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

The cheers roared through the guild like a storm. Dozens of voices spat venom, calling for Finn's blood. Some shouted that he was a bad omen. Others went even further, accusing him of working with the Demon Lord.

And of course, Finn was freaking the hell out. He had no idea what to do—there were easily over a hundred people packed inside this hall, all glaring at him like a pack of rabid dogs.

The whole thing was insane. Finn's blood boiled. This guy always screams "fraud" when it's me—but the second he's got the crowd on his side, suddenly he's Judge, Jury, and Holy Executioner. Damn hypocrite!

The mob began to close in, chanting his death like it was some half-price concert. Finn instinctively backed away, palms sweaty, eyes darting for a way out.

He glanced toward the girls—only to get a headache from their wildly unhelpful reactions.

Elise looked both tired and terrified, like she wanted to collapse into a nap right there. Lickthorn was practically trembling in perverted anticipation, clearly excited about being mobbed by angry sweaty men. Chestelle was still lying motionless on the floor like a discarded potato, offering zero assistance. And Majestria—oh Majestria—was furious. She looked like she was one second away from grabbing a villager by the throat and swinging him around like a medieval flail.

Meanwhile, Ardin's party wasn't doing a damn thing. Chunkus looked distracted, Raze looked bored, and Seraphina—dressed in a new, freshly cleaned robe identical to her old one—just stood there watching.

Weird, Finn thought. But that didn't matter.

What mattered was figuring out a way not to die in front of an angry swamp mob.

And then it hit him. The one thing he was capable of. The stupid, pathetic little power that somehow always ended up being his saving grace.

Trip. And rearrange.

Finn's lips curled into a shaky grin. Alright… if there was ever a time to unleash the trip god, it's right freakin' now.

And he was going to do just that.

Finn closed his eyes and took a deep breath—like some kind of budget space wizard preparing to face down an army of pissed-off sturmtrooper knockoffs.

He clenched his fist. This was it. The moment. The chance to finally make these guild clowns pay for every insult, every laugh, every time someone shoved past him like he was a walking mop bucket.

"Bring it on!" he roared, his voice burning with determination.

The first batch of people charged.

Finn pulled back his arm and struck—trip! One guy went down. Then another. Then another. Soon they were tumbling over each other like bowling pins, while Finn cackled like a maniac who'd just found out chaos was tax deductible.

One burly man swung a giant bone at Finn's head. With a quick motion, Finn tripped him flat on his ass, then vaulted onto his back and sprang up onto a table.

Now standing tall above the mob, Finn glared down at the sea of hostile faces. It was a lot. Way too many. But did he care? Hell no.

He raised his arms like a conquering king. "Bring it on, suckers! I'll take every last one of you down if it's the final thing I do in this swampy hellhole!"

The horde surged forward like zombies at a buffet, clawing for him. Finn met them with pure chaos—trip-trip-trip!—knocking them over one by one without hesitation, his laughter echoing through the guild like a deranged battle cry.

Not far away, a group of men grabbed chairs, clearly preparing to chuck them at him.

Finn pointed dramatically. "Nah-uh-uh! I don't think so!"

He focused on the chairs. In an instant, they flipped and smacked the would-be throwers right in the face, knocking them cold.

His grin widened. "Ohhh, this is the best day of my life!"

"Take this!" someone screamed.

A mug flew through the air. Finn ducked. The drink splattered everywhere—straight onto Majestria.

Her pristine white dress now dripped with a purplish stain, like she'd just taken a bath in wine. Fitting, considering how much she adored grapes.

But she wasn't laughing.

Her fists began to glow. Her face darkened. The air itself seemed to vibrate with raw fury.

That's when the crowd collectively realized…

They hadn't just made Finn mad.

They had pissed off the goddess.

And she looked ready to tear them apart like a gorilla in human skin.

Majestria let out a banshee-like scream, hurling herself into the crowd and hammering away at anyone dumb enough to be in arm's reach. She looked less like a goddess and more like she was re-enacting a demon-slaying festival during a solar eclipse. Bodies flew. Bones cracked. The guild floor turned into a battlefield of poor life decisions.

Meanwhile, Finn was still on his table throne.

A brave idiot scrambled up toward him, but Finn struck fast—trip! The guy lost balance, and Finn flipped his leg upward in a clumsy-but-effective foot-uppercut. The man went airborne. Before he even hit the ground, Finn summoned a chair with his rearranger powers—wham!—smacking him mid-air.

"Triple combo!" Finn shouted proudly.

Then pain shot through his toes. He winced, grabbing his foot. "Damn knock-off boots! DAMN YOU, SILVARA!"

Suddenly, his table lurched. It wobbled. It rose into the air.

"What the—" Finn looked down in horror.

It was Majestria. Still raging, she was lifting the entire table to crush people beneath it. She didn't notice Finn clinging on. Or maybe she noticed and just didn't care.

"WAIT, WAIT—!"

The table flipped, and Finn plummeted. He landed face-first… into a surprisingly soft cushion. He opened his eyes. Nope, not a cushion. A female adventurer's chest.

The guild gasped. The girl screamed in horror.

"And he violates any woman he sees!" someone accused.

Finn scrambled to his feet, red-faced. "I'm so, so sorry!"

"Get him!" another voice shrieked.

Out of the crowd stormed a squadron of armored women, clearly adventurers.

Finn's jaw dropped. "Ooooh-weeee." He whistled in awe.

They glared at him in disgust. One, a tall woman with jet-black hair, spat, "And he's a womanizer!"

"I am not!" Finn snapped.

"Beat him!"

The group of women lunged, weapons drawn, ready to end him. Finn didn't even flinch—he just tripped the entire lot. They tumbled like dominoes—straight onto the poor adventurer woman he'd fallen on earlier.

The pile groaned and whimpered, tangled together in armor and limbs.

Finn blinked at the scene, stumbling back. "Oh… oh no. That's… holy and unholy at the same time."

From the back, someone screamed: "AND HE'S GETTING OFF TO IT!"

"I am—okay maybe I am—" Finn froze mid-defense, eyes snapping to the side.

There, perched on a table like some swamp goblin, the hillbilly greeter of Moistvile. And sure enough, he was way too into the girl pile.

Finn's jaw dropped in disgust. He pointed like he'd just seen Satan himself. "YOU—WHAT—LOOK AT HIM?!"

Someone turned, saw Billy… and instead of outrage at him, their rage doubled back on Finn.

"How dare you make fun of Billy like that?!"

Finn stood frozen, brain short-circuiting.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

The ground then trembled beneath their feet, sending everyone stumbling. A deafening series of heavy footsteps broke through the crowd like a battering ram.

From the throng emerged a colossal figure: tall, round, and utterly absurd. His belly jutted out like a meteor ready to crush anything in its path. A scraggly little beard poked from his chin, and—somehow—a metal bucket precariously balanced atop his head.

He stopped, raised a meaty hand to his stomach, and let out a burp that echoed through the guild hall like a warhorn.

"Someone is gonna pay for pointing out Billy. Hohoho!" he bellowed, rubbing his colossal gut with glee.

Finn was so tired and so ready at the same time.

"Let's do this."