They spent the next two days gathering supplies, resting, and dodging rumors.
The girl Matt had saved recovered quickly, and word spread faster than fire in dry brush. Some villagers nodded at him with cautious respect. Others avoided his eyes, as if unsure whether to bow or run. Meanwhile, Dave was living like a local celebrity.
On the morning of their departure, a small crowd gathered near the edge of town. Matt adjusted the satchel over his shoulder while Silas tied the last bundle to their borrowed cart.
One of the older women approached Dave with a cloth-wrapped bundle. "For your journey," she said, almost reverently. Inside were dried fruits, hard cheese, and something that looked suspiciously like fried mushrooms.
Another young woman stepped up and placed a carved wooden charm around his neck. "For protection," she said, cheeks flushed.
By the time they were ready to leave, Dave was draped in trinkets—bracelets, scarves, even a pair of oddly soft leather gloves. "I feel like a walking market stall," he whispered to Matt.
Matt just shook his head. "You're lucky. I got this."
He held up a single rolled parchment.
"A map?" Dave asked.
"Yeah. From the town scribe. It's not even labeled properly—just a bunch of scribbles and an arrow pointing toward 'Kingdom of Stenwald.'"
Dave grinned. "I still win."
Silas stepped forward then, holding out a worn leather-bound notebook. "Here. It's not much, but I wrote down everything I thought might keep you alive."
Matt took it carefully. Inside, pages were stuffed with Silas's messy handwriting, crude drawings of plants and animals, strange customs, even a few warnings like don't eat purple eggs, they bite back.
"There's some good advice in there," Silas said. "And some bad guesses. But better than nothing."
Matt looked at him. "You've been more help than we deserve."
Silas waved him off. "You brought a girl back from the brink and didn't ask for anything. That counts for a lot."
Dave gave the old man a solid pat on the shoulder. "We'll come back through here someday. When we're rich and slightly less confused."
Silas smirked. "I'll hold you to that. Now go. Roads don't wait, and kingdoms don't visit themselves."
With that, they turned toward the hills, leaving the crooked rooftops and smoke trails of the town behind. The crowd slowly dispersed, the morning sun warm on their backs.
They didn't know exactly what lay ahead, but for now, they had food, a cart, a rough map, and the closest thing to a plan they'd had since waking in this strange new world.
And with Dave's bag rustling with goodbye gifts and Matt's fingers gripping the little guidebook like a lifeline, they stepped onto the road.
The road was barely a road at all—just packed dirt that turned to rocks, then to grass, then back to rocks again. The wooden wheels on their cart protested every step of the way.
Dave grunted, pulling it over another shallow dip. "This thing is a nightmare. It gets stuck on everything. I think we'd move faster dragging it with our teeth."
Matt walked a few paces behind, nose in the guidebook, his brow furrowed. "You're the one who wanted to carry all those extra snacks."
"They're gifts," Dave huffed. "From the kind townspeople. Which you wouldn't understand because they didn't throw a parade for your departure."
Matt flipped a page without looking up. "Because I didn't spend half the week flirting with every girl who brought me cheese."
Dave opened his mouth to reply—then froze. His eyes widened.
He pointed, almost shaking with excitement. "Matt. Matt. Look!"
Matt glanced up.
Behind a large moss-covered boulder ahead, something green shimmered. It pulsed slightly, wobbling like jelly in the sun.
"A slime!" Dave hissed, eyes lighting up. "Oh man, we're going to level up so fast. Everyone knows slimes are the easiest mobs! I bet it drops coins, maybe even—"
"Wait!" Matt barked, flipping through the pages of Silas's book. "Hang on—hang on—he had a section on creatures—here!"
He stopped at a crudely drawn blob. The handwriting under it was frantic and underlined.
SLIMES: AVOID AT ALL COSTS.
Nickname: "Century Death"
Properties: acidic absorption, regenerative trap, non-lethal consumption.
Victims caught inside will experience extreme pain as their bodies are slowly broken down.
Slimes inhibit death, forcing regeneration cycles. Longest recorded case: 147 years before final nutrient exhaustion.
Matt looked up, face pale. "Dave. Back away. Now."
Dave's smile vanished. "Wait—what?"
"It doesn't kill you. It keeps you alive while it eats you. Forever."
Dave stumbled back, eyes locked on the slime. It had started to pulse faster, slowly edging toward them, its gelatinous body whispering over the rocks.
"Okay," Dave whispered. "Nope. Nope nope nope."
Matt shoved the book into his pack. "Just walk. Don't run."
They stepped backward together, the slime continuing its slow, hungry slide forward, barely making a sound. It almost looked peaceful—until you knew what it could do.
Dave didn't take his eyes off it. "Level one farming mobs, my ass."
The sun drifted lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the road.
The slime was still behind them.
It oozed forward at a steady crawl, never faster than a slow shuffle, but never stopping either. Matt and Dave kept ahead easily at walking pace, but the thing refused to vanish from view.
Dave looked over his shoulder again. "It's still there."
"I know," Matt muttered.
"We've walked a whole mile. Maybe two."
"I know."
Dave exhaled hard and dragged the cart forward another few feet before stopping. "Okay. I need a break. My legs are turning to pudding."
Matt paused, watching the slime glide over a small rock without slowing. "We can rest. Just not for long."
Dave pulled out a wrapped bundle of dried meat one of the villagers had given him. He didn't eat it, just held it in his hands, frowning. "Why is it still following us, man? It's slow. It has no chance of catching up unless we sit still for, like, hours."
Matt crouched near the side of the road and opened the guidebook again. "Maybe it's something to do with how they hunt. If it only needs to catch one person who gets too tired or careless…"
Dave paled. "You think it's just… waiting? Like a trap with infinite patience?"
Matt nodded slowly. "Yeah. That'd make sense. No rush. Just keep creeping until something collapses or lets its guard down."
Dave stared at the slime in the distance, its slow progress unsettling in its persistence. "So… we can't sleep."
"We'll have to take turns," Matt said. "One watches while the other rests. I don't think it can sneak up on us unless we stop paying attention."
Dave groaned and flopped down onto a patch of grass. "We didn't sign up for this. This is supposed to be a hiking trip."
Matt sat down beside him. "Next time, let's just rent a cabin."
They both stared at the slime, still creeping along, not even pretending to hide.
Night crept in slow and quiet.
The forest around the road came alive with strange rustlings and distant hoots, but Matt and Dave's eyes stayed locked on the faint shimmer in the dark—barely visible now, but still there. The slime hadn't stopped. It just kept coming.
They had made camp in a small clearing a few feet off the road, far enough to feel hidden but close enough to keep the slime in sight. A tiny fire crackled between them, giving off more smoke than heat.
"I'll go first," Matt said, rubbing his eyes. "You sleep. Just for a few hours."
Dave didn't argue. He was already lying on his back with a blanket pulled over his chest, eyes staring at the stars overhead. "Wake me if it gets closer."
"Obviously."
The first hour passed quietly. Matt sat with the guidebook open on his knees, his knife resting beside him. He glanced up every few minutes. The slime was still there—just a faint glisten under the moonlight, maybe thirty yards back now.
He wondered what it wanted. Did it even think? Or was it just driven by some mindless instinct—move, follow, consume?
Sometime during the second hour, Dave snored once, then sat up with a jolt. "Still there?"
Matt pointed. "Still there."
Dave groaned and sat up fully. "My turn."
They switched. Matt curled into his blanket and tried to sleep, but his ears kept picking up sounds—leaves rustling, insects, the distant crack of a branch.
And the slime.
Always the slime.
By sunrise, both of them looked like they'd aged a few years. The fire had burned down to embers, and Matt's back ached from trying to sleep with one eye open.
Dave stood with his arms crossed, looking at the still-gliding blob. "It's like being hunted by a really patient nightmare."
Matt yawned and tied his boots. "Let's keep moving. We'll deal with it later. Maybe we lose it in a river or something."
They packed up, hitched the cart back onto Dave's shoulders, and walked.
The slime followed.
The sun was barely above the trees when Matt spotted it first—a pointed roof poking through the branches in the distance, made of gray stone and half-covered in moss.
"Is that a building?" he said, squinting.
Dave followed his gaze. "Looks like a church or something!"
Hope gave them energy. They pushed the cart faster, ignoring the creaking wheels and the occasional rock that made Dave curse under his breath. As they broke through the treeline, the full structure came into view—an old stone chapel, modest but sturdy, with a small garden blooming around it.
A man in a faded tunic was watering purple flowers near the steps.
"Hey!" Matt called out. "Excuse me! We need help!"
The man looked up, raising a hand in greeting. "Well now, what brings travelers all the way out here?"
Dave didn't slow down. "We're being followed—by a slime. It's been chasing us since yesterday."
The man blinked, then slowly lowered the watering can. "A slime, you say?"
He turned toward the door and called over his shoulder. "Honey! Come out here, you've got to hear this."
A woman stepped outside, wiping her hands on her apron. The man gestured at Matt and Dave.
"They say a slime's been chasing them since yesterday!"
The woman burst into laughter. The man joined her.
Dave frowned, arms out. "What—what's funny? We're serious!"
Matt nodded, pointing down the road. "It's still following us. Green, jelly-like thing, moves slow but never stops."
The man wiped a tear from his eye. "Ah, sorry. That was rude of us. Truly. You're clearly not from around here."
He set the watering can down and approached. "What you saw was a dust eater. They follow movement, sure, but not because they're hunting. They clean up dead skin, shed hair, tiny things left behind on the trail. Harmless."
Matt blinked. "Wait. That's it? It's been creeping on us for miles just to… clean?"
The woman smiled. "They're actually considered helpful. Keeps the roads clear."
Dave looked like he was going to be sick. "I almost didn't sleep last night because I thought it was going to digest my bones for a century."
The man chuckled. "Ah, now if it had been red, that would've been a problem. Red slimes melt flesh. But green ones? You've just made a very slow friend."
Matt rubbed his face. "We need to rewrite that guidebook."
"Come inside," the woman said warmly. "You look like you need real rest and maybe something that isn't trail rations."
They followed her in, half-relieved and half-humiliated.
Behind them, far off down the road, the slime kept slowly sliding forward—faithfully cleaning the dust they left behind.