An aftermath had happen from what I was told. A sector of the Southern Grassland begins to unfold. My travel route to the desert beds are desolated. The fair sea of sands puke upon and my clothes and skin; the ever sea stretched for miles blown by the soft whimsical winds straightly from the Northern Grassland pinched between the two great lands. Tunes aloft with the sharf of air above the beds it laid seamlessly. Particles of glass shimmered and are detected in the materials and its viable frequency. It flew away by the breath of the sky, engulfed in a horizon of mists and low grade clumps of clouds that gives the great beast of the sand a fit, blowing the nostrils before confusion set, changing the hidden glass into liquid vapors of an unknown chemical process.

  The sand whale was beneath me. It burrow its way to hide from the hot day. Goodness, it really does made no sense to the other world’s logic. I searched for what I can find to rest with but with no avail other than scrap of discarded shells; and parts of great woods receiving from what it look liked a shipwreck of some stored goods, scattered and covered many grounds till a cluster of a ship’s hood. Oh, in the land of the sand bandits and sand pirates seemly is reasonable to expect. The cautious state boils in.

  “Um . . . Excuse I mister. Mister, mister traveler. Over hear I say.” a rugged voice of prince charming demanded, sounding like an Asian British man with an accent. I was alone. I must be dreaming of this nonsense. Surely am me, fully aware and overcome with exhaustion and started to hear spouting of some sort.

  “Mister traveler, you’re directly looking at me.” said the voice once more. There was no one in sight.

  My hallucination was piling up the toll. And for once, I might have believe in the fantasy paranormal that it was an actual live ghost. But it did not excuse my dumbfound countenance to be met with a block of wood resembling a pillow. Clonk! Judgment administer right after turning away from it. I realize it was no human. It wasn’t a beast that resides in the desert. Not even an elvfyn in distress.

  “Oh you oxymoron!” It corrected me and gave me not a laugh. A personified, short-end festival boat talking to yours truly in this mess. I must be going nutty from this anomaly. Pretty sure the joke was used in my future déjà vu. ‘Tis hard to express from high strangeness after taking a block to the noggin.

  “Good. Now that you realize that I exist. Will you please help me out good sir? I am stuck about a month’s worth of rations.” We converse for the moments.

  So I asked after our introduction how it was stuck in the first place giving it more than a nudge. Knowing it has some form of intelligence and too, being a magical boat itself, why not just magically lift itself. No pleasant memories was brought up other than a scorching anger ready to devour my half-cooked bacon of its predicament.

  “That FEEBLE hand, BAKA John Titor! I’m going to kick him if he ever returns to ask me for help. How dare he let me rot for eternity and excuse himself of high standards of living. I’ll shave his prized hair with his very own bootleg katana!”

  What a genius. But the boat has no arms and legs to do what it claimed. Out pop the magical boat’s head and along the sweaty rain condensed in tight spaces. A wallet fling out showing me of some interest that I would go and pick it up, curious of the claim this angry object bashing on about non-stop.

  There was a driver’s license from the United States of America intact that I took a look seeing the name, Precious Bunny Chastity Caddel. It was diffidently an isekai boy. A young man’s picture with a stripper’s name to boot. A legal name that may h’been too embarrassed to be used even for the public eyes.

  I am pretty convinced it is him. John Titor must be a psuedo name. But to be valid, the boy’s picture was shown to the dragon boat that it appears to be.

  “That’s him alright. You know Titor?” the dragon boat questioned me prolonging the very word, “him.” It slid on the sand and closed our distant. I was not an alibi for the Japanese-obsessed boy though it seems the boat wanted an excuse to vent off.

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  An unbound family portrait slip out from the wallet when we collided. Surprisingly, John Titor, who is probably is not in self-content, as I should call him by the nickname to avoid his dying pain ministered by awful and dreaded parent, was the only kid to be wearing stylish ronin-like clothing.

  First was the handmade rain coat made of straws hold in the arm, posing ridiculously and flamboyantly from the rest of the siblings. Natural color scheme of his clothes is of purple, black, white, gray, and green. His dress is consist of a belt-like sash, a custom outer kimono cape with plenty of room under the arm pit with detailed circle patterns throughout; and a loose pant known as a tattsuke-bakama but non-traditional, that cuffed right below the knee garnished with pill pattern design allocated in the center to resemble old traditional coins. Mismatched leg-guards and a cover for the feet and calves. Shoes are made of sturdy barks cultured and weaved finished with many straps between the toes and up above the ankles.

  Now, this is an isekai man of blonde hair. The description I gave the animated object satisfy not his anger. I beseeched.

  Being summoned by an elvfyn girl would not help either way. The dragon boat found my logic to be false. My determination to proof I was not of their ilk in some ways is unsatisfying. A blurb of information the boat releases concerning that I was the second man who this Titor boy was talking about through his travels. Someone who was in chase of him from the pile of debts left unresolved from a dispute in an inn. The good cop, bad cop scenario in most case.

  I don’t believe one bit of this sack-water plan. It made no sense for me to choose this drama. I am beyond an average Joe seeking popularity. John Titor is a fictitious code to be chosen that did me no justice to prove my innocent from the dragon’s yapping of convoluted theories.

  The dragon boat’s third excuse label me in cahoot because our names were very different from the realm. The accusation that we are aliens of one kind seeking to control their world from the unbound shadows. The knowledge it professed reveals he is learned of isekai men and a fair history lesson of wonders. It baffles me of what is really going on in the fantasy world.

  “Enough of him!” the magic boat telling me to end the charade. Deep thinking tends to drive people nuts. I did not expect an animated object would care lest the possessed boat was once a human. The fire is fading but soon there will be a storm to quench.

  Far from the distant, a rain storm was in session along a certain horizon heading into some greenery. At least that is what we expect it to be, hoping it wasn’t some form of illusion, looking from the pinnacle top of the highest hill of sand in our proximity, til the curious sand whale pop out partially nearby gushing out steam and it rescind, creating low cooling clouds gliding in the direction of the whimsical winds. It would be problematic crossing the wet sand though a bit of fair rain is wanted.

  “I’ll be leaving. Hope you do well in your travels, stranger.” The boat left me not doubting that I’m guilty from our earlier conversation. It shook gradually of itself to start off descending from the one-edge hill. I watch the boat and when the land was even within the valley of sands, it was stuck doing its best to move squinting the eyes and tightening the wooden muscles to the point it is playing charade in the bathroom.

  The boat is having trouble releasing a large dried piece stuck between the two muscular sphincter complexes indeed. It’s face had sour. A moment of quietness registered before turning around to ask me for a favor the third time.

  It didn’t took long for the magic boat to realize it’s sail is lost. A symbiotic deal is made within the barren valley that I would find/make a sail in return for the greatest service to mankind. The sail is the key component to magically swim the no man’s land. The boat insisted of the symbiotic relationship. I have no choice but to heed to the instruction of an animated object since two feet will only carry so far.

  I made the worst gaff sail out of make-shift poles grafted with scraps. It didn’t appeased the dragon boat and we decided a more lenient approach with the square sail. A dirty durable skin material of some kind as a complement to the skeleton frame. I inserted the creation onto the dragon’s back. The linen arisen in majesty and sweat sparkles in contact.

  We took off into no men’s playground, swimming pass the sand manatees and the killer seaweeds, accidentally made troubles with the overpowered alien parasite princess Chagas within her territory, and more my good friend, within the uncharted sand sea randomly locating a settlement sojourned in the middle of the desert basin.

  And when the both of us thought all is good from the “abusement,” the settlement reveals to be a hideout of goblin biker bandits controlled by the princess.

  “Cannibals.” said the dragon boat, “Take my advice once more, they’re over-leveled.” The data behind the Mask of Unfortunate Blessings had scan the perimeter. Our mischievous arrival alerted the pack in an instant. These sand monkeys are in the level 300s.

  The goblins brandish their spoiled weapons of war stolen from adventurers and rouge army platoons. We are in hot troubles surviving the onslaught of bombardments and physical killer instinct showdown. Our miraculous glide brought us closer to be abuse, honestly. The technical shot of the cannon is commenced as the boat is breached.

  The full inertia of a gigantic hob’s hand pulverize the sand sea.

  Some of the monsters were overweight and there is nothing I could do about it if one plows the dragon boat. The seriousness and humor conjectures produced by us brought no comfort.

  The only weapon to match the bandits was a cannon the dragon boat had set. With no less than four ammunition conserved since the battle with Chagas and her sandpool fortress, the decision was made to finish the rounds. Afterward, all I have are the sprites and the boat to consider as support for an escape.

  Great.

  Samurai_Work_Tunes