The issue: my replacement, the Interim Demon Lord (a very ambitious slime named Gary), has locked me out of the coffee machine and is demanding I fill out a ‘Soul Transfer Request Form.’ In triplicate.
“Tell the goblins they can have the recycling bin,” she sighed, grabbing her sword—now mostly used for opening stubborn pickle jars. “I have to go fire a slime and un-haunt a breakroom.”
Please come. The coffee here is terrible, and Gary keeps trying to unionize my hellhounds.
Yuusha-chan herself had been “generously” appointed as the Royal Troubleshooter for Post-Adventurer Integration. A fancy title for what amounted to a supernatural complaint department.
The adventure was supposed to end with a feast, a statue, and perhaps a quiet farm. Instead, Yuusha-chan was mediating a dispute between a retired lich (who wanted to unionize the skeleton workforce) and the local farmers (who were tired of their scarecrows moonwalking at midnight).