The Aviation Pioneer

by DeltaDestroys01

A flight test gone wrong thrusts a young aeronautical engineer into a world far different from his own. Even with new hazards to navigate, he can't shake his longing for the sky. Resolving to be the first man in this new world to discover and pioneer heavier-than-air flight, the engineer goes about doing just that. But the world might be even bigger and stranger than he thought.

1. Chapter 1: Aviation Disaster

Disclaimer: I don't own Monster Girl Encyclopedia or any other properties I make references to.

Chapter 1: Aviation Disaster

The engineer couldn't believe that the cumulative twenty-three years of his life had led up to this moment. There he sat strapped tightly into a seat inside a KC-46 with a computer in front of him so that he could monitor the soon to be rising and falling forces upon the flying boom of the United States Air Force's newest flying gas station.

"Cleared to maneuver," stated the test conductor in a level monotone over the mission radio frequency from beside the engineer.

"Wolf 3-7 you are cleared for contact," said the boom operator next over the same frequency, clearing the F-15 to approach the refueling boom so that it could take on fuel.

During those few seconds that the F-15's pilot gently manipulated his throttles to approach the boom at slower than walking speed, the engineer couldn't help but ponder his lot in life. Here he was taking part in the wide world of flight testing fresh out of college. Writing test plans, helping conduct tests, and then writing test reports may have stretched his communication skills beyond what he was used to, but he consoled himself by whispering, "It beats using SolidWorks to design brackets all day." And he genuinely thought it was true. Gone were the days of lone engineers with pioneering visions designing whole aircraft. It's all designed by committee these days and engineers fresh out of college get to do the menial grunt work.

He felt that he could get away with something as unprofessional as not paying extra attention at this critical moment and he didn't feel remorseful about it. Also long gone were the days of sky cowboys pioneering aeronautics beyond Mach 1. These days the USAF is much more safety conscious with extreme attention to details pertaining to such matters. Test pilots and all their specially trained aircrews are safety minded and aren't keen on making names for themselves like the test pilots of the old days during the early jet age of the 1940s and 1950s.

"Contact" announced the boom operator to signify that Wolf 3-7 had successfully connected onto the end of the KC-46's flying boom.

The test conductor now looked to the engineer as the latter inspected the data that just showed up on his computer. A thumbs up signified good data and that the maneuver can be repeated another three times. It could get dreary, but what good is data that can't be proven repeatedly?

Over the tanker's internal intercom, the test conductor relayed, "Maneuver complete."

Then the boom operator instructed Wolf 3-7 with "Prepare to disconnect," followed with, "Disconnect" a few seconds later. The F-15 separated from the tanker just as it normally would.

The next contact was also done successfully and without incident.

For the third and final time, Wolf 3-7 approached the boom. But things went wrong quickly.

"Contact" came from the boom operator.

The engineer's eyes widened almost cartoonishly when the forces exerted on the boom with this contact was way beyond what would be considered a safe limit. He stomped his foot down onto his microphone pedal and commanded over the mission radio frequency, "Knock it off! Knock it off! Knock it off!" This was the agreed upon phrase anyone in the crew could say to instantly stop the test point and require all participating aircraft to assume a safe distance from each other.

Everyone in the KC-46 complied and responded with the same, "Knock it off! Knock it off! Knock it off!" But somehow Wolf 3-7 missed the command or perhaps hesitated for some reason.

The boom operator slammed down onto the button on his own controls to disconnect the boom from the refueling receptacle of the F-15 and it did so properly. But the fighter jet had too much excessive speed and stayed right with the boom's nozzle despite its speedy retraction. Far too quickly, Wolf 3-7 was too close and the boom operator then called out, "Break away! Break away! Break away!" to command it to cut throttles and push over into a dive to get away from the tanker.

This command was only senselessly heeded by Wolf 3-7. Disaster erupted. The measured forces of the boom grew and grew in the blink of an eye. The KC-46 was dragged nose up as Wolf 3-7 pulled the boom downwards. Terrible sounds of shredding metal rose above the screech of jet engines and in an instant, half of the flying boom was ripped off of the tanker and began its fall thousands of feet down into the desert of the Southwestern United States. Jet fuel sprayed in a vast deluge from the broken boom. Much of it got sucked into one of the air intakes of the F-15.

A tremendous explosion rocked the tanker as Wolf 3-7 became no more. Supersonic fragments of the once fighter jet peppered the tanker's tail and shredded it like wet tissue paper. Horns blared, emergency lights flashed, and screams erupted from inside the KC-46 as it began to flat spin and plummet from the sky. The forces of gravity rapidly multiplied upon the engineer as he screamed helplessly from the seat he was strapped into.

It really was like they show it in the movies. When death is imminent, one's life really does flash before their eyes. He remembered his childhood obsession with the skies and how much he wanted to grow up to be a pilot. He remembered the good times and the bad as he grew up with his family. He remembered what set him on the course to become an aeronautical engineer rather than a pilot. He would design airplanes instead of flying them. But here was was, dying while trying to test them. His final memory was of a phone call with his own mother. In a moment of poorly chosen words, he said to her, "If I don't come back, then give me to the skies. It's where I want to be."

Needless to say, he didn't feel at peace on the descent of the stricken KC-46. Not that it mattered, of course. Gravity cares not for one's sentiments, just the eternal truth of physics that states, "What goes up, must come down." He didn't hear a crash or even feel anything. Things just went black.

XXXXXXXX

He felt like he was floating in the air. Time and space seemed to only be suggestions. Slowly his self awareness returned to him and the thought crossed his mind that the absence of pretty much everything wasn't what he expected from any afterlife. He attempted to open his eyes but couldn't tell if they were open or not. He felt none of his limbs nor could he orient himself in any way. Suddenly, he felt a jolt as if falling. A gasp escaped his lips and for certain this time, his eyes opened and he instantly had to clinch them shut as the brightness of the noonday sun shone down onto his face.

Senses and sensations returned to him and he catapulted himself from his previously prone position to his feet. His legs shook uncertainly and his breathing was ragged. He felt all over his body in swift, twitching motions to ensure his constituent parts remained attached to him. He was still in a single piece, felt no pain, and saw no blood stains upon his flight suit. His mind continued to race, questioning if he was dead and this was how everyone reacts to reaching whatever the afterlife may hold, but then he latched a hold onto an observation he already had. His flight suit. He was still in the olive drab one piece garment made from fire retardant material. He patted himself down, feeling the flight suit's many pockets to check for the objects within. In spite of all this craziness that had happened over what felt like the past two minutes, he couldn't help but smile at the mundanity of ensuring he had all his possessions about him as if he was about to start his car for the drive to work.

Speaking aloud, he affirmed, "Watch. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Knife. Pen." He also found the pair of flight gloves and two granola bars he had stuffed into one of the calf pockets that morning before taking off. But best of all, he found a tin of Altoids in his other calf pocket. Inside the tin wasn't peppermint flavored candy, rather it was a small survival kit he had put together himself. These ten objects aside from his clothing were all the possessions he had to his name.

But then his mind left from his immediate self to become more aware of his surroundings. His initial inspection of his surroundings made no sense. He was in a circular clearing of trees about ten yards in diameter. Frenzied confusion returned with a vengeance. He wasn't surrounded by the smoldering ruins of a KC-46 that had pancaked into the desert floor or the accompanying thick black smoke of burning jet fuel. The air was fresh with the scent of untamed wilderness. The surrounding forest was completely unlike the Mojave Desert of Southern California. And despite the sounds of the wind rustling the grass and trees around him and of his own breathing, it was quiet. "Hello! Is anyone out there?!" he shouted to try and find any of his companions that may have landed nearby him, wherever he may be. Only the wind replied with its unceasing gentle breeze that served to tell him that he was alone.

"Where am I?" he asked himself. He still didn't have proof if he was dead or not, but he suspected and assumed that he remained among the living. Somehow. He halted his own attempts of logically orienting himself in the world and instead tried to focus on slowing his breathing. He sealed his mouth and inhaled in through his nose, held his breath for a few moments, and then exhaled out slowly. Only two repetitions were required for him to get a hold of himself.

He noticed that the sun was starting to warm him up. He shrugged his shoulders and walked forward now on stable footing. His coyote brown flight boots compressed grass underfoot until he was in the shade of one of the trees around the clearing. He leaned against the tree and questioned, "Well. What now?" In order to even be allowed to fly aboard a military jet as aircrew despite being only a civilian required a basic course of survival training. The existence of his homemade Altoids survival kit was his personal proof of that training.

That training dictated that he should be making a ground-to-air signal in the hopes that search-and-rescue aircraft could find him. But when taking in the situation he couldn't help but think it would be fruitless to make a signal and then stay put in light of his nonsensical surroundings. He gently closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the tree. Then this teeth gritted, his hands balled into fists, and he grunted, "I swear man. I better not have just been isekai'd."

"Nah. It's too silly," he chided himself gently as he stopped his lean. "Still. I shouldn't stay here. Being in the woods is way too far off from the flight plan we had for the mission today. Looks like I have to extract myself." Looking around, he tried to gauge what direction was uphill. He found it and followed the hill as it went up between the trees with his gaze. "I think I'll go that way. If I can get to the top of the hill, maybe I can see a trail or a road. Or maybe even a water source. If I'm gonna be around here for a while, I'm gonna need water."

So, the engineer started his trek uphill. Though not an outdoorsman, he kept himself fit enough to offset the sedentary nature of his employment and as such, the gentle slope of the hill wasn't too bad and the sun still shone in the sky. From his watch, he saw that only twenty minutes elapsed since he began walking when he crested the hill. Between the trees, he gathered in the lay of the land. On one side off in the distance lay an expansive mountain range that stretched as far as his eyes could see. But anywhere that there weren't mountains, he was surrounded by miles and miles of forest set on hilly terrain. Luckily those hills didn't appear to be any larger than the one he had just climbed. He carefully scanned the shallow valleys between the hills because he figured that if there were any roads, they'd be easiest to construct going around the hills instead of over them.

There was one! Or it sure looked like it. Curving around a hill perhaps three or four miles distant he saw what appeared to be a dirt road. That was his best chance. He reached for his survival kit and opened it carefully so that he wouldn't spill its contents onto the ground. He took out a mini compass and took careful note of what direction he had to stay on to reach the road. After returning the survival kit sans compass to its pocket, he checked his watch again and confirmed that it would still be daylight for hours longer. Then he was off towards the road.

During his walk, he paid special attention to his compass and deliberately chose nearby landmarks like boulders or specific trees to ensure he remained on course. An hour passed and he found the log of a fallen tree that was the right height to sit on. He decided he could permit himself a short rest and sat down.

He mused over his situation. If this is a new world and he had been isekai'd, what would he do? Well, he'd want to get back home. Life might not be perfect, but he felt that it still had more to offer him. He felt like he was only just starting to live. Sure, he might be a bachelor with tons of student loan debt but he still considered himself satisfied. "Plus I gotta give Boeing a piece of my mind for designing and building a tanker that doesn't work. Wolf 3-7 might've really stepped on the ball for that last connection, but the test would've never been needed if the KC-46 wasn't a flying scrap heap." He stopped talking to himself and remembered Wolf 3-7's voice from the pre-flight briefing that morning. The test pilot seemed like a decent guy. It's a shame that what happened happened. The engineer wondered if he was alone in the situation he'd found himself in. What if he was alive but everyone else was dead? What if they were just scattered but all still alive? The uncertainty kept him from mourning any of his coworkers that had been on the KC-46 with him.

On the other hand, he was pretty sure that Wolf 3-7 was dead. After all, the F-15 had disintegrated in a fireball during the accident. The engineer couldn't muster up anything more than mere pity for the fallen test pilot, who was barely even an acquaintance.

His thoughts came to himself again because he was the only thing he could control. But what if he couldn't get home? What then? He wasn't so arrogant as to say that he would do everything the exact same way in a new world as he did in his old one. He laughed aloud to himself as he realized a very deep part of his soul was still infatuated with the sky despite having literally been involved in a catastrophic aviation accident. "I'd want to design and fly airplanes. There's nothing I'd want more than that. Forget demon lords and adventurers guilds like they have in all those trashy animes. Forget harems. Forget kings and gods and all that. I'd only want to fly."

Despite the impossibility and insanity of this line of thought, he continued down the figurative rabbit hole into the wonderland that this flight of fancy gave him. "If I'm in a fantasy world, I want to be the first to do heavier-than-air flight. Hot air balloons are just a cop out. I'd be like the Wright Brothers." Then he hesitated on his next words. He reached to the upper-left corner of his flight suit above the breast pocket and removed the Velcro patch that had his name embroidered onto it. He read his own name again and again and searched his soul for an answer to the softly asked question that went, "But would I want to be me while doing it?"

The time he'd allotted himself to rest passed by yet he remained seated as he pondered this question. His soul told him that if he really was in a new world, it was a new chance for a new him. He finally slipped the name patch into one of his pockets and pronounced, "I'll need a new name," as if saying it made it more true. Having thought of the Wright brothers a few minutes earlier, he considered using their surname. No. It was the low hanging fruit. He wanted something a bit more creative. He remembered another aviation pioneer. Samuel Langley, a contemporary and competitor of the Wrights. Langley may have lost to the Wrights, but the engineer felt oddly drawn to the name. "Okay. My new last name is 'Langley.' Now for a first name." He first went down the list of aviation pioneers and then famous military pilots in his mind. He didn't feel like a James or a Robin. He needed to think of something else. Maybe science fiction authors? The first name to his mind was Jules Verne, famous for writing 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea and Around The World in Eighty Days. The engineer smiled. Rising to his feet, the engineer announced, "If this really is a new world that I've been isekai'd to, then I'm Jules Langley." Wordlessly but with a big smile, the newly dubbed Jules Langley continued his trek for the road he had seen. He expected that it wouldn't be too much further now.

It took just a little under an hour for him to exit the trees onto what he could confirm was a road. He could tell because of the two parallel ruts in the ground that would have been carved by wheels. Now, all he had to do was wait for someone to come by. He sat down with his back to a tree along the road and began to wait. Fortunately he didn't have to wait long. From around a bend he heard clattering and dirt being crunched under what had to be solid wheels. He looked in that direction and sure enough, a duo of mules pulling a covered wagon emerged into sight. Jules stood and took a few steps into the road to announce his presence. For some reason that he himself didn't understand, he felt the need to remain as anonymous as possible. To do this, he removed the other patches from his flight suit and stuffed them into a pocket.

The wagon continued its course towards Jules and he got a good look at the driver. The driver was a tan-skinned and dark-haired man that appeared to be in his early thirties and he was dressed plainly but in attire that sure looked like a centuries old style to the engineer. If Jules had to take a guess, he'd have said that the driver didn't look quite medieval or from the Renaissance, but definitely not from long after. It gave credence to the idea that Jules might just be in a new world. He suddenly felt glad he figured out a new identity before having to introduce himself to anyone.

"Woah," said the driver bringing his wagon to a stop beside Jules. For a few tense seconds, the two men eyed each other warily.

Having heard the man speak English to his mules, Jules felt a bit of confidence to speak first. He swallowed a lump in his throat and offered greetings. "I'm so glad to see someone come by on this road. I'm lost and need some help."

The driver continued to inspect the strangely dressed man who showed up on the road in the middle of nowhere. "You've got to be pretty lost to be all the way out here. How do I know this isn't a trick or somethin' like that?" answered the driver while he gingerly reached into a sash tied around his waist. He produced a massive folding knife but didn't unfold it just yet.

Unprepared to be in any sort of defensive situation, Jules' eyes widened and he held both hands out to appear non-threatening. "Woah. Woah. Woah," interjected Jules. "I don't want any trouble. And I don't want to cause any either. You don't have to help me, but could you please at least point me towards the nearest town?"

Again, the man delayed briefly in responding to Jules. The driver heaved a sigh, put the knife back into his sash and observed, "If you're the sort to go all wide-eyed with just a quick peek of a blade, then I don't think you're a problem, even if you're dressed funny." He scooted over on the seat of his wagon while saying, "Here. Take a seat and I'll take you into town. We should be there before nightfall."

Jules heaved a massive sigh of relief and voiced his immense gratitude with, "Thank you so much. I really appreciate this."

The man extended his hand to Jules and pulled the latter up the wagon and onto the seat beside him. "It's no trouble at all. I'm a simple man, you see? I try to do a good turn when the chance comes up."

Now with Jules sitting down, the man took both reins in his hands and gave a quick "hup hup" to get his mules moving again. He asked, "Well stranger, do you got a name?"

The engineer introduced himself in a cordial tone. "I'm Jules Langley," he said. He was surprised how natural the name felt to him when sharing it with another person. Internally, he patted himself on the back with his creativity.

The driver passed the rein in his right hand to his left and he extended his open right hand towards Jules. Automatically, Jules assumed this was a handshake and he clasped firmly onto the outstretched hand with his own. Luckily, he assumed correctly and the two men shook hands. "I'm Carlos Robles, a vegetable farmer from Campamento."

Appreciating the now friendly gesture, Jules tried to get a conversation going by inquiring, "If you don't mind me asking Mister Robles, what's got you on the road today?"

Carlos chuckled and replied, "Just 'Carlos' is fine. I'm not high-born enough to be a mister." He then gestured with his thumb backwards into the wagon and stated with a proud voice, "I had a real good harvest this year and I'm on my way to Villa Hermosa to sell what I got left over."

"That's good to hear. A good harvest is good for everyone," surmised Jules, despite being largely unacquainted with the ins-and-outs of farming.

"It sure is," agreed Carlos. "But now it's my turn to be askin' you. What were you doing to get so lost all the way out here?"

Oh crap. Jules hadn't thought up a cover story to explain his presence in the off chance he was isekai'd. He was too proud to think of anything else after thinking up a name for himself. He automatically decided to make up a cover story that didn't involve falling from the sky in an airplane. "Well, Carlos. Me and a work party were out trying to prospect for gold. We weren't having any luck but the boss wouldn't let us go home. Last night, the camp got attacked by something. Not sure what, but I'm not much of a fighter and all the screaming got me running out of camp in a hurry. I ran and ran and I don't know for how long. But at some point, I tripped and knocked myself out. I woke up and couldn't find camp again. So, I think I'll cut my losses from prospecting and try something new when we get to Villa Hermosa."

Carlos had been nodding along with the story, appearing to accept it at face value. He opined, "You're lucky you got away with your life. And you're still human too, so you're extra lucky."

What was just said threw Jules for a loop. Still human? What was that supposed to mean?

Because he didn't immediately respond, Carlos continued, "You know how it is. You got to be careful of those monsters that prowl the forest. Lucky us there are hardly any of them and the demon lord doesn't look interested in this stretch of the continent."

In that moment the gravity of the situation fell on Jules just like he had fallen out of the sky. He really was in a new world. He really was in a fantasy world of demons and monsters. His breathing picked up again and quickly became heaving lungfuls of air. He might never return to his family. His home might be gone from him forever. Thing after thing that he might never be able to enjoy again flashed in his mind.

But in no time at all, Carlos had picked up on his passenger's state and roughly planted a hand on Jules' shoulder to shake him out of it. "Jules! You're alright! You're safe now! You're alive and weren't forced to be a monster's husband and that's all that matters!"

Now there were even more questions, but Carlos' concern was good enough as an anchor point for Jules to recover from his existential vertigo. He successfully willed his breathing to calm down and that got Carlos to console, "You've been through a lot. I don't blame you for being like that." He really had no idea how true that was.

"Sorry about that," meekly apologized Jules.

"Don't worry about it. I won't tell anybody."

From what had been said, Jules could take a guess that the "demon lord" was doing demon lord things and conquering the world. But for the time being at least, this region of whatever world he was on was escaping the demon lord's attention. That's good. But he then asked, "What was that you said about monsters and their husbands?"

Carlos looked at Jules like the latter had grown a second head. He amazed, "You must've hit your head real hard to forget about that."

With a straight face to show he was serious, Jules requested, "Please remind me."

"Well, uh, I'm not a learned man but I can tell you what I know." Carlos cleared his throat before continuing, "Well, the demon lord we got right now is a succubus and she cast a real powerful spell that turned all the monsters of the world into pretty women but they still got parts of their bodies like the normal monsters they were before. Some folks still call 'em 'monsters' and others call 'em 'mamono.' Anyway, instead of just eating humans like they used to, now some monsters are on the prowl looking for human men to force 'em into bein' their husbands. But when a man becomes a monster's husband, he changes. He still looks human, but isn't. He gets turned into an incubus and can turn normal humans into more incubi or monsters. And instead of being hungry to eat humans, nowadays monsters and incubi are always feelin' hot and bothered, if you know what I mean. And they act on it if they can."

What sort of freaky hentai world had Jules fallen into? He thought on Carlos' words for a few moments and then had a question, "You said only some monsters are on the prowl for husbands?"

"Yeah. Some monsters are just as wild as they used to be and are livin' in different spots all over the world. A lot fight for the demon lord's army, who's out warring with and taking over human countries and turnin' them into monsters like themselves. But some monsters have their own problems or are settled down with their husbands and live peacefully."

Great. It's not just a freaky hentai world, but also one that's in the middle of a genocidal war. Kind of. It didn't seem quite as simple as pure ethnic cleansing.

Jules guessed, "I'm guessing there's three sides in this? Those monsters and incubi that are fighting for the demon lord, the humans fighting them, and then those people who just want to keep to themselves?"

"That's right," nodded Carlos. "We're lucky to be in the Principality of Andalus. Here's a place where monsters and humans usually get along. Not like in the Demon Lord's Realm or in Order Lands. Most monsters and incubi around these parts are settled down and don't cause trouble. I even have a couple of 'em for farm hands. And they're good people. I just gotta keep 'em busy or they'll start wastin' time on the job. Again, if you know what I mean."

Feeling like he was asking too many questions, Jules opted to just file this still enigmatic Order away to look into later. From context clues, he gathered that the Order represented the pro-human, anti-monster side in all this.

"Still you can't be too careful," added on Carlos. "There's still some wild monsters out and about in the forests and mountains of Andalus. And from what I've heard, most monsters can beat a normal unarmed man in a struggle and force him to be her husband. I'm surprised your old boss didn't have guards or soldiers watchin' over the camp." He patted the knife that he had brandished to Jules from where it was tucked into his sash and added, "That's why I got this. I already got me a family that loves me and I'm not lookin' to be a monster's husband."

"Now I'm sure that my prospecting days are behind me," concluded Jules with a deflated tone. He felt like insanity was just piling on insanity and he understood the fleeting nature of hope.

"I don't blame you for feeling that way," repeated Carlos, still unaware to the depth of Jules' upset. Then they carried on in silence for a few seconds before Carlos spoke again. He recounted, "My father used to be a soldier before findin' out it wasn't for him. So, he became farmer. I understand what it's like to want to start over. So, a family friend who's a butler for an old countess living in Villa Hermosa sent out word that she's lookin' for a new manservant. If you want, I could introduce you to him."

Hope swiftly returned to Jules who almost wanted to cry because of such generosity from Carlos to a stranger that he'd only met a few minutes earlier. And given this weird world that Jules found himself in, something told him that he didn't have the luxury to be picky about how to start this new life. He remembered his resolution of only an hour before when he decided that he would try to find a way home and if failing that, become this world's first to fly an airplane. He still wanted to see this come to pass, but he had to start somewhere. Having made a decision, Jules answered, "I can't thank you enough, Carlos. I'm indebted to you for this."

"Don't you worry about it," dismissed Carlos. "Like I said. I'm just doin' a good turn when the chance comes up."

As it turned out, even in a world as mad as this one, there were still some good people.

XXXXXXXX

Immediately upon coming into sight of Villa Hermosa, Jules noted that the town had no wall around it. However, there was still a small shack that was the first structure along the road entering into town. A guard ascertained the intentions of Carlos and Jules and then permitted them to enter into town. Before tending to any other kind of business, Carlos indicated that he would take care of Jules first. The roads were made of cobblestone and buildings constructed with brick. Most of the structures that lined the streets were two stories tall but when an enormous bell began ringing some distance off their path, Jules found his attention shift down a street that Carlos' wagon was crossing. He looked towards a bell tower in what might be the town square. Jules' curiosity grew and he decided that when he had the chance, he'd have to explore. With the ringing of the bell plus the waning sun, businesses were shutting their doors for the night and he noticed a few children being called into homes to get to sleep for the next day. Carlos' wagon continued through the town all the way to the opposite edge. The businesses along the streets gave way to a much nicer part of the town that had walled off properties that Jules surmised were the residences of the more well-to-do inhabitants of Villa Hermosa.

Carlos pulled up to a large iron gate at the front of one of these walled properties and Jules looked at a sizable manor house. While the rest of the town had been made with brick buildings, this one was made of stone and appeared to be much older than the rest of the town. Only part of the house was two stories but a very large wing of the home was three stories tall. Jules, being an aeronautical engineer and not an architect, could really only describe the home as ornate but imposing.

Suddenly from behind the wall, a boy that had to be in his early teens appeared standing on the other side of the gate with a lantern in his hand. Despite his short stature, the boy still tried to sound official when he required, "What business do you have with the Countess Wilhelmina at this hour?"

"We don't have business with the countess," answered Carlos. "But I'm looking for a friend, Santiago Justo. Could you please bring him here? Tell him that Carlos Robles wants to introduce someone to him."

The boy answered in the affirmative and, setting down the lantern on the ground, took off in a speedy run for the home some ways up the cobblestone driveway from the gate. He entered via the front door and soon after, the door opened again and two figures emerged. At the same time, both Jules and Carlos dismounted the wagon so that they could talk easier with these figures. As they came closer to the light cast by the lantern, Jules could tell that one of them was the boy. The other was a sharply dressed man in a black long-sleeved coat with a white linen shirt underneath and black breeches. He was of a slightly fairer complexion compared to Carlos, who worked outside for a living, and he had the beginnings of wrinkles on his face and graying flanks to his dark brown hair.

Upon seeing Carlos' face, the sharply dressed man whom Jules assumed was Santiago smiled and greeted the farmer warmly. Jules couldn't help but wonder how a butler would become friends with a farming family. The answer came quickly after Carlos answered back with his own smile. Santiago held open the gate, inviting inside the two guests, and planting a familiar clap on Carlos' shoulder, inquired how his own father was doing after their shared soldiering days.

Pleasantries concluded and attention shifted to Jules. He introduced himself with, "It's nice to meet you. My name is Jules Langley and Carlos told me that you might be able to help me out."

That made the butler's eyebrow raise questioningly and he replied, "The pleasure is all mine. I'm Santiago Justo, head butler of the Countess Wilhelmina." Then he looked again to Carlos to ask, "But what is this business about? I don't expect that you only want to introduce this man for no reason?"

Taking that as his cue, Carlos explained everything as he remembered it; how he met Jules, what Jules had told him, and how Jules expressed interest in starting over as one of the Countess Wilhelmina's servants. However, Carlos left out the part of Jules having a panic attack just like how he said he wouldn't tell anyone about it. Finally, Carlos concluded, "I had my doubts about Jules at first, but he had plenty chance to do anythin' against me and my property away from anybody else, but did nothing. He wasn't even rude or anythin' like that. I think he can be trusted."

Humming to himself, Santiago considered this request from his good friend's son. On the one hand, this was an odd request without any advanced warning. But on the other hand, the house staff was still short a few hands due to a recent illness forcing a servant to quit and return to their home. Only a few seconds passed and the humming ceased before the butler announced, "I'm willing to consider Jules for a position, but I have a few questions." Jules invited him to continue.

The first was about any experience for work that could be applicable to domestic service. Jules dug in his memories and related that he had some experience waiting tables in a restaurant during his younger years. What he had cleverly left out of the recollection was an explanation about it being a summer job while he was in high school. Admitting such would not only prove that he was being less-than-honest in this new world, but it would also rat him out as being far more foreign than he was letting on so far.

Beyond this probing of his past experiences that could pertain to domestic work, Santiago eyed him up and down and remarked, "You're quite a large man. I could see why a labor job like prospecting would be attractive to you. That is, before your unfortunate experience last night."

Despite being under different circumstances than usual, Jules felt an unexpected twinge of nostalgia. He had always been exceptionally tall and thickly built among his peers. He wasn't fat by any means, just large. Coming in at six feet, three inches tall, the fact he was a head taller than every man he'd seen so far in this new world wasn't lost on him. He remembered the words of one of his grandfathers and a few of his uncles growing up who would often say that he could have really made a name for himself playing basketball or football. But team athletics didn't interest him much. His passion was for scholarly pursuits. Nevertheless, by nature of his size, he had strength for labor as the need arose from time to time. But his endurance left something to be desired.

Santiago continued by observing, "Yet despite working outdoors, you're pale skinned and have very blue eyes. That's quite unusual around Andalus. I presume that the Langley family must be foreign like the countess is."

Making up his answers as he went along, Jules answered, "Maybe a long time ago the Langleys came from somewhere else. But my father never talked about it. I doubt he even knows."

"Interesting," remarked Santiago, making Jules sweat unwittingly. Saying that made the engineer wonder if this man suspected deception, which there was. He judged, "So far, I think you'd make for a good footman, Jules. But I have two more questions."

"What are they?" invited Jules, concealing his concern the best he could.

Santiago looked over his shoulder to the boy who still stood silently beside the lantern. He softly ordered, "Marco. Hold the lantern up." The now named boy dutifully picked up the lantern and held it over his head, giving better illumination for this conversation taking place in the twilight. The butler took a few steps away from Carlos and Jules and using his shoe, began to draw shapes into the soft soil to the side of the driveway. He quizzed, "Can you read what I'm writing here?"

Jules looked over the shapes as they took the form of letters. He read them easily, "You're writing out your own name."

Santiago smiled contentedly. "Good," he praised. "Being able to read the common tongue is valuable."

That answer definitely helped Jules regain his confidence. "Thank you," he accepted sincerely. It had escaped his thoughts that in a fantasy world literacy might not be as common as in the United States. Regardless, he tempered his slowly growing expectations because now was the last hurdle.

"It doesn't happen nearly as often as it used to now that the countess has become more elderly, but as a footman one of your duties would be to accompany the countess' carriage when she travels. There is the possibility that you may be called upon to contend with any bandits or monsters that appear in the way. Are you able to fight at all?"

Instinctively, Jules sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. The answer to that was a bit more complex than a yes or a no. Inspired by Hollywood action movies, an eight-year-old Jules had asked for and then been enrolled in a karate class by his mother. Twice a week for the next eight years, Jules would go to learn karate. But there were several problems that presented themselves. First was that he didn't practice hardly at all in his free time during those eight years, so his technique was only barely passable. Second was that he hadn't practiced any karate at all since he turned sixteen, which to him was seven years previous. And finally, he'd only ever learned empty handed fighting. If men around Andalus carried the massive folding knives like Carlos did, then Jules was figuratively up the creek without a paddle. All these things considered is what made Jules say that he wasn't much of a fighter earlier that day to Carlos.

With a wavering tone, he answered, "Sort of. When I was younger, I practiced some empty-handed fighting, so I can throw a punch or a kick and I understand the absolute basics of fighting. But I never learned how to use a weapon and I haven't practiced in years." Despite his dishonesty so far, Jules couldn't bring himself to fudge this question. In this case, he could tell it was better to admit ignorance instead of being confidently wrong.

Now Santiago hummed a bit disappointingly. Jules had been the near perfect candidate so far, but now the butler had another question. "Do you even have a navaja?"

From what Jules could tell, Andalus was a very peculiar place even disregarding monsters and demon lords in the world. The names he'd heard so far were almost all Spanish. But then people spoke and wrote English, or rather, "common" as Santiago had said. Jules did not speak Spanish, but he didn't go in completely blind. In order to graduate high school, he had to take two years of a foreign language, and being a native of the American Southwest, choosing Spanish seemed like a good idea. Though in a small way, it was paying off now. "Navaja" was just the word for "knife," but Jules assumed that in this context, it specifically referred to the kind of knife that Carlos had brandished upon first meeting him. And while he did have a pocket knife on his person, he didn't think that would pass as a navaja to defend someone with.

"Unfortunately, no," admitted Jules. He wouldn't be able to lie about this one even if he wanted to.

Santiago nodded slowly and mulled over these answers for a short while. But what was really only about ten seconds or so felt like whole minutes for Jules as he awaited his fate. Finally, the butler opened his mouth and spoke slowly, "The pay for a footman is modest. But working here on the house staff means that part of your wages is room-and-board. You would have to go without actual monetary payment for a month or two to fund uniforms and a navaja. And I would also have to arrange some lessons for you to learn how to use the navaja, but I cannot allow you to work here unarmed and unable to defend the countess if the need arises. Would you still like to work here?"

Relief flooding through Jules, the answer was an obvious, "Yes. I would still like to work here."

"Then that settles the matter," concluded the head butler. After all the proceedings thus far, he finally extended an open hand towards Jules. They shook hands in agreement. Santiago looked pleased, but Jules was beaming. "Welcome to the service of Countess Wilhelmina. I hope that things will turn out to your liking."

Hi there. It's me, DeltaDestroys01. Here's something completely different to what I've written before. This is my very first foray into Monster Girl Encyclopedia. I have to admit that the background to this story is a bit of a weird one. For a while now, I've been pondering what kind of story I would tell in a fantasy setting and thanks to the prevalence of the isekai genre in manga and anime, I've slowly grown more and more interested in trying my own hand at that kind of story. So, combining my musings about isekai and my own personal passion for airplanes really set up the main character for this story. However, that was only part of the formula in my eyes. I needed a world to have this story take place in. I've been aware of the existence of Monster Girl Encyclopedia for a few years at this point. If I had to wager a guess, I'd say that a friend brought it up in the summer of 2021. For a long time, I was very confused by this weird but wonderful setting. And thanks to the passion of that same friend infecting me over time, I'd like to take a shot at writing a story in this world. I hope you'll stick around for Jules' and his companions' adventures in this world.

For those of you who are getting a notification of a new story from myself after having followed my profile for Operation Rumor Mill or Ace Combat: Dawn Skies, I would like to soothe any worries you may be having. Neither of those stories are going anywhere nor am I abandoning them. But over the past two months or so, I've really realized how burned out I am on Azur Lane in particular. The Aviation Pioneer is my attempt to take a step back and write something that isn't nearly as cerebral and with less moving parts. Whether or not a change of pace will help me with OPRM or AC:DS has yet to be seen, but I have that itch to tell a story and I can't ignore it any longer.

That's all I got for now. Thank you for reading and I'll see you again soon. Take care. If you're having a bad day, I hope it gets better and if you're having a good day, I hope it gets even better.