Dragged to Another World… and I Took the Goddess with me!

After Silvara casually broadcasted his infertility problem like a town crier, Finn bolted out of the tent. He wasn't sticking around for the aftershock from Theron. Food—he needed food.

He followed the smell of roasted meat through the camp, ignoring the occasional suspicious glance from knights. He'd had enough humiliation for one day. If he didn't get some meat in him soon, he was going to collapse.

Eventually, he stumbled into what looked like a massive outdoor dining area packed with soldiers. It was chaos.

Chunkus sat alone, gnawing on a cartoonishly oversized ham—seriously, the thing was the size of a medium dog.

'Jeez…'

Lickthorn wasn't eating. Instead, she was brushing up against every knight within reach, trying to seduce them. Not a single one looked interested.

Chestelle was wolfing down food like some kind of starving barbarian, splattering chunks everywhere. Even hardened knights edged their benches away from her.

And Majestria—of course—was the center of attention. She sat in the middle of a circle of knights, who practically drooled as they offered her scraps from their plates. She accepted everything with smug grace, like she was fulfilling her divine duty to be worshipped and fed.

Finn sighed. Logical course of action? Ignore the circus, grab food, and eat quietly. That's what he was going to do.

He approached one of the serving stations—and froze.

The cook was a woman built like a boulder, towering over the table. She wore a plain white chef's uniform, her brown hair tied into a ponytail, brown eyes scanning Finn with unsettling precision.

She had just handed a soldier a plate before turning her gaze on him.

Her voice rasped like she'd chain-smoked since birth. "What'll it be, sugar?"

She dragged her tongue across her lips—too long. Way too long.

Finn swallowed hard. "Uh… whatever you're serving is fine."

Her tongue flicked out again, touching her chin this time. "Mmm. Whatever you want, sugar."

Finn's stomach growled, but all he wanted to do was puke.

She grabbed a plate and dumped a chaotic pile of food onto it, finishing with a flourish.

"Here you go, sugar," she said, licking her lips with a little too much gusto—some saliva even splattering onto Finn's face.

He cried.

Luckily none of it touched the food, but the experience made him want to throw the plate across the camp. He picked it up and muttered the most reluctant "thank you" ever.

"Anytime, sugar. It's my job. Why don't you come see me later and have some dessert? I think you deserve it," she added, licking loudly again.

Finn shivered. "No thanks. I… have to go somewhere after this."

"That's a real shame. I'll be waiting for you, sugar," she called after him.

Finn walked away, utterly mortified, wishing for a universe where simple things like food could exist without trauma.

He glanced down at the plate. The food looked perfect. A warm bowl of creamy golden lentils, tender ground beef cooked with caramelized onions, a handful of fresh herbs, a dollop of yogurt drizzled with olive oil—and a piece of large flatbread resting on the edge.

Finn licked his lips hungrily. "Now this is an isekai experience!" he declared, far too loudly. A few knights nearby paused and stared at him like he'd lost his mind.

He didn't care. He plopped onto a bench and dove in, tearing the bread, scooping up the lentils, and shoveling it all into his mouth like a starving street urchin.

Warm, rich, perfect. He hadn't eaten anything like this in years.

"You're really enjoying that, aren't you?" a voice said from across the table.

Finn didn't look up, too focused on demolishing the food.

Then he ate a bit too fast, started to choke, and smacked his chest a few times. He finally looked up and saw who had spoken.

***

It was the same knight Finn had seen earlier—the one who had complimented his hat while he walked through the camp with Theron and Silvara.

The sight was oddly comforting. Finally, someone in this chaotic world was… decent.

"You finally got your face out of the food, huh?" the knight said.

Finn didn't respond. He went back to eating, savoring every bite. He was grateful for the earlier compliment, but the food deserved his full attention. I earned this, he thought.

Before long, he finished, let out a satisfied sigh, and rubbed his stomach like a man proud of his beer belly.

The knight remained across from him, helmet on, visor lifted, giving him a warm, unthreatening smile. Finn didn't trust it for a second. Normality in this world had always been a trap.

Still, Finn spoke, choosing to ignore the nagging suspicion. "What did you say earlier? I didn't hear you."

"It doesn't matter now. So… what brings you here?"

"Wasn't by choice," Finn said flatly.

"What do you mean?"

"Everything for me—everything—was not by choice. It was all forced." Deadpan, eyes slightly narrowed.

The knight blinked, unsure how to respond. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying I didn't come here willingly."

"Oh."

"So don't ask me how I'm doing or what I've seen. I haven't enjoyed a single second of it."

The knight just stared, processing. He hadn't encountered someone quite like Finn.

"Well… you enjoyed the food. That's something at least."

Finn looked down at his empty bowl, then back up with a dramatic sigh. "Temporary. There's more suffering waiting for me."

The knight furrowed his brow.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

His voice carried the perfect mix of confusion and grandfatherly tone.

"I don't know anymore," Finn muttered.

"Well, maybe you should know. You can't even have a proper conversation without sounding like a psycho," the knight replied.

Finn frowned. "My bad."

"What have you gone through to act like this?"

"I'd rather not say."

"I think that's wise. Better to talk to someone else about it."

Finn opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. Some things weren't meant to be shared.

The knight's gaze softened slightly. "Besides that… where did you get that hat?"