Yuto Akiyama's gamer instincts were screaming "world boss incoming" as the massive shadow swept over the Verdant Scar, its roar shaking the forest like a maxed-out subwoofer. His scrawny frame froze, spear trembling in his mud-caked hands, as the patrol—Torren, Lyssa, Gav, Redbeard, and a couple of nameless scouts—crouched in the underbrush, staring at the sky. The Dominion camp lay ahead, a sprawl of black tents and glowing green carts guarded by robed figures whose staves pulsed with sorcery. But that shadow? That was endgame shit, and Yuto's level 1 ass was not geared for it. "Bro, a DRAGON? I didn't even grind the side quests!" he hissed, his meme-lord brain conjuring "You died" screens from Elden Ring.
Torren, crouched beside him, nocked an arrow, his weathered face grim under his rune-etched armor. "Keep your voice down, Mud Boy, unless you want to be its breakfast." His green eyes flicked upward, tracking the shadow as it circled, wings blotting out the gray dawn. The Verdant Scar was a scarred nightmare—charred trees twisted like glitchy polygons, craters pulsing green, vines humming with unnatural energy. The air reeked of sulfur and decay, the former sparking Yuto's gunpowder obsession. Sulfur. Right there. If I can nab some, I'm one step closer to yeeting muskets into this medieval mess.
Lyssa, predictably, chose that moment to ruin stealth. "Fear not, mortals!" she whispered loudly, striking a pose that thrust her "legendary" assets against her low-cut tunic. Her blonde hair gleamed, her skirt riding up as she raised her staff, its crystal flickering like a dying LED. "Lyssa Starweaver shall shield us with arcane might!" The crystal sparked, then coughed out a puff of glitter that drifted onto Gav, who sneezed violently. Yuto's brain fired: When you cast Invisibility but roll a nat 1.
"Yo, Sparkle Tits, you're gonna aggro the whole server!" Yuto hissed, dodging her indignant glare. "Your 'might' is giving budget disco ball vibes." Gav, wiping glitter off his weasel face, snorted. "Aye, lass, your tits are stealthed better than us." Lyssa's face flushed, her staff sparking. "How dare you peasants! My charms are a tactical asset!" Redbeard, clutching his glowing amulet, chuckled lewdly. "Tactical, aye. Could distract a dragon's… other head."
Torren's dry voice cut through. "Shut it, all of you, or I'll feed you to that beast myself." The shadow passed again, closer, revealing scales glinting green-black and a tail like a spiked whip. Not a dragon, Yuto realized, his gamer brain cataloging. Wyvern, maybe? Smaller, no front legs. Still OP. Its roar faded, but the Dominion camp stirred, robed mages scanning the forest. Great, we're stuck between a raid boss and a gank squad.
Yuto's mind churned, his gunpowder obsession flaring. Braxium's war was a brutal slog—swords, spears, and magic that fizzled half the time (thanks, Lyssa). On Earth, a single AK-47 could've cleared that camp in minutes. Sulfur's here. Charcoal's easy. Saltpeter's the trick—bat caves, maybe? I could rig a flintlock, turn this into a FPS. But his inner thoughts darkened. This world's a death trap. No medkits, no respawns, just blood and shit. Yesterday's ghouls nearly ate us, and orcs hack guys like it's a Viking LARP. Guns would even the score. His nostalgia for Earth—Wi-Fi, pizza, soap—clashed with Braxium's grim reality: disease-ridden camps, no sanitation, and soldiers dying from wounds a Band-Aid could've fixed.
The scout ahead signaled, pointing at the camp. Torren whispered, "Ten mages, twenty grunts, three carts. Green glow's probably sorcery fuel—nasty stuff. We scout, not fight." Yuto's eyes locked on the carts, their barrels leaking a yellowish powder. Sulfur? Jackpot. His gamer brain screamed side quest, but Torren's glare said don't be a noob.
Gav muttered, "Looks like a death trap. Why's Mud Boy grinning like he's got a plan?" Yuto shrugged, his bravado masking panic. "Just theorycrafting, bro. Bet I could blow that camp sky-high with the right mats." Lyssa scoffed, tossing her hair. "Your 'plans' are as useful as a goblin's bath. Leave strategy to the arcane elite!" Yuto smirked. "Sure, Aqua 2.0. Your elite sparkles nearly got us eaten last time."
Redbeard's amulet pulsed, and he muttered a prayer to Valthar, his red beard quivering. "Thalra guide us. That wyvern's no beast—it's Dominion-tainted, mark my words." Yuto's brain tingled. Tainted? Like the ghouls and wolves? Bet it's tied to those shrines. The Verdant Scar's lore weighed on him—its craters, vines, and shrines pulsed with Dominion sorcery, corrupting the land like a virus. Braxium's soldiers fought with runes and prayers, but the Dominion had cheat codes: mages, monsters, maybe wyverns. Guns would counter that. No spell beats a bullet.
Torren signaled to move, and the patrol crept forward, using the forest's glowing vines for cover. Yuto's boots squelched, his spear dragging, his scrawny arms aching. Why couldn't I isekai as a buff paladin? I'm a glass cannon with no cannon. His helmet slipped, and Lyssa's giggle drew a glare. "What? Your head's too small for that pot, Mud Boy." Yuto quipped, "Least my head's not competing with your chest for aggro." Her huff was half-outraged, half-amused, her smirk hinting at chemistry Yuto wasn't ready to parse.
The camp was close now, its black tents etched with green runes that pulsed like server pings. Mages chanted, their staves glowing, while grunts in spiked armor patrolled, their axes notched with blood. The carts' barrels leaked sulfur, and Yuto's gunpowder dream flared. Grab that, mix it right, I'm the medieval John Wick. But his inner thoughts sobered. One screw-up, and I'm a fireball's bitch. This world doesn't do tutorials.
A grunt wandered too close, and Torren's arrow dropped him silently, the blue-glowing shaft vanishing into his throat. Yuto's stomach churned. That's a real dude. Dead. No respawn. Braxium's brutality hit hard—melee fights left guts spilling, wounds festered, and soldiers joked about death like it was a stat. Guns would be clean. Point, shoot, done. No hacking through bone like a psycho. His obsession deepened, a mix of survival and gamer hubris. I'll change the meta. Turn this war into a speedrun.
Lyssa, trying to prove herself, whispered, "I'll scout with a shadow veil!" Her staff sparked, then erupted in a flash of light, blinding the patrol and alerting the camp. "Oops," she squeaked, her tunic slipping to reveal… well, Yuto's brain short-circuited. "Goddamn, Lyssa, your 'veil' is louder than a nuke!" he snapped, diving behind a tree as grunts roared and mages raised staves. Torren cursed. "Bloody idiot! Mud Boy, plan, now!"
Yuto's brain kicked into World Warfare mode. The camp was a killbox, but the forest sloped downward, funneling into a ravine. Choke point. Like Thermopylae with worse graphics. "Ravine, left! Lure 'em in, pick 'em off!" he shouted, scrambling toward it, his spear a tripping hazard. Torren nodded, loosing arrows, while Redbeard and Gav followed, dragging Lyssa, who was muttering about "mana misfires."
The ravine was narrow, its walls slick with glowing moss. Yuto's plan was simple: bottleneck the grunts, let Torren's arrows and Redbeard's sword do the work. Like a MOBA lane with no minions. The grunts charged, axes raised, but the ravine slowed them, their bulk clogging the path. Torren's arrows dropped three, Redbeard hacked another, and Gav's spear actually hit something. Lyssa, desperate, lobbed a fireball that—miraculously—exploded, scorching two grunts. "Ha! Bow to my power!" she crowed, only to trip, her skirt flipping up. Yuto snorted. "Nice ult, Bayonetta. Next time, aim for the enemy, not your dignity."
The mages, though, were the problem. Their staves pulsed, green bolts lancing into the ravine, one grazing Gav's arm. He screamed, the wound sizzling like acid. Yuto's gun obsession flared. A sniper rifle could've dropped those casters from here. No counterspell for a headshot. He spotted a loose boulder above the ravine. Environmental trap, classic. "Redbeard, shove that rock!" he yelled, pointing. Redbeard grunted, his amulet glowing, and heaved, the boulder crashing down, crushing three grunts.
The mages faltered, but a new pulse from the carts sent Yuto's gamer senses tingling. Power source? Bet it's fueling their spells. "Torren, hit the carts!" he shouted. Torren's arrow, glowing blue, struck a barrel, and it erupted in a sulfurous fireball, the green glow dimming. The mages staggered, their spells fizzling. Jackpot. Disable the buff, win the teamfight.
The patrol cleaned up, but the wyvern's roar returned, closer, its shadow darkening the ravine. Yuto's heart sank. We're not geared for this. Granite-Face's reinforcements arrived, spears bristling, but the camp was stirring, more mages emerging. Yuto's sulfur stash was gone, his gunpowder dream delayed. Next time, I'm looting first.
Back at camp, Yuto's "Oracle of Mud" rep grew, but so did Karl's glares. "Lucky again, conscript," he spat, his cronies snickering. Torren warned Yuto: "Karl's itching for a fight. Watch your back." Lyssa, preening by the fire, tried a "healing charm" on Gav's wound, only to set his sleeve ablaze. "Gods, lass!" Gav yelped, as Yuto quipped, "Yo, Sparkle Tits, your 'healing' is a war crime."
Yuto's gun obsession consumed his thoughts. Sulfur's out there. I'll find it, rig a prototype, change this war. But the Verdant Scar's glow intensified, and scouts reported Dominion forces massing. As Yuto sharpened his spear, a horn blared—not Braxium's, but deep, alien, from the mountains. The ground trembled, and a green pulse lit the sky, brighter than ever. Yuto's meme-lord brain froze: Bro, that's a server-wide event, and I'm still in the starting zone.
Character Descriptions:
Yuto Akiyama:
Appearance: Yuto is a scrawny 25-year-old with the physique of someone who's spent more time in a gaming chair than a gym. His black hair is a perpetual mess, now streaked with Braxium's mud, and his dark eyes dart nervously, reflecting his gamer's analytical mind. His pale skin, once untouched by sunlight, is now scratched and dirt-caked from his conscript life. In Braxium, he wears a tattered gray tunic that hangs off his frame, patched trousers that chafe, and worn boots that squelch with every step. His dented helmet slips over his eyes, and his spear is more a prop than a weapon, often dragged behind him. A faint rash from poor hygiene adds to his disheveled look.
Traits: Yuto is a tactical genius trapped in a nerd's body, with an encyclopedic knowledge of military history and RTS games. His meme-lord humor (e.g., "When you trigger a cutscene but forgot to save") masks his panic, but his internal monologue reveals growing frustration with Braxium's primitive brutality. He's socially awkward, quick with quips but clumsy in physical tasks (tripping, dropping weapons). His obsession with inventing guns stems from a mix of survival instinct and gamer hubris, aiming to "modernize" the war. He's sarcastic but loyal, earning grudging respect from his squad despite his ineptitude. Sexual humor flows naturally in his jabs, especially at Lyssa, reflecting his irreverent Earth mindset.
Torren:
Appearance: Torren is a wiry, weathered 40-something archer, built like a leather strap stretched over bone. His face is a map of scars and wrinkles, framed by a scruffy graying beard that could hide a dagger. His sharp green eyes glint with cynical amusement, always scanning for threats. His patched leather armor is adorned with faintly glowing blue runes, and his longbow, carved with Thalra's sigils, is never far from his hands. His dark hair is cropped short, streaked with gray, and a tattered cloak blends him into the Verdant Scar's shadows.
Traits: Torren is a grizzled survivor, a medieval Han Solo with a dry wit and a knack for staying alive. He's skeptical of Yuto's "Oracle of Mud" status but respects results, becoming a reluctant mentor with quips like "Don't piss yourself, kid." His cynicism hides a sharp mind, honed by years of scouting and dodging Dominion sorcery. He's pragmatic, loyal to those who earn it, and quick to call out nonsense (especially Lyssa's). His knowledge of Braxium's lore and survival skills make him invaluable, though he avoids sharing his past.
Lyssa Starweaver
Appearance: Lyssa is a curvaceous 20-year-old with a figure that draws every eye in camp, her "legendary" assets barely contained by a tight, low-cut blue tunic embroidered with stars. Her blonde hair cascades in pristine waves, defying Braxium's mud, and her blue eyes sparkle with overconfidence. Her short skirt, barely covering her thighs, and star-stitched capelet scream "cosplay mage," impractical for battle. Her wooden staff, topped with a flickering crystal, wobbles in her grip, and her flushed cheeks betray her embarrassment when spells fizzle. Mud streaks her legs from frequent trips, adding to her chaotic charm.
Traits: Lyssa is a self-proclaimed "battlemage apprentice" with more bravado than skill, a walking Aqua-from-Konosuba parody. Her spells (e.g., weak fireballs, fizzling charms) misfire spectacularly, making her the butt of Yuto's sexual jabs ("Sparkle Tits," "OnlyFans cosplay"). She's loud, clumsy, and overly proud, boasting about her "arcane lineage" while tripping over vines. Her confidence masks insecurity, and her occasional useful magic hints at untapped potential. She secretly enjoys Yuto's banter, her indignant huffs hiding a smirk, laying groundwork for a possible romantic arc. Her impracticality fuels comedy, but her loyalty to the squad shines through.
Gav:
Appearance: Gav is a lanky 22-year-old with a weasel-like face—sharp nose, beady brown eyes, and a smirk that's half-charm, half-trouble. His dark hair is greasy, tied back with a scrap of cloth, and his stubble makes him look perpetually unshaven. His conscript armor—ill-fitting leather and a dented breastplate—hangs off his frame, and his spear is scratched from clumsy use. Mud cakes his boots and tunic, and a burn mark on his beard (courtesy of Lyssa's spell) adds to his scruffy look.
Traits: Gav is a sarcastic complainer, always griping about rations or missions but quick with a laugh. His weasel-faced jabs at Yuto ("Mud Boy's gonna die first") hide a growing respect, making him a loyal sidekick. He's not bright but scrappy, surviving by sticking with stronger allies. His crude humor (e.g., joking about Lyssa's "aggro radius") fits the camp's vibe, and his tavern tales reveal a knack for trouble. He's the squad's morale booster, though his cowardice shows in tight spots.
Redbeard:
Appearance: Redbeard is a burly 30-something, built like a barrel with arms that could crush an orc. His fiery red beard, tangled like a bird's nest, dominates his ruddy face, paired with small, squinting blue eyes. His armor is a patchwork of steel and leather, etched with Valthar's prayers, and his rusty sword is notched from countless fights. A glowing blue amulet hangs at his chest, pulsing faintly. Mud and blood streak his cloak, and his booming laugh reveals crooked teeth.
Traits: Redbeard is a devout tank, praying to Saint Valthar with every swing of his sword. His lewd stories (e.g., "three-goat wagers" or "lusty smith's daughters") make him the camp's bard of debauchery, earning laughs and Yuto's mental memes. He's loyal but superstitious, clutching his amulet during fights and muttering about curses. His brute strength contrasts his soft spot for comrades, and he's quick to back Yuto's strats, though he doesn't understand them. His faith and humor ground the squad.
Karl
Appearance: Karl is a hulking 28-year-old, a wall of muscle with a shaved head and a permanent scowl. His gray eyes burn with resentment, and a jagged scar runs from his brow to his cheek, courtesy of an orc axe. His steel armor, polished despite the mud, marks him as a career soldier, and his massive broadsword is slung across his back. His fists are calloused, and his cloak bears House Valthar's serpent, hinting at ambition. Mud barely touches him, as if even the Verdant Scar knows better.
Traits: Karl is a jealous bully, resentful of Yuto's "Oracle of Mud" fame. His mean streak and long memory make him a threat, his sneers ("King of Shit") backed by cronies who amplify his ego. He's competent but traditional, scorning Yuto's unorthodox strats as luck. His ambition to climb Braxium's ranks fuels his antagonism, and his physical prowess contrasts Yuto's scrawny ineptitude. He's a looming obstacle, his hostility hinting at future sabotage.