You stand up with a cocky swagger to your step and a gleam in your eye. "You're just in luck, you halfwit motherfucker, 'cause I am an expert at zombie apocalypses. You just travel back to wherever-the-fuck and I'll follow you later to shoot some zombie motherfuckers with my guns," making sure to show off your muscles again as you complete that sentence.
"Thank you, I will notify the king immediately," he says, before turning around and leaving.
Well, that was awesome. You're gonna get to kick sooooo much ass. As you gather your Gryffindor scarf from the coatrack, however, you suddenly have a premonition that taking on an army of zombies singlehandedly might be a really fucking stupid idea, even for an omnipotent badass motherfucker such as yourself. You sit back down and ponder how, exactly, you can get yourself out of this particular mess.
Completely IGNORE the problem in the hopes that it will go away
Have your goody two-shoes brother GREG do this for you