3. The Girl Who Knows Things

The thing about the First Local you meet in an Isekai situation is they’re meant to be your exposition bot. They’re the ones that act amazed that you don’t know anything about System A or Worldbuilding B or Foreshadowing C, then proceed to generously explain them all in a step-wise and digestible manner. An Isekai MC’s efficiency at kicking ass in a magical setting, therefore, is directly proportional to the speed at which he befriends this First Local and gets into hijinks with them.

If I should be so lucky.

I follow Elf Girl—my version of the First Local—deeper into the forest, and along the way, she makes a few more attempts at communication. I try to say a few English phrases in turn. No dice. Neither of us can understand the other, and there’s no dialogue box that pops up with ready-made localization.

The best way I can describe her language is if a drunk Quebecois tried to imitate the Khaleesi-speak from Game of Thrones (you know, “Dracarys!” and all that). That sounds like an insult to both the GoT fandom and people from the province of Quebec, but I assure you it’s not. It’s actually kind of pleasant: lyrical gravitas tempered by a rustic rhythmicity. I’m… already kind of into the idea of learning it.

But unless this world and its magical elements have granted me a language absorption skill, it’s going to take some time and effort before I can rely on my First Local for exposition. For now, I’m content just to have someone leading the way.

Or I was. Until Elf Girl leads me straight to the entrance to a cave that has all the makings of a First Dungeon.

“Oh…” I murmur dubiously. “I should’ve known you wanted me to do a quest.”

The cave is too dark to see too far into it, but I don’t need to be a local to know it’s home to some nasty critters. I’ve also noticed a distinct rise in the ambient temperature. I don’t know if it’s the effects of Elf Girl’s spell running out or if the cave itself is the source of the unbearable heat. And I’m too afraid to ask (even if I knew how to).

Elf Girl, for her part, looks at me expectantly again, with a dimply smile softening her, uh, Elven features. Her eyes flick to the sword in my hand and back, which is the universal signal for “come on, swordsman, time for you to do your sword thing.”

For the first time, I wonder if she even knows that my sword shoots guns. Do all swords in this world shoot guns? Have I fooled myself into thinking that I’m an OP rarity when, in fact, most residents of this world are staunch gun-sword lovers? So many questions, so few ways to ask them.

“Look,” I say, giving into my instincts to lower any expectations others might have about my aptitudes, “this is literally the first sword I’ve ever touched in my life. I don’t actually know anything about swordsmanship, let alone about swords that shoot guns. So… if I do this, I’m gonna need a lot of help, yeah?”

I augment the spiel with lots of shrugs and other improvised gestures. And even though it was my intention, I still feel a pang of dismay when Elf Girl’s smile falters. I guess my copious self-deprecation got through to her across our language barrier. Maybe now she’d even consider letting me off the hook…

But it doesn’t take long for Elf Girl’s smile to brighten again, this time with a conspiratorial glint that feels oddly (and warmly) heartening. She pulls out her ‘book’ (catalyst?), points to it, and says a short sentence in her language. She then does… what I can only describe as a ‘guts pose’. You know what I mean. It’s the weeb-coded signal for “we can do this!”

I won’t lie. I see this, and my heart melts. I mean, can you really blame me? Here I am, lost and anxious in a strange magical world, and my First Local happens to be a pretty Elf Girl with a dimply smile and a convivial won’t-say-die attitude. It’s way too early in my Isekai journey, but yes, I think I’m falling for her.

And no, I haven’t forgotten that my First Local is also the spitting image of my Truck-kun, but… I don’t have the bandwidth to process so many mindfuckeries at once, alright? Just let me have this!

So, like the hotblooded fool I am, I reciprocate Elf Girl’s enthusiasm with a guts pose of my own (there’s a first time for everything). And we both go skipping into the scary-looking cave like we’re on a stroll through Stanley Park.

As soon as we enter, however, the cave reminds us what we’re up against. For one thing, it’s immediately clear that I hadn’t imagined the rise in temperature. It’s hot in here, enough to get through Elf Girl’s comfort spell and put me at risk of heat exhaustion. The sheen of sweat on Elf Girl’s brow tells me she’s feeling it too. Whatever is the end goal of our quest, we need to get it done quickly before we both boil to death.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

It doesn’t take long for the cave to demonstrate that its scariness isn’t just for show. We come upon a narrow passage that, at first, looks like it’s covered in moss. I soon realize that the moss is moving, and before I know it, some of it slide off the walls and ceilings to reveal themselves as animate green blobs.

Slimes. Baby’s first dungeon monster. I’ve been so preconditioned by video games that I even let out a little snort. This shouldn’t present a challenge at all, right? Even if I’m a complete novice at this?

Wrong! I take an overhead swing of my sword, the same ‘technique’ I used to dispatch the Goblin boss earlier. Just like last time, it produces the one pistol that fires a single bullet at the nearest Slime (I’ve also taken the liberty to call this technique [Glock Strike]; no idea if it’s lore-accurate or not).

The bullet hits the Slime, gives it a good bounce or two, then… just sort of sits there. I can see the damn thing floating inside the Slime. It’s been absorbed!

“Oh no.”

This isn’t the kind of Isekai with enemy HPs and whatnot, so I don’t even know if my shot has done any ‘damage’. From where I’m standing though, it doesn’t look all that promising, as the Slime in question lunges at me with a frighteningly swift motion.

Acting purely by instinct and not much else, I try to jump out of the way. The Slime manages to catch and wrap itself around my trailing leg. Searing pain! Pungent odor! I’ve never had sulfuric acid dumped on my leg, but I imagine this is what it’d feel like.

All I can think to do is kick out as hard as I can, and thankfully, the force of it is enough to fling the Slime off me. At the same time, I catch a glimpse of my lower leg, and am horrified. A whole half of the khaki leg is just gone, burnt away. And the skin underneath is an angry bubbling red.

More Slimes converge on my position, and at this point, I’m paralyzed with fear and despair. I kneel in defeat, with my sword digging uselessly into the cave floor. I’m convinced that I’m about to die here, and I can only hope this is the kind of Isekai with a revive spell.

That’s when my vision blurs with a kind of hazy-blue filter. A translucent barrier has gone up all around me, blocking the Slimes’ access to my helpless ass.

Beside me, Elf Girl’s catalyst is glowing and floating again, and she chants something menacing and oddly ‘Dracarys’-like. The area in front of my barrier explodes with bright-red flames.

The Slimes scatter and try to climb back up the cave wall, but many of them burn to crisps before they can reach it. The few that do return to their original positions proceed to stay put, evidently scared off from trying us again.

Be still, my beating heart. I stare in amazement and something a little extra as Elf Girl kneels next to me to inspect my damaged leg. By now, the protective barrier has come down, and Elf Girl is busy casting another spell. It comes out as glowing vapor that floats onto my leg. Instant relief. Followed quickly by a de-reddening of my blistered skin (but the pants remained unrepaired; not a seamstress spell, apparently).

After Elf Girl is done with the healing spell, she gives me a weak smile, visibly exhausted. Who could blame her? By my count, she just cast at least three spells in rapid succession, burning down a room-ful of Slimes while saving my useless ass. All while I knelt and cowered like the bumbling fool I am.

But I quickly realize that, while the embarrassment is solely mine, at least the amazement is shared between us. Because Elf Girl is now pointing at my sword and chattering excitedly in her Quebecois High Valyrian. Her eyes are round with wonder. Her voice pops and crackles with infectious joy.

Be still, my beating heart. But it’s too late. The train has left the station, and it’s only full steam ahead from here on out.

But even in my hotblooded foolishness, I retain enough presence of mind to analyze the situation. Elf Girl’s outsized reaction to my sword and its [Glock] trick answers at least one of the questions I had. No, it’s not normal for swords in this world to shoot guns. It might be useless against fucking Slimes of all things, but it’s at least rare and powerful enough to garner the admiration of a clearly skilled Elf Mage.

Maybe even rare enough to deserve its own proper noun, eh? I’ve decided. Henceforth and forever more, the weapon in my hand shall be known as the Sword That Shoots Guns—or the STSG for short.

Elf Girl’s infectious joy has rubbed off on me, and my mood is considerably improved despite my terrible showing at my first dungeon fight. I think to myself, what’s the worst that can happen? I know the STSG works against some critters, and even if doesn’t, I’ve got Elf Mage watching my back.

We both go skipping deeper into the cave like we’re browsing the shops at Metrotown. We leave the scaredy Slimes behind, and we—at least I—barely notice as the ambient temperature goes up another notch.

And that’s when seemingly the entire cave fills with a terrible scream. Loud, deep, and somehow ancient.

At this, even Elf Girl stops dead in her tracks. She looks over at me with a serious expression, points in the direction we’re going—towards the source of the scream—and speaks a single word. A word that sounds the same in Quebecois High Valyrian as it does in English.

“Dragon.”