In the confined space of a solitary chamber, a dark-haired man reclined on his bed, observing the lush scenery beyond an open window. The emerald blades of grass danced gracefully in response to the gentle caress of the breeze.
This person was none other than Minion #12193.
Or in this case, the reborn Alfir residing within the long-dead poor minion.
“What matters is that I enjoy the process.” Spoken like a true thrill seeker, but Alfir wasn’t as such. He delude himself he wanted this, but the truth was it sucks.
What sane man would want to be isekai-d? If that was even a word?
Apparently, Alfir was sane no more. On an instinctual level, he knew this to be true. That was why it didn’t take him long to stop dwelling much on the topic of ‘transmigration’ and how he had come to possess the body of an insignificant minion like Minion #12193.
Alfir looked around, underneath the window.
The Hospital was packed with patients as people continued to stream into the building. Alfir stood up with difficulty from his bed, wanting to explore the Hospital garden. His body was still hurting, but he was managing. The caregivers who passed by his chambers came at him nagging.
Alfir ignored them.
He was a patient, not a prisoner.
So days came and went by as he alternated between resting and exercising.
In his exploration, he found out where he was— the Zentury Main Headquarters, the Hidden City of Zeal, of all places.
If he was not mistaken, the hospital he was currently in was an auxiliary building of the Laboratory, a sub-organization of Zentury that specialized in Ability Research.
The Zentury Main HQ was a place hidden in a mountain range southeast of the Allied Kingdoms.
With time, Alfir had healed to the point that his face regained some vigor, skin regenerated back to him. The pills that were fed to him and in combination with the aid of Ability Users helped him greatly to recover. Zentury’s insurance policies really were a great thing.
It would have been better if he was not ‘mistakenly’ placed in the Slaughterhouse. Alfir had to thank the kind Cleaner that helped him prior.
“Just who are you?” In front of the mirror was his reflection.
Minion #12193 possessed dark hair, pale skin, and a face that would make no lasting impression. The expressionless, nearly featureless reflection gazed back at him.
"This was becoming tedious…" Alfir sat by the hospital garden as he examined the progress of his healing through the hand mirror he picked from the random cabinet some time ago. The face that stared back at him bore the marks of burns, though they were gradually fading. Soon, he would be fully healed.
And indeed, he was.
After several months of recovery with the assistance of advanced Zentury technology and professional caregivers, he was finally discharged. During his extensive recuperation period, he had ample time to ponder the purpose of his existence in this new world. He now resided within his own literary creation, the world of Mutagenic Medieval.
Mutagenic Medieval was a realm characterized by archaic governments, including tribes, monarchies, villages, and the medieval setting that was a staple of the fantasy genre.
At present, he found himself subordinated to the perilous underground organization known as Zentury.
Zentury championed radical philosophies about unique abilities, viewing them as curses intended to punish mortals. Alfir strode purposefully, eager to break free from the monotony that had overtaken him during his hospital stay. After inquiring with the staff, he struggled to find his bearings in search of the Mission Halls.
"Was it to the left, or perhaps the right? This place is like a labyrinth."
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Alfir fled the Hospital building and was on his way to the Mission Halls. He navigated the streets of the Hidden City of Zeal, and found himself lost.
Minions like Alfir had a quota to meet—an average of a dozen E-rank missions. Given Minion #12193's recent completion of an S mission, Alfir's involvement was duly acknowledged, considering the mission's high danger levels.
However, due to the classified nature of the mission and Alfir's hazy memory of the events, he remained oblivious to what had truly transpired. The inherited memories were in fragments. He’d love to study the past of Minion #12193, and the circumstances he now found himself with.
Trying to recall the events, consistent with the inherited memories, Alfir felt an agonizing pain in his head. “This was, and is damning, getting inconvenient…” He leaned on the lamp post as he breathed slow and steady.
It was the peak of the noon, and the sun was burning gloriously from above. It wasn’t heat stroke though that made Alfir feel so much pain, but a migraine. The onlookers watched him passively without care.
Finally, the pain was no more.
“Fuuu~” Alfir exhaled turbid air as he stood upright. His uniform, a black buttoned sleeves was crumpled a bit, but it didn’t look so bad. “I wonder just what the fuck was happening?”
He began having suspicions that there might be more about his ‘transmigration’ whether he cared or not. To his credit, Alfir would rather not care. He perused his system while he idly walked to his destination wherever that was.
[MINION #12913
Authority Level: E
Zentury Credits: 927,109
Specialized Skills: Nothing noteworthy, but was mildly proficient with the sword.
Physical Traits: black hair, black eyes, mildly pale skin, and stands at 181 cm.
Remarks: A low-level minion of Zentury known for being unremarkable and almost invisible. Please strive for the sake of Zentury. While we don’t anticipate extraordinary achievements from you, we do expect your contribution.]
"Ugh… These remarks sting more than I anticipated."
Before Alfir's eyes lay his Zentury system user interface, visible only to him. This system was a product of the Laboratory’s technology, achieved through the direct manipulation of the central nervous system via an electronic chip. Unfortunately, it differed significantly from the cheat-like system Alfir was familiar with from novels; this ‘system’ in front of him merely reflected his status and nothing more.
In Zentury, names held no significance. Possessing the system was all that mattered; as long as you had it, you were in good standing. Numbers defined the members of Zentury. What made them formidable was the fact that each member had explosive chips embedded in their heads; the 'system' was just one of the auxiliary functions of the chip inside his skull.
For Zentury members, their pasts were irrelevant. Only their loyalty and commitment to the organization held any weight. Most members of Zentury discarded their names upon affiliation. To low-level minions, it had become a tradition.
Even with that, Alfir found Minion #12193 as curious… or maybe even special. This ‘Minion #12193’ had survived an encounter with Flamecore after all.
"But a system fit for a minion, huh? Well, asking for a god-like system is a bit much," Alfir muttered to himself, expressing his discontent with his situation. It was unfortunate that he had no clues about his original name or, in simpler terms, his identity before becoming one of Zentury’s lackeys.
Minion#12193's memories were highly fragmented and likely irreparable. The possibility of fixing them in the future remained open, allowing Alfir to avoid unnecessarily worrying about it.
Lost in his thoughts, Alfir accidentally collided with someone.
"Fuck! Watch where you're going, do you want to die?" Cussed by the person Alfir bumped shoulder with. He looked up, surprised to see the other, a weathered man with a scar on his lip.
“Ah!” Alfir apologized, but he didn't really mean it as he was more distracted by his destination. "I'm sorry… But where can I find the mission halls? I am lost..."
"Fuuuuuuuuck,” The other person snarled with annoyance. “I knew it, you a newbie? Wasn't anyone clear during orientation not to wander around?" The man before Alfir was rugged with a sword hung at his waist.
Judging by the other guy’s demeanor, Alfir considered him a fellow minion already. Alfir felt an unexpected sense of camaraderie with this unknown fellow minion.
“I am not a newbie. I had a short-term memory loss after my recent mission.” Alfir defiantly explained, almost shy. He found his own reasoning to be flawed and unbelievable, but the other person seemed to be amenable.
“Ugh… You are lucky. If you met someone eccentric or hot-tempered, you might’ve already been killed. Just walk straight then turn right. Get it? Watch where you step if you don’t want to die.”
“I am sorry,” Alfir smiled. “And thank you!” He added as the other person’s name finally registered in his mind. He knew the other guy. The rough gray hair, the snarl, and the way he talked.
That guy was no minion.
When the minion and the stranger finally parted, Alfir realized just how much he was sweating.
The other guy. He was none other than the Keen Wolf, Devourer. He was a villain who rose in the ranks of Zentury faster than Gavin the Undying ever did. Alfir recalled writing about the Keen Wolf, and while reminiscing about the past, Alfir found himself strangely looking forward to the future.
With the yet-to-be-recognized Keen Wolf’s instruction, Alfir finally reached the mission halls.
Surprisingly, people here in Zentury didn’t seem that bad at all. There was the Cleaner and that other guy. They looked nice people, Alfir thought to himself.
He entered the small palace, the Mission Halls, and walked through the different counters. He picked the one in the farthest left realizing who it was.
“Sir? You have healed?” The mission clerk smiled, his white teeth showing.
"Give me a catalog of S missions of Cannon fodder variety," Alfir boldly declared to the mission clerk with a grin. “Also, can you give me every file you have of me?”