Prof had only hazy recollections, of how they made it back to the wagon, but how the whole party, including wagon, Hogs, and mounts relocated right next to the border crossing, he had not the faintest clue. He was fairly certain, it was not him, who drove – there was not enough wreckage around, and his prized mode of road mobility looked undamaged too.


    “What happened?” Prof groaned, then groaned again, when he saw the billowing smoke above the town in the distance “We didn’t start the fire, didn’t we?”


    “Unfortunately, no. We were already away because we had to evacuate a certain fun-murdering drunkard when the locals started to collect furniture from volunteers. By the way, you owe me five Hellers for the coach driver, who helped us to drive."


    “But why riot right now? There was no indication of unrest yesterday!”


    “I think, the whole thing started with a discussion, why Greenskin wine has to be sweet. Idiots!”


    “Wine, you say? I don’t think, we had anything to do with that. Good.”


    “Misssster innocccccent! Wassssn’t there!”


    “Yeah! If anyone asks, remember that!”


    “What? Had you anything to do with this after all?”


    “Definitely not! You heard Sharpclaw! I wasn’t even there!”


    “You know, no one is going to believe that, if they had any truth-seeking device or magic?”


    “Well… Oh, look! A burning town in the distance!”


    Unfortunately, there wasn''t any conveniently placed tree nearby, that Prof could have pointed at to distract Mini.


    “Nice try, but you are actually right. What could possibly go wrong? That was just some internal Greenskin stuff, and we are foreigners, everyone could see that! For example, I have this very charming deathly pale skin color, Sharplaw is a Reptile, and you… Well… You look kinda green right now…”


    “Thanks, I guess. Let’s get the Hogs drunk and get out of here. Eternal nice weather awaits!”


    As it transpired, the Elves weren’t the only ones, who didn’t give a damn about folks leaving their country. The Greenskin border guards just played some farewell music and waved the party through.


    Of course, they had better things to do, like searching a wagon that just wanted to enter Ostwaldland – the military music player on duty interrupted her searching-a-wagon-music just long enough to play a few tunes of farewell, and was back to accompany some excellent official work of collecting taxes and finding “contraband”.


    Prof was reasonably sure, that the Human, whose wagon was currently searched would be happy with his teeth intact but robbed of all his possessions if the border guard were Elves. Or from "interesting" places on Earth. Fining dumb tourists for collecting some stones or a fistful of sand was a legitimate measure to fill different coffers, after all.


    Prof was only surprised, he wasn’t fined for pre-meditated aggravated tourism somewhere on his journey.


    His glee over his wagon not being searched lasted only till they reached the other side of the border.


    “Welcome to Puglamento. Do you have anything to declare?" the border guard asked. Thankfully in Greenskinian. All the guards were quite short, barely reaching Prof''s chest, and had black hair, and an olive skin tone, a look Prof associated with Bianca, Garuli, and Southern Europeans. They were equipped with the most generic guard gear Prof could imagine a spear, cheap armor, a short sword or long dagger, and a leather helmet.


    Well, police and military had almost the same gear almost everywhere back on Earth, probably because it was the most convenient – looking back to the Greenskin border guard (still happily going through a wagon-load of stuff), they had almost the same gear as their colleagues from across an imaginary line on the map. Sure, there were stylistic differences, for example, the Greenskins wore sturdy, and probably excellent boots, while the Garuli had… high-heeled ankle boots.


    Even stranger was, that only the males wore those, the only female guard (who was accidentally the tallest one) had normal footwear. There was a difference between how high the heels were, the grunts had only heels befitting normal Earth male boots, but the officer, standing back and looking important, had five centimeters high ones.


    Prof shrugged – alien cultures and alien customs. The officer would probably have issues with running, but that wasn’t Prof’s problem.


    Prof''s current problem was how to go through customs check without having to pay exorbitant tolls, tariffs, customs, and taxes. Or getting his hard-earned blinky stones changing ownership.


    “Honored officer of guarding border, I can state with utmost confidence, we have nothing we want to sell in your excellent… ehm… kingdom? We are just passing through to the sea.”


    “And we are adventurers, customs don''t apply to us," Mini added.


    “Puglamento is actually a k?ztársaság.” The guard corrected Prof. There was some confusion in the statement, since there was no word for the form of government the Puglamentese… Puglamentoians… Locals adopted in Greenskinian, and Prof didn’t know that word in Gerulian. “Our most exalted supreme leader decided it that way, and so we are now on our glorious road to tear down the remains of the self-entitled oppressive bourgeois government!”


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    “Good for you. Any inroads?”


    “Oh yes! The previous most exalted supreme leader, his predecessor, and his predecessor all laid the basis for our current most exalted supreme leader’s work!”


    “Health to the supreme leader!” the rest of the border guard shouted.


    “I see… It looks like you have been working towards the goal for some time, no?"


    “The first utmost exalted supreme leader overthrew the evil, corrupt, and inhumane king one hundred and eleven years ago. According to our current most exalted supreme leader, we will reach the ultimate goal any year now!"


    “Health to the supreme leader!”


    “Good luck to you! I’m confident, the goal is just around the next corner!”


    “Exactly like the most exalted supreme leader promised!”


    “Health to the supreme leader!”


    Prof nodded wisely. From the telling, he surmised, the locals adopted a form of government, where they plundered the coffers of recently deceased or expelled royalty and nobility, put the new bosses on slightly less fancy chairs, and gave them slightly less fancy clothes. But the new leadership was still as entitled (or even more so), than the previous one.


    Anyways, how the locals intended to govern themselves wasn''t Prof''s problem either. He wasn''t the type to find, rally, and lead the resistance to overthrow one regime or another. Just so he could demand from the locals to follow Earth examples, that weren''t exactly working on Earth either. First, he wasn''t some Ideological Crusader – even his Character Parchment said so – and secondly, exporting your own forms of government wasn’t a success story from what he remembered of the last couple of centuries on Earth.


    But, mostly, because the whole thing would be too much work for too little gain, and would postpone his plans to tour the world.


    Well, a very high percentage of insurgent leaders ended up having an accident in the form of beheading, getting shot, burning, hanging, poisoning, suffocating, drowning, bombing, or any random combination of the above anyway.


    Prof preferred to stay alive.


    “Before we let you on your way, could you answer a question for us first?" the guard officer asked "We hear rumors about a new Hero''s Party forming. Allegedly the new Hero destroyed a Red Elf Clan on his own, captured some world-ending weapon, fought his way through the Valley of Torment, found long-lost treasure, burned a castle to the ground in Ostwaldland, and sparked widespread riots there. Also, he orchestrated a smile outbreak. Naturally, while collecting a huge harem for himself. The rumors speak about dozens of brain-dead females! Have you heard anything on your travels?"


    From what Prof heard, Hero''s Parties were extremely dangerous and considered a menace by basically everyone alive or undead. If there was indeed a new Hero about, and did all those heinous crimes, it was even more imperative for Prof to leave the country. He didn''t want to be caught up in some moron''s quest for world domination or something.


    He found it strange, however, that obviously there was someone, who sparked riots in Ostwaldland. He was quite certain, the riots started because of Mythrill (and a discussion about wine), but it was always possible, someone was working behind the curtain. If Prof ever found the responsible party (or Hero), he would certainly kick his ass – it was markedly un-excellent to use Arkadia’s first Mythrill concert (a venue, Prof worked very hard to make possible) for nefarious purposes.


    And for collecting a harem of innocent virgins and turning them into braindead bimbos...


    “I can honestly say, this is the first time, I heard about a possible Hero incursion. Be assured, if I see such a wicked evil-doer, I will inform the authorities with post-haste!”


    After the border guards waved Prof and his not-harem through – being an adventurer obviously had its perks – so they could concentrate on searching a definitely-non-adventurer’s trade wagon, Prof pondered the new information he received.


    “Do you think, we will stumble upon this Hero?”


    “He sounds like a fun individual. Nothing could go wrong if we hit up each other."


    “Heroessss bad. Ssssstart sssstabbing!”


    “Wait, Mini, you would side with a Hero?!”


    “Of course not! I’m not crazy! Getting some fun out of that moron is one thing, but helping him? No way! Maybe if we followed at a safe distance, we could still catch some fun, while not being directly associated with him.”


    “There are some details, that bugs me with the story, though.” Prof flexed all his 18 Points in Intelligence “See, we know of one Red Elf Clan, that was destroyed for a world-ending artifact, but we hung around Shinead and Foxy long enough to catch wind of a second Clan being killed off. Do you remember Foxy saying anything?”


    “Not really. She was mostly ‘Oh YEAH! Again’. But I think, those Clans don’t just go belly up one after another.”


    “Exactly! Then, this Hero goes into the Valley of Torment, recovers lost treasure, and anywhere he goes, it’s riots and destruction. Do you think, the authorities had mistaken us for the Hero’s Party?”


    “Did you burn down a castle recently? Or cause a slime outbreak? Do you secretly have a harem? You had time to do all this, I can''t supervise you all day! If you do anything like this, I expect you to inform me in time. I want to have fun too!"


    “Not, that I know of.”


    “See? There is simply not the faintest chance for a normal adventuring party of three to be mistaken for a Hero''s Party! Keep calm, nothing could possibly go wrong!"


    For some strange and unexplainable reason, Prof didn’t feel all that reassured. If Earth history taught him anything, folks were burned at the stake for less. The possibility, that an innocent tourist, minding his own business could be a long-dreaded horror was most likely enough for the uneducated masses or over-eager officials to start collecting firewood.


    Not to mention secret societies and paranoid officials, who killed Travelers on sight on principle. Prof felt some crucial information was left out during his reincarnation.


    Probably he should have asked more questions, like ‘Can I have an actually competent case handler?’


    Late in the evening, he realized, what very high Endurance and Poison Resistance meant in regards to his Hogs: those mobile methane generators had a higher consumption, than a Soviet-area truck, where the driver sold the petrol on the black market and claimed otherwise.


    “I think, we need to make a pit stop soon. We are almost out of Hog Booze.”