Nameless village in the northern remnants of the Allyrian Empire,

Week 3 of Year 27, Heroic Era

Bam! The portal spat me out like a tantrum-throwing toddler. Face-first in the mud. It was a classic landing, and after experiencing it for the umpteenth time, I had to admit it hadn't lost its charm.

As I wiped off the dirt, a villager gasped, proclaiming, "It's a hero! The Chosen One has arrived!"

I scoffed at the notion. Chosen One, my foot. More like chosen to clean up after some clueless high schooler who got truck-struck into another world and made a mess of things.

The ignorant villager stood before me, oblivious to my true role as an Isekai Fixer rather than an Isekai Hero. I contemplated setting him straight, showing him the Multiversal Contract clause that defined my job, but it seemed pointless. Time was of the essence, and I needed to finish my task quickly to return home. With renewed vigor, I got to work, following the tried-and-true procedure in the Isekai Fixer's Handbook. Step one: scout the fantasy realm. I glanced around, effortlessly decoding the world in a single glance.

Blue skies, and a single sun shining in the sky? Indicative of a Low fantasy setting.

Medieval European architecture and horse carriages? Would suggest either Type A(1) or Type A(3) cultural development.

Ragged peasants, knights and nobles? Extras type 1, 7, and 9.

No cat-eared girls, no chained elf slaves, no shooting lasers and light sabers in sight.

Initial analysis result: Cliché low fantasy medieval European isekai. Nothing I hadn't seen before, so no surprises there. Now, onto finding the local big shot to give me the Quest.

It didn't take long before I spotted what I believed to be my target. A greasy old man with a long wispy beard, wearing expensive but tasteless robes. He was sitting on his tacky throne, thinking he's the hottest thing since french fries, flanked on both sides by knights in full plate armor. The flashy poseur had to be some kind of leader, belonging to either the noble or priest archetype. Either way, he exuded the air of a starting area quest giver, and from the looks of things, he boasted a wallet thick enough to cover my Isekai expenses.

Confident in my deduction, I rose from the mud with a flair of theatricality, catching the attention of the awestruck onlookers. Brushing off the dirt from my impeccably tailored denim overalls—because even a blue-collar story protagonist needs a sense of style—I approached the distinguished gentleman with a theatrical swagger, tipped my yellow construction hat, and gave a tiny bow in greeting.

"My name is Brann. Professional Isekai Fixer, at your service. What seems to be the problem in this world?"

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Ruins of Allyria, in the former Allyrian Empire

Week 6 of Year 27, Heroic Era

Mushrooms. I've never been a fan of them since I was a kid. Mom used to say they would grow on me, and, in her typical motherly fashion, she turned out to be right. Quite literally.

A mushroom was growing out of my right eyeball, its cap bulbous and pulsating with a sickly green hue. It stared back at me, mocking my plight with its fungal glee. I blinked with my remaining eye, attempting to focus through the fungal veil that now obstructed my vision. It was as if I had become a grotesque fusion of human and mushroom, a horror straight out of a twisted fairy tale.

"I pity the fool who came in this world thinking it would be just another cliché easy fixer-upper. Oh wait, that's me!"

I gingerly touched the fungal growth, half-expecting it to squeal in protest or sprout tiny arms to slap my hand away. Nope, just a slimy, squishy mass for now. I sighed, and looked down. I noticed the mycelia and lichen spreading across my thighs and bottom like an unwelcome, fuzzy blanket. It was as if the fungi were taking their newfound residence quite seriously, claiming every inch of my body as their own. I resisted the urge to scratch, knowing that disturbing the mushrooms would only invite further pain. I had to bear with it, for the plan two-weeks in the making to come to fruition.

With heavy steps, I wandered through the plant-infested city of Allyria, my multifunctional shovel cutting through the fungal overgrowth with each determined step. The air was thick with the earthy scent of decay, mixed with the unmistakable aroma of mushrooms. It was like walking through a compost bin, only with a side order of impending doom. The once majestic buildings stood as skeletal remains, their grandeur now reduced to mere crumbling shells. Everywhere I looked, nature's perverse invasion had taken hold. Medieval villas lay shrouded in an ethereal cloak of moss and lichen. Their elegant facades, once adorned with intricate carvings, now obscured by a suffocating green embrace. The once pristine courtyards, where laughter and merriment echoed, were now lost to the relentless advance of nature's claim.

A great church, once a beacon of faith, now stood as a haunting relic of the past. Its towering spires, once reaching towards the heavens, were now entangled in a snarl of grasping branches and twisted vines. Stained glass windows, once vibrant with radiant colors, lay shattered and forgotten, scattered like fragments of a broken dream. Within the dilapidated walls, a palpable sense of loss permeated the air. The melancholic melody of forgotten prayers lingered, echoing through the desecrated halls. Shafts of feeble light struggled to penetrate the dense foliage that had consumed the sacred space, casting eerie shadows upon the decaying pews. Beneath the surface, an intricate network of fungal growth thrived, its mycelia spreading like a web of decay. It seeped into the cracks and crevices, devouring the very essence of the structures that once stood proud.

Curious eyes peered out from mossy overgrown houses, their expressions a blend of hopeful curiosity and lingering fear. The villagers on this side of the fallout area were not as lucky as the ones I had met in the starting zone up north. They had been through hell and back, victims of the Green Plague - a Life Magic nuclear fallout zone - that had turned their lives into a moldering mess after the catastrophic final battle between the Evil Lich and the Hero. Worst of all, these people were forced to live in these forsaken lands by their own kin, who shunned them for fear of spreading the infection further out in other human bastions.

As I walked the ruined streets, I encountered a child, their innocence vanquished by the abomination of the plant-based mutation. The unfortunate soul had lost their nose to the relentless encroachment of lichen, its sickly tendrils gnarled around their disfigured face. As I peered closer, I noticed a twisted limb, partially amputated, where patches of pulsating moss clung to exposed flesh. The child's vacant eyes revealed a profound sadness, a reflection of the torment they endured.

Further along, I came upon an old man, his sightless eyes veiled by a curtain of encroaching moss. The upper portion of his face was obscured, with only half a jaw remaining, concealed beneath a sickly green blanket. His muffled voice struggled to escape the shroud, whispering tales of a forgotten past, drowned in anguish. The moss had claimed him, eroding his humanity as it swallowed his identity.

The villagers, infected and dying, roamed the twisted streets, their bodies entwined with pulsating vines. Their once vibrant lives reduced to aimless wanderings, each step a struggle against the weight of the plant's dominion. Their collective misery hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of decay, an oppressive atmosphere of sorrow and despair.

My heart ached, a dull pain resounding within me, not because of my own infection - but rather, for these people who had suffered so long, victims of the Hero's folly. I couldn't let my emotions show, though. I had to maintain my strong, confident, bubbly persona in front of them. I had to give them hope, where the Hero had taken it all away.

This was the extent of the disaster brought by the Hero's folly. This was why the Gods decided that the Fixer was to be sent.

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Spotting a group of villagers gathered near a crumbling fountain, I sauntered over, multi-shovel slung casually over my shoulder. They eyed me warily, their gazes darting between my mushroom-infested attire and the tool that seemed more suited for digging graves than battling fungal monstrosities.

"Ye' be the Fungal Fixer?" asked a grizzled man whilst slowly approaching me.

"It's Brann, the Isekai Fixer, actually. I don't know who came up with that 'Fungus Fixer' nickname, but I can assure you, it's not my preferred title. I'm here to set everything right, not just fix some mushrooms." I said, flashing a toothy, mold-ridden smile.

The moss-infected man didn't look amused. "We care not ye' name. Only if ye' can beat the plague, hero."

A tiny smile, sad smile escaped my lips. "Luckily for you I'm not a hero. Just a fixer."

"Good, cause them' heroes full of crap! Them's just make it worse, damned lot!" shouted another despodent man.

Fleeting murmurs of agreement came from the nearby crowds. I couldn't refute them.

As the hushed voices died down, a woman with wild, unkempt hair stepped forward. A red capped mushroom was growing out of her forehead, like a tiny umbrella hat, providing a modicum of shade. She fell on her knees in front of me, her voice pleading and sad: "Please, honorable Hero! Save us! My child he...he... drank the bad water! Now there's a bamboo shoot growing out of his belly! I fear he won't live past the week! Please, you must save him."

I gripped my chest in pain. There was something tugging at my heart, an invisible force making it hard to breathe, but I didn't let it show. I had to be strong, for these people. They were people, not characters, I had to remind myself. This was their reality. This was their life.

With a small hand flourish, I swept those heavy thoughts aside, donning the mask of the flamboyant Fixer. "Ah, fear not, fair lady! I may not be a Hero, but I do have a plan. I didn't spend a week in the Fungal Forest for nothing! I've seen the havoc these mutated plants can wreak, and I've got a strategy to face 'em head-on. But I'll need your help." I explained, my tone filled with determination.

The grizzled villager stepped forward, his voice a mixture of hope and caution. "What be your plan, Fungus Fixer? How do we combat the Green Plague?"

I leaned back, a mischievous glint in my eyes. "Well, my friend, it involves a little something I like to call... mushroom diplomacy."

"Mushroom diplomacy?" he repeated, a quizzical look on his face.

"Yes, indeed!" I replied, a hint of excitement in my voice. "Spending these past two weeks in the Fungal Forest taught me a great deal of things. You see, mushrooms have incredible communicative abilities. They form vast underground networks, sharing information and resources. My plan is to tap into that network, to negotiate with the fungi themselves. The fungal kingdom will then act as a buffer with the rest of the plant life. Who's to say that we can't ask them to reverse the plague? Or even better, make strike a deal for a symbiotic relationship between the people and the mushrooms?"

The man raised an eyebrow, his skepticism turning into anger. "Bloody mad! Ain't ever gonna work!" one half-fungal man shouted.

"Yer' pullin our legs" another boy cried. "Talking to shrooms!"

I shrugged, a playful smile playing on my lips. "Hey, stranger things have happened in the world of isekais. Trust me, I know! Besides, mushrooms are more reasonable than you might think. They'll be willing to cooperate if we give them the right ...incentives."

"What's that be, then?" the grizzled man asked.

A bright smile flourished upon my face. I had been anticipating that question. "Why, me, of course!". The people of the forsaken city looked at me like I had grown a second head. Which could be possible, I assumed. "But first, let me see the healer, Necriuxx."

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In a bizarre twist of fate, the wielders of forbidden death magic, the necromancers, had become the most sought-after healers in the wake of the Green Plague. How ironic it was that life magic, meant to bring vitality, now suffocated humanity. Meanwhile death magic, once feared across the realm, became a means of salvation. Necriuxx, one such necromancer who had once served the now deceased Evil Lich, found himself in high demand. In the past, the empire's authorities would have spared no expense in hunting him and his comrades, but now he stood as a valuable commodity.

"Death Doctor Necriuxx, long time no see!" I exclaimed with enthusiasm, entering the overgrown hospital. Before he could react, I slung my arm around his neck in a friendly gesture. It was quite a feat, given his towering stature and wild mane. His tired, red eyes revealed the toll of sleepless nights. Doctors, it seemed, shared a lot of qualities, no matter the world they hailed from.

"Fixer," he grumbled through gritted teeth. "I had hoped the plants had taken you."

"Hah! There's the black heart in you speaking! Don't dismiss me so easily. As you can see, I'm still alive and kicking. Though, a bit fungified," I replied with a chuckle.

"If you've come for treatment, get in line like everyone else. I won't be bending the rules, not even for friends or kin."

"What a noble necromancer you are, I knew I found a kindred spirit in you: a true professional!" I chuckled, but the tall guy wouldn't budge. "By the way, is the thing I asked you for ready?" I inquired, my eyes gleaming with anticipation.

This question seemed to affect the necromancer slightly, as his eyes suddenly turned frantic. "Already? It can't be. My acolytes aren't prepared yet," he hesitated, clearly torn between two choices. "Tsk, it's too early to assist in your plan, they'd be simply walking to their dooms! I didn't have enough time to teach them death magic and battle tactics, not inbetween curing people of their plant tumors. "

"Oh? But why, pray tell, would I need you and your acolytes? Saving the world is my job, the same way healing people is yours. I merely require the item I requested previously, and then I'll be on my way."

The doctor spoke with a heavy voice, wrestling with his conflicting emotions. "Just the item? Don't you need... help? Even the..." he nearly spat the name out "...Hero couldn't face my master alone. He had a party with him. And this is far worse."

I laughed, a smug grin stretching across my face. "You misunderstand, my dear necromancer. I am a Fixer, not a Hero. I fix things, alone," I said, a tinge of sadness coloring my voice as a certain memory resurfaced. "Always alone."

The death magician nodded slightly in understanding, then moved across the room. After uttering an incantation in a vile language, a pitch-black box appeared, darker than the night itself. With utmost reverence, the necromancer spoke, "This is the final piece of my master's Death Core. I've been attempting to awaken it these past nights, but my success has been limited. The power of death it radiates isn't as strong as I had hoped, but it should suffice for your purpose." Turning towards me, there was a begrudging respect in the necromancer's gaze, reminiscent of seasoned military veterans. "Take the Death Core. May the Lady of the Eternal Dream guide your path and rid us of this affliction once and for all."

As I accepted the securely sealed box in my arms, a smile crept across my face. "I appreciate your kind words, and your god's benediction, my friend. But it's time for me to go. Until we meet again in another life!"

Necriuxx nodded, understanding. This was not a mission one could come back alive from.

Before departing, I couldn't resist adding with a grin, "Oh, and remember to send a postcard."

"Postcard? What is that?" the necromancer asked, puzzled.

I chuckled, then sauntered out of the room without giving an explanation. It was time to set the plan in motion.