Heron could not recommend teleportation as a method of transport.

  If he could give it a review, he’d rate it negative 5 stars for the lack of emotional support. Mostly because he needed a lot of emotional support when the entire process magically and physically tore him into pieces. Actual physical pieces.

  He didn’t know whether it was more frightening or nauseating to watch his body come apart from an outside perspective—it was like his soul had been temporarily ejected from his body as the magical essence that had teleported him ripped his body apart, atom by atom, only to put it back together like nothing had happened.

  The good news? The process of being disintegrated like a smashed potato chip hadn’t hurt. It felt like he had been tickled by slime. Not like Charcoco-slime but more like a viscous fluid that wrapped around his body like a wet, warm blanket. The feeling and texture wasn’t the worst possible experience but it was still one that made him gag. So, maybe it wasn’t good news but at least he was still alive.

  Probably.

  And the bad news? He could only hope he still had every important and vital part of his body on him and that everything still functioned the same.

  When the teleportation process was complete, the blinding white light slowly shifted to a calm blue that wavered like water in Heron’s vision. As the water-like vision began to clear away and he could finally see again, he blinked a few times to capture his surroundings.

  Human, I demand you to do something, anything!

  “Ha shakalaka, ha ha shakalaka.”

  What. In. The. Heavens.

  As Charles had promised, yes, Heron had teleported into another lodge-like building.

  There were grand wooden walls made with logs that stretched to a very high ceiling. The lighting in the place was grand and offered plenty of light from both the lanterns that dangled up high as well as the large windows that evoked the deepening, golden horizon from the setting, invisible sun. Instead of on his shoulder, Lucifer was now on the ground, cowering as a little rabbit between his legs as it trembled with its paws over its ears.

  “HA SHAKALA, HA HA SHAKALA.”

  What Charles did not tell him was the fact that he would enter as the centerpiece of whatever ritual, ceremonial, burial situation that he had been thrust into.

  Standing in the center of what Heron presumed to be the living room, several men with vegetable masks danced erratically around him while chanting incoherent rantings while shaking shakers.

  “BEHOLD. OUR GOD, YEL.” A voice boomed from one of the men.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man with a cabbage mask stepped back from the dancing-chanting circle and raised his arms, as if to praise the gods above. “All hail the Farming God, may he bless us with prosperous lands and bountiful crops.”

  “YEAHHH!” Two of the other men—wearing a carrot and broccoli mask—cheered while the one with a potato mask seemed to huff in amusement, and the one wearing a turnip mask seemed to sulk and mutter under his breath.

  Hold on. What? Who was Yel? What Farming God?

  Beats me, do something, human–

  The man in the cabbage mask leaped over, slamming both feet into the ground of the wooden floors as he inhaled loudly, pulling both fists back like he was ready to punch Heron into another world. Except the punches never came, and the strange man straightened up and clasped his hands on Heron’s shoulders like they were old pals.

  “Yel, we have been waiting for your arrival since the very day we became Farmers.” The man said dramatically, his voice muffled by the cabbage mask.

  “Y-You have?” Heron was supposed to deny that he was Yel or the Farming God; he was just a salary-man that had been isekai’d into another world and now had a dragon-rabbit as a familiar that was cowering between his legs like a scared cartoon bunny.

  The man seemed taken aback by Heron’s answer but quickly recovered. “Indeed, we have.” Another dramatic gesture, as if to praise the heavens above. “Long, long ago you granted our lands prosperity and the ability to grow luscious crops that fed the people of this kingdom. We are forever grateful for your generosity, and we ask you to accept our humble offering of…”

  The cabbage man pointed at the slouched, sulking man wearing the turnip mask. “That guy. He volunteers as tribute. Now go ahead and gut him.”

  “What!?” Both Heron and the turnip man yelled unanimously, flicking their heads to one another.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Yeah, give him a good stabbing!” The broccoli man hollered after as the carrot man began to laugh and wheeze.

  They’re going to eat us. After we sacrifice that man to Yel, we’re next, I just know it—

  No, no, that can’t be it. They were asking Heron to gut the turnip. Did these people think he was Yel or something? Sure, he had teleported in during their freakish ceremonial ritual of trying to summon the Farming God, but surely they could tell that he was just some guy? Not that he knew what Yel was supposed to look like but maybe not an middle-aged office worker from another world?

  “No, no, no,” the turnip man muttered under the mask as his eyes flitted from side-to-side. “That’s not how this is supposed to go. He’s not Yel, he can’t be Yel—“

  “Oh but he is!” The cabbage man declared as he skirted around, shoving the turnip man towards Heron. The turnip man fell forward, catching himself. The cabbage man laughed alongside the broccoli and carrot man.

  “Hey, that’s enough.” Potato man chimed in, his gruff deep voice remained clear from under the mask as he crossed his arms. “Leave Larry alone, he’s an impressionable one.”

  “Oh come on, Hersch, you’re no fun.” The broccoli man complained as the carrot man nodded in agreement.

  The cabbage man sighed, ruffling the back of his head. “Alright, alright. Guess the gig is up.”

  Heron cleared his throat, adjusting the collar of his white button-up shirt as he made eye contact with the turnip man. “Uh, don’t worry Larry. I won’t be gutting you.”

  This only made the three rowdy men holler in the back, laughing and wheezing as the turnip man—Larry—just fidgeted in a gloomy manner. The potato man sighed as he reached for his potato mask, taking it off and revealing an older man with white hair and a white beard. He reminded Heron of Santa Claus, if Santa Claus had a shorter beard and was completely ripped. Guess this guy wasn’t getting very many cookies and milk to feast on.

  “Welcome to Sector Nine, you must be a new guy.” The older gentleman said as he stepped forward, offering his hand. “The name’s Herschel.”

  As Heron shook Herschel’s hand, the cabbage man chuckled as he took off his mask as well—revealing a younger man with brown hair and a charismatic grin. “Hey, I’m James. Herschel over there beat me to the punch, huh?”

  “That’s because you’re giving Larry indigestion.” Herschel said simply, stepping back.

  “Larry is fine, right Larry?” James shrugged, letting out a laugh as he slung an arm around the turnip man’s shoulders who only yelped in response.

  Honestly, Larry seemed just as fine as Lucifer did—which meant that neither of them were fine. The trembling between Heron’s legs had stopped so either Lucifer had passed out or was calming down. Glancing down, he could see the white rabbit was curled up like a ball, covering its ears and eyes with its paws.

  Human, I am completely fine. This is just part of the process of world domination. I must appear that I am completely harmless—

  “Hey, do you guys hear that?” The broccoli man glanced around, as if looking for the source of a sound.

  “Hear what?” The carrot man turned to the broccoli next to him.

  “The voice.”

  “Oh, I thought that was only in my head.”

  Thump.

  The sound of a book closing made everyone’s heads turn towards the source of the noise.

  “You guys just noticed?”

  Oh finally, a normal looking person.

  Heron blinked as his gaze met a young man sitting on the couch nearby. The young man had his legs crossed, black hair tousled with a piercing golden gaze. In his lap laid a thick, hardcover book that read, ‘The History of Magical Essence’.

  “That,” the fellow gestured to Lucifer who was still cowering between Heron’s legs. “Is a familiar. The rabbit.”

  “Zerif is a nerd.” The broccoli man groaned, taking off his mask as well and tossing it over at the guy named Zerif—who dodged the mask with ease as it sailed past the couch.

  “I prefer the term, knowledgeable.” Zerif responded before returning to his book.

  James chuckled as he glanced back at Heron. “Alright new guy, best I introduce ourselves before we scare you off like we did with the other newcomers.”

  He gestured to the broccoli man who gave a small wave. “That’s Desmonte,” then James pointed at the carrot man who’d taken off his mask, revealing a young fellow with blond hair. “And that’s Eugen.”

  So many names, so many people. Earlier, the guildmaster had said a man named James would show Heron around so it was likely that the one that had been instigating the ritual and the Yel summoning was the ringleader? Then there was Desmonte and Eugen who were both in cahoots with James, Larry who looked like he didn’t want to be there, Herschel was the wise old man of the group, and Zerif hadn’t partaken in the ceremonial dance.

  How many people were in this room? Seven including himself?

  “Hi everyone, I’m Heron.” His instinct was to bow and give a brief introduction of his previous experience and basically full-send an elevator pitch, but it’d been years since he had joined the small, shady company that he worked for—he’d already forgotten the proper etiquette of joining a new work group.

  Picking up Lucifer who was still curled up, Heron lifted the rabbit to show it off. “And this is Lucifer, my uh, rabbit familiar.”

  How do you do? Lucifer’s voice was unusually quiet.

  “I thought familiars could only be bonded if the person was compatible with magical essence.” James said thoughtfully, his eyes locked in on Lucifer.

  BANG.

  “Okay, who stole my seeds?!”

  A set of doors slammed open as a wild-eyed crazy looking man had entered with the grand gesture of a damsel in distress except way louder and a tad more violent. With all eyes on the new character who had just entered the scene, Heron watched Herschel sigh and Larry gulp while Desmonte, Eugen, and Zerif continued to mind their own business.

  James simply smiled and gestured to the new guy like the outburst was completely normal and not a big deal. “And that’s Maxwell!”

  “Shut up, James.” The beefy, angry man growled as he stomped towards the center of the room. “Nobody cares about your stupid welcome ceremony. Now who took my seeds?!”

  Wow, he was an angry little man—

  Indeed, what an unpleasant fellow.

  Heron’s heart stopped. Oh no. Serafina never told Lucifer how to private DM—

  “What was that?” Maxwell’s eyes narrowed as he stopped in his tracks, just off the center of the group that surrounded Heron.

  Oh, that was in your head, I’m just a voice. Lucifer desperately tried to play it off.

  “Wow, that rabbit has some balls!” Desmonte howled, almost collapsing over as he laughed.

  Oh no, oh boy.

  The little buff guy locked eyes with Heron and he gulped before offering a polite smile.

  “Hi, I’m the new guy.”