Silas trudged through the dense forest, his boots squelching in the damp earth, and the familiar weight of his sword hung at his hip.
He paused, listening for the telltale squish of slimes nearby.
"Ten freaking years," he muttered, shaking his head. "Ten years in this godforsaken world."
As he scanned the underbrush, his mind drifted back to that fateful day a decade ago.
One moment, he was an ordinary high school student with his whole life planned out. The next, he was thrust into this nightmare of a fantasy realm.
"It was all planned out, dammit! I was going to get a good government job, earn a decent salary, and marry a good wife with a kind face. How did I end up in this shithole world?"
To other people though, this place would probably look amazing, like a dream come to life. There was magic, and elves, and fairies, and all sorts of other fantasy stuff.
"I bet everyone back home's already graduated from college now," Silas grumbled, kicking at a nearby tree root.
"Probably partying, dating, living normal lives. And here I am, hunting friggin' slimes like some loser."
The memory of those first days still made him shudder.
Confused and unable to communicate because he didn't speak the language here, he was suddenly beset by magical beasts he couldn't even name.
He'd thought he was invulnerable at first, shrugging off attacks that should have torn him apart.
Then the pain arrived. Oh god, the pain!
A blue text box had appeared before his eyes, explaining his "gift" in clinical terms. His so-called cheat skill was named "Infinite Damage Absorption". More like a sick joke if you asked Silas.
"Who the hell wants to fight dragons and all kinds of insane monsters like a maniac!?" Silas ranted to the indifferent forest.
He kicked another root, harder this time, and immediately regretted it. Even if he couldn't feel the pain now, he'd have to deal with it eventually. That was the real kicker of his so-called gift.
"Infinite Damage Absorption my ass," Silas muttered. "More like Infinite Pain Procrastination. Whoever came up with this system needs a serious reality check."
A wet, gurgling sound snapped him back to the present. Slimes. At least a dozen of them, oozing their way through the forest floor. Silas sighed and drew his sword reluctantly.
"Come on, then, you digusting blobs of ooze" he grumbled. "Let's get this over with."
As he fought the jelly-like creatures, Silas reflected on why he hunted these low-level monsters - minimal risk, minimal pain. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.
"Do you know the agony of never getting to confess to your crush, slime bastard!?" Silas yelled as he sliced through a particularly large slime.
"Now all I think about is 'How much pain can I store before I go blind!' and 'Will these herbs finally dull the agony!?'. Do you know my pain!? Answer me, you trash!"
The slimes fell easily to his blade, leaving behind glowing mana stones.
As he gathered his prizes, Silas thought about the woman who'd saved him, the kindly apothecary owner who'd taken him in when he was nothing but a confused, penniless beggar.
She'd taught him to read, and helped him learn the language. Most importantly, she'd introduced him to the world of medicinal herbs. It became his obsession, driven by the constant need to manage his pain.
"God, I miss pain medications," Silas sighed, reaching into his pocket and fingering the various leaves and roots he always carried.
"Painkillers, anaesthetics, numbing agents - I've tried them all. Nothing really works." The slime corpses had no response to his rant.
He remembered his first attempts at pain management, the desperate experiments with local herbs and plants. It had been a disaster, they barely worked, leaving him violently ill on top of the pain he was already dealing with.
"I don't like getting hurt!" he'd tell anyone who'd listen. They always assumed he was a coward. If only they knew.
"Yeah, I'm totally a coward for not wanting to feel like I'm being bruned alive," Silas muttered sarcastically. "Sorry I'm not thrilled about experiencing every single injury I've had all at once. My bad."
As he made his way back to town, Silas found himself longing for the comforts of home. Not for the first time, he daydreamed about all the things he missed.
"What I wouldn't give for a greasy cheeseburger right now," he sighed. "Or a hot shower. Or toilet paper that doesn't feel like tree bark. Is that too much to ask?"
A flock of birds flew out of a tree, doing their best to fly away as far as possible from the crazy human.
He thought about his family, his friends, all the people he'd left behind. Did they miss him? Did they even know he was gone?
Or had he just disappeared without a trace, another statistic, another missing person poster fading on a telephone pole?
"Happy birthday, Silas," he muttered to himself. "Another year older in a world that's trying its best to kill you. Yay me."
A commotion near the market square caught his attention as he entered the town.
A crowd had gathered, their voices a mix of fear and outrage. Pushing his way through, Silas felt his heart drop.
The apothecary shop was in flames. And there, in the centre of the square, lay the body of the woman who'd saved him. Her kind eyes stared blankly at the sky, a grotesque symbol carved into her forehead.
"No," Silas whispered, then louder, "No!"
He ran to her, and fell to his knees beside her, tears streaming down his face. ""Screw off! You goddamn cultists!"
She was the only person who cared about him in this hell world. "Why does everything have to happen to meee?"
As the crowd murmured around him, Silas felt an unfamiliar sensation building inside. Is this heroism? It made him gag.
"Great, just great," he choked out between sobs. "Because this day wasn't crappy enough. Fan-freaking-tastic!"
Silas looked at the burning shop, at the body of his saviour, at the curious and fearful faces of the townsfolk.
In that moment, he made a decision, one part anger, one part guilt, and one part resignation.
"Alright," he growled, rising to his feet. "You want a hero? Fine. I'll be your damn hero. But I'm doing it my way, and I'm complaining the whole time."
He turned and stalked away from the scene, mind racing. He had cultists to hunt, a debt to repay, and a whole world of pain to face.
"Just another day in paradise," Silas muttered bitterly. "Slimes, cultists, and enough stored-up pain to make a masochist cry. Living the dream, Silas. Living the goddamn dream."