Look, I know what you're thinking:
"How the hell did a guy like me end up in a fantasy world with magic swords and busty elf girls?"
Trust me—I'm asking the same damn question. But before we get there, let's rewind to the good stuff: my tragically epic life back on Earth.
Name's Gideon Brangwen. Let's just say I was your typical American twenty-something whose life revolved around exactly three things:
Video games.
Video games.
And—wait for it—more video games.
Shocking, I know.
When normal people were out jogging or "networking" or whatever it is normal people do, I was in my chair, headset on, fingers mashing hotkeys like my life depended on it. Because in my head, it kinda did. I mean, who needs exercise when your MMO avatar's got a ripped twelve-pack, demon wings, and a flaming greatsword that deals 9999 crits? Not this guy.
My apartment was basically a gaming crypt. I had blackout curtains, a fortress of empty pizza boxes, and a floor littered with crushed energy drink cans that probably violated at least three local health codes. My bathroom schedule depended entirely on raid cooldowns.
Work? Ha. I had a job once. Customer support at a cable company. That lasted three months until a guy screamed at me for his buffering anime and I realized people suck worse than goblins. So I quit. And hey, who needs a career when your mom occasionally wires you "emergency money" because she still thinks you're looking for jobs? (Sorry, Mom.)
Don't get me wrong. I wasn't completely antisocial. I had friends. Well…internet friends. Guys with usernames like 420CritLord and PrincessSlayer69. We'd talk all night about patch notes, class meta, and which waifus were best girls. (Answer: all of them. I'm equal opportunity like that.)
My proudest achievement on Earth was hitting rank #3 on the leaderboards in Chrono Crusaders Online—a game so grindy it'd make a Buddhist monk cry. That's where I learned two things:
1. RNGesus is a cruel and fickle deity.
2. Nothing feels better than pulling off a perfect combo and seeing a boss's health bar vaporize.
So yeah. That was my life. Wake up, boot up the PC, murder pixel monsters, eat ramen, repeat. My concept of "outdoors" was the loading screen background in my games.
And you know what? I was fine with it. Sure, my doctor said I was "on a fast track to an early grave," but screw that guy. I was living my best digital life.
Right up until the night everything went white—and my high-score-hunting ass got yeeted into another world.
So there I was, minding my own business, screaming at a party member for pulling aggro off the tank, when suddenly—BOOM.
My entire screen went white. Like, nuclear-flashbang white. I thought maybe my graphics card finally melted from all the overclocking. Or that my power bill caught up to me and the utility company decided to cut me off mid-raid out of sheer spite.
But nope. The light just kept growing until I felt… weightless. Like I'd fallen into a bottomless pit filled with neon strobe lights.
And then—WHAM.
I landed flat on my face on something cold and hard. Not my keyboard this time. Actual stone.
I groaned and rolled over, blinking against torchlight. My eyes finally adjusted, and I saw…
People.
Not just any people—cosplayers on steroids.
Swords. Armor. Flowing wizard robes. Cat girls with twitchy ears. The whole medieval-Renaissance-fantasy package, complete with the smell of sweaty leather and cheap booze.
So there I was, lying flat on the ground like a human pancake, and guess what? The people around me didn't even blink. Not a single "Oh my God, are you okay, sexy stranger?" Nope. Nada. They all just stared at me like "Eh, dude probably thinks the floor's a Tempur-Pedic."
From their point of view, I was just your average Joe who strolled into the guildhall and decided the tiles looked mighty comfy. Meanwhile, from my point of view? I'd just been yanked outta my world like an action figure from a toy box and drop-kicked into this one.
Oh, and get this—the cosmic entity who brought me here made sure I wouldn't look like a complete alien freakshow to the locals. Joke's on them, though. I still totally was.
I sat up slowly, feeling like someone had just cranked the gain on my reality settings.
Above me loomed a sign carved into wood, letters painted in gold:
ADVENTURER'S GUILD
Okay. Deep breath. Time to process this:
I'm not at my desk.
I'm not in my room.
Nobody is screaming slurs over voice chat.
I am, in fact, inside a live-action RPG lobby.
Holy crap.
Before I could even decide whether to scream or cry, a woman appeared in front of me. She looked like someone rolled a fantasy gacha and pulled a five-star waifu on the first try. Blonde hair in an elegant braid. Blue eyes sharp enough to crit for double damage. A busty, corset-clad figure that screamed "fantasy secretary" vibes.
She cleared her throat and gave me a polite but slightly forced smile.
"Welcome to the Adventurer's Guild, traveler. Are you here to register as a new adventurer?"
I blinked at her.
"Uh… can I get a tutorial first?"
She stared at me like I'd grown a second head.
That's when the real fun began.
First, a group of armored dudes hauled me to the counter like I was some drunken idiot. Next thing I knew, this blonde guild clerk started rattling off a bunch of questions:
"Name?"
"Place of origin?"
"Any known magical affinities?"
I cleared my throat and tried to sound cool:
"Gideon Brangwen. From… Earth. United States. New Jersey, to be precise. And my magical affinity is… caffeine?"
She was not amused.
A crowd started forming. Big, burly adventurers. Elf chicks. A dwarf with a beard so long it brushed the floor. Everyone was whispering and pointing at the clueless guy in street clothes.
Me. I was the clueless guy.
Finally, the clerk sighed and motioned me toward a big crystal ball sitting on a pedestal.
"Please place your hand on the Orb of Affinity so we may determine your magical potential."
Orb of Affinity. Okay. Cool. I'd played enough RPGs to know the drill. This was the part where I'd discover I was secretly the Chosen One with god-tier powers, right? Right?
So I slapped my hand on the crystal and waited for the glow.
Nothing happened.
No sparkles. No color. Just a dead chunk of rock.
The entire guild hall went silent. Even the dwarf's beard seemed to droop in disappointment.
"…Congratulations," the clerk said flatly. "You are officially Class Z. The lowest rank of adventurer. No magical affinity. No measurable mana. No growth potential."
Class. Freaking. Z.
People started snickering. A group of adventurers snorted into their mugs. Someone actually said, "He's as good as monster bait."
I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. I wasn't just a noob here—I was the worst possible noob.
And yet, somehow, the only thought in my head was:
"Man… even in another world, RNGesus still hates me."
So there I was: Gideon Brangwen, Class Z adventurer.
I'd barely finished digesting the whole "no magical affinity, no future" newsflash when the crowd basically scattered like I'd announced I had the plague.
A tall warrior guy with biceps bigger than my entire torso stepped forward, looking down at me like I was something he scraped off his sword.
"Hey, Class Z. Don't even think about joining my party. You'll just get us killed."
He shoved past me, muttering something about "monster chow."
Another dude in a fancy cloak sneered:
"A waste of guild resources."
Even the dwarf with the epic beard gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, then promptly waddled away, shaking his head.
Meanwhile, the blonde guild clerk tried to act professional but couldn't quite hide the pity in her eyes.
"We do… offer beginner support for adventurers of your rank. Here's your standard equipment."
She handed me a plain iron sword that felt about as dangerous as a butter knife and a cheap-looking leather license that said "Class Z Adventurer" in big block letters, like the world's worst name tag.
Great. Just great. I'd officially become the fantasy equivalent of the "May I speak to your manager?" guy at the drive-thru window.
I stood there, clutching my new sword, feeling like someone had just deleted my entire save file.
Back home, I was nobody—but at least I'd been a top-tier gamer. Here, I was even less than nobody. I was… a liability.
The clerk cleared her throat again.
"I… strongly advise you not to enter any dungeons alone. Class Z adventurers rarely survive. Perhaps consider working as a porter instead? Carrying supplies for higher-ranked parties can be quite honorable."
Honorable, my ass. I'd seen enough RPGs to know "porter" meant "human luggage."
I forced a grin and waved her off.
"Thanks, but I'll take my chances."
And that's how I ended up marching out of the guild hall, alone, with nothing but a garbage-tier sword and a big chip on my shoulder.
Every single pair of eyes followed me as I left. Some of them laughing. Some of them shaking their heads.
I could practically hear the narration in my head:
"This loser won't last five minutes."
Well guess what, assholes. I was Gideon Brangwen. And if there was one thing I'd learned from every grind-fest game I'd ever played…
Even the weakest character can break the damn game.