or I’ll keep mine.” Twenty-five dwarves are more than enough to manage the amount I’ve required and that’s all I’ll say on the matter. However, as always, Tanis’s weak spot shows itself via the usual tell. Her elongated ears twitch and her tail shakes, even while her face remains calm behind her spectacles. “And, I’ll be keeping that oath myself. You’re going to be dealing with the birdbrains, but these idiots are mine to deal with.”

“I…I thank you for your consideration, Hikigaya-dono.” Tanis bowed her head and let herself sigh in relief. She slithered more smoothly along the mountain trail instead of leaving behind a nervous path. A faint blush played across her features. As slight as it was, as eerily pale she was the tinge of scarlet practically made her cheeks glow. “I shall endeavor to meet your expectations and be capable of shouldering more of the duties you expect of me.”

“Yeah. Thanks. You do that.” Naturally, I smashed apart that affection with the metaphorical hammer by disregarding her, waving her away, and walking faster. I had enough issues with the Amazons. If I had one complaint about my bevy of supersoldiers who’d day anything I said, it was the fact that they wanted to strap me down and use me like a stud to ensure their future dominance over the world. It’d be great to have the Empire collapse beneath a tidal wave of Amazons with brains, but a man has to have some standards. My line just so happens to be not getting to kill the Empire myself and leaving it to my far-off descendants. Sorry, kids, not only are your potential mothers scary, but I want to kill my enemies myself. Have fun not existing, m’kay? “I’m going to go kill something and eat it with basted with its unborn children. Later.”

Tanis had no time to respond, as I simply controlled my slide down the gentle slope of the mountain, while she had no choice to keep walking down.

Everyone under my command are assets.

Nothing more and nothing less.

…

Breaded, fried meat was fast becoming a local, regional specialty. Relatively speaking, I wasn’t introducing anything new. Oil and frying were already in place, but methods of dredging, par-cooking, and intentionally creating more crags and cracks wasn’t. Chefs and restaurants here still subscribed to uniformity and perfect replication of dishes, since acquiring perfect ingredients wasn’t difficult as long as magic was available in cities. 

With my opponents never having to make do, always being able to get best, thus allowed me to create an imperfect, fatty food with salt, eggs, meat, flour, and oil. A little more effort, with a few more tricks, and it tasted good and stayed crispy even when cold. Thus, I had a food that was always cooked to sterility, kept for a few days, and laden with the calories my not!slaves needed to go about their day. Not only that, but merchants were coming back to sell their wares just to have the excuse to stock up on the stuff for the trip back. 

Thank you, Americans, for taking one high calorie food, covering in wet dough, and then frying it in oil. One day, I’ll replicate gravy, mashed potatoes, and mayonnaise studded with lettuce, as to properly kill myself before I reach fifty. 

But why am I talking about fried chicken so much?

What is the reason behind my montage-esque stream of thought regarding fried, tasty poultry?

Naturally, it was because I was trying to ignore Henri.

“You utter fool! Moron! Dimwit! Nincompoop!” Thank you for omitting “Hachiman” from your barrage of words, my advisor in all things magical. Would you like a freshly fried piece of chicken? Unlike everyone else, I don’t take a number and have to wish that my batch is fresh. I can tell the chefs to cook me a fresh batch every time. Is it abusing my authority? Yes. Do I care? No. “No! I will not be bribed by another fantastic foodstuff of your creation! I am here to make a damnable stand against your insipid, debased, and utterly shameless tactics and methods regarding matters magical!”

Mmmm… hot, crispy, and fresh chicken with just the right of salt… yum…

“I will not slave away day and night, spending valuable resources, and studying in my old age, so that you can speed up construction efforts with explosives!” Henri had grown accustomed to the town rapidly. Years spent alone and with only zombies for company fell off of her within days. She kept everyone at arm’s length for a few days, but from then on she was at the very center of every gathering, privy to all the gossip, and became an incessant, sharp-tongued debater who did her best to get what she wished by essentially shredding people to bits with words alone. “Conduct yourself better, properly invest in artificers, and create a solid foundation for future work. Do you expect all your shortcuts to be available forever? Are you so terrible with funds and resources that you cannot see the extravagance of your actions!?” 

I’d really wished Tanis would’ve stayed as the bean counter, but Henri had taken the spot after proving herself capable with the double-booking system I’d stolen from back on earth. She took the logical formula beyond what I remembered, too. Needless to say, if I spent an afternoon looking into the bookkeeping, I would find it utterly spotless and properly balanced. Which is why I don’t do it anymore, because it’d be a waste of time, no matter how much the Lich insists otherwise. 

Really, I considered answering back and telling her of my grand plans, but my culinary creation was too amazing to ignore. I simply had to eat it while it was hot, and since it was hot it was crunchy, therefore I couldn’t hear a word she said. Yeah. I’m totes trying to be a good person, but this fried chicken is—no! How dare you take a man’s chicken from him! Give it back this instant, you filthy, genius Raijuu. Haven’t you taken enough from my life just by existing!? How dare you take my chicken, too! I’ve killed people for less, y’know!?

“Listen. To. Me! This is no idle jest. I am concerned for this fief’s monetary policies and you are the lord who claims all the coin. You are frivolous in your spending, utterly inept at gouging price, and—Gah--you never pay attention to what you ought!” Mission is a success. Chicken leg has been retrieved. And… it’s still somehow warm, despite being so close to a filthy Riajuu’s icey, unfeeling heart. Well, Henri was a Lich too, but that didn’t matter as much. Fried chicken can withstand the aftereffects of death, but nothing can hope to stand fast against vapid popularity. “Fine. I shall drop the matter of my talents being wasted, but if you do not wish for me to take control of this fief’s finances for the betterment of its inhabitants—

With lunchtime finished, I got back to work.

“Roseanne’s marrying me off.”

“Eh?”

“Huh?”

“What?”

Oi, oi, oi! Aren’t you all supposed to be fetish-fueled living incarnations of lust? What’s with the blank stares of disbelief and disgust? Are you seriously telling me that you all actually get turned off by how shitty I treat you? If that’s the case… then why didn’t you all show it sooner? I could be shitty 24/7. Actually, I can be shitty even when I’m not around you. For fuck’s sake, if I knew the secret to getting along with monster girls was to be a jerk to them, I’d have never held back from the start!

“I’m spending everything we have, so that we attract some two-bit whore who’s absolutely loaded.” Roseanne totally wants me wrapped around someone who’s wrapped around her. My means of fighting her machinations are limited. Why? Because I’m essentially living in her good graces. Tanis is undoubtably sending the economic status of my realm to my majestic overlord, so she knows everything I’m doing is expensive… therefore she knows I need a glut of funds to speed up current pace. “Roseanne knows what I need, knows that I can’t have it with what I have now, and she can use that to her advantage. I’m want a vapid idiot with deep pockets who listens to everything Roseanne says and reads all her letters aloud… since, you know, I don’t read anything I don’t want to.” 

Henri frowned at my words, crossing her arms, but there was a semblance of respect in her eyes. 

“So, since you know that you shall be whored out for your genes, you are using it to your advantage.” I prefer the term escort, because it gives me hope that I’ll get some clueless, stupid NPC as a wife who periodically gives me money. While escort missions are a bore, since I can keep this theoretical NPC at home, I had no qualms about politely ignoring her existence. “My, my, that almost warrants applause, Hikigaya-dono. To selflessly give yourself for the betterment of your subjects is a grand ideal, but I must admit that it’s not a path that I ever envisioned you taking.”

“No. It’s not for you or anyone else in this town. It’s for me.” I stood up from my seat at the central square. The changes over the course of a single season were pretty quick thanks to magic, money, and monstrous muscle. I had a windmill and watermill already set up. Grain fields surrounded the town and were tended to by Undead. My boarders were being patrolled by Werewolves and Amazons. Merchants were regularly braving the mountains to get boxes full of fried chicken they were probably selling for exorbitant prices across the mountain… and filling the town with currency and new materials. It was a lot in a short amount of time, but I could do better with more funds. That’s the simple logic of the entire affair. The sooner I get rid my limits the better and this way of doing it gives me a semblance of control over my situation. What’s not to like? “It just so happens you all benefit from me having ludicrous amounts of money while you all barely pull your weight.”

Yup, those words earned a glare from all the Monstergirls in my general vicinity and a deluge of icy water from Henri right on my head.

Town: cultivated.

Funds: incoming.

Constituents: hate me.

What a great three-month time-skip I just had!