Chapter 3: The System - Mission Survival
Year 0001, Month IX: The Imperium
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Space Magic!?
The following morning after August regained his consciousness, forgetting his late night murmurings…
"Huh!?!?!?"
Something appeared in my field of vision without warning—floating, ethereal, filled with strange symbols and words I couldn't decipher. The text hovered before me, suspended in midair as if projected from some invisible source. I rubbed my eyes vigorously, blinked several times, and even shut them tightly before reopening them, hoping the hallucination would vanish. Yet, the bizarre text remained, hanging in the air with what felt like judgmental amusement, as if mocking my inability to comprehend its meaning.
"What the hell is this?" I whispered, my voice cracking from a mixture of fear and disbelief. "Am I dead? Did I really die after all of that? After surviving the massacre only to be haunted by floating letters? This is absolute horseshit!"
My hands trembled as I reached out to touch the shimmering words, only for my fingers to pass through them like smoke. The text flickered momentarily, then stabilized, becoming even more vibrant than before. The symbols rearranged themselves, shifting and morphing as if trying to communicate in a language I might understand.
I stumbled backward until my spine pressed against the cold stone wall of my family's cellar. The smell of damp earth and dried herbs that once comforted me now felt suffocating. My chest tightened with each panicked breath I took.
"I'm losing my mind," I muttered, sliding down to the dirt floor. "Did the trauma finally break me?"
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The Awakening of My Game-Like System
[SYSTEM ADMIN MAGNUS: GREETINGS, MASTER AUGUST! I AM THE ADMINISTRATOR OF SYSTEM CENTUURY.]
A voice suddenly echoed through my mind, startling me so violently that I nearly bit my tongue. It was deep, commanding, and strangely omnipresent—as if someone had inserted their consciousness directly into mine. The voice resonated not through my ears but through the very fabric of my thoughts. My confusion only deepened as cold sweat beaded on my forehead.
I had no formal education—couldn't read a single word—but somehow, this... entity seemed to have realized my dilemma and adjusted itself accordingly. The floating text had now been replaced by a voice, making itself known inside my head with crystal clarity.
"What... what are you?" I muttered, my lips barely moving as I spoke. My fingers dug into the dirt beneath me, seeking something tangible to ground myself in reality.
[SYSTEM ADMIN MAGNUS: I AM YOUR GUIDE THROUGH THIS WORLD, MASTER AUGUST.]
The voice continued, unwavering and serene despite my obvious distress.
[AS PREVIOUSLY STATED, YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN BY THE GODS AS THE ONLY SURVIVOR OF THE MAYA VILLAGE MASSACRE.]
My heart clenched at the mention of my village. Flashes of blood-spattered walls and dismembered bodies invaded my thoughts. I tried to push them away, focusing instead on the peculiar voice addressing me.
[I HAVE BEEN TASKED BY THE GODS TO AID YOU IN YOUR JOURNEY THROUGH THIS PERILOUS WORLD.]
"Gods? What gods?" I asked, skepticism lacing my words. "If gods exist, where were they when those beasts tore through our village? When they slaughtered everyone I've ever known?"
The voice continued, unperturbed by my outburst.
[YOU, WHO PERISHED IN YOUR PREVIOUS WORLD, AERTHE, HAVE NOW BEEN REBORN AS AUGUST OF SYSTEM CENTUURY.]
"What?! I already died?!" The revelation hit me like a physical blow. My hands instinctively moved to my chest, searching for wounds that weren't there.
[INDEED. HOWEVER, YOU CANNOT RECALL THE EVENTS OF YOUR PAST LIFE BECAUSE YOU WERE GIVEN A CHOICE: TO RETAIN YOUR MEMORIES OR TO START ANEW.]
[YOUR FORMER SELF CHOSE TO BEGIN AS A BLANK SLATE, AND THUS, THIS GAME-LIKE SYSTEM WAS CREATED EXCLUSIVELY FOR YOU.]
I fell into silence, my mind racing with implications too vast to comprehend. The coldness of the root cellar seemed to intensify around me as I grappled with the notion that I wasn't who—or what—I believed myself to be.
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The System Admin and Manager
After a long period of contemplation—during which I mechanically attended to basic needs like eating stale bread from our stores, drinking water from our well, and even relieving myself in the outhouse—I finally settled into my father's favorite chair. The worn leather creaked beneath my weight, too small for father but perfect for my ten-year-old frame. I took deep, steady breaths before speaking again, my fingers tracing the carved armrests where his hands had once rested.
"Alright. I'm ready now," I declared, my voice steadier than I expected.
The system—or whatever it was—had somehow taught me that I could dismiss the floating text at will and summon it back just by thinking about it. A strange power for a village boy who had never seen magic beyond the herbalist's remedies.
"System..." I called, feeling foolish yet desperate for answers.
[SYSTEM MANAGER DOROTHY: YES, MASTER. HOW MAY I ASSIST YOU?]
I flinched slightly at the sound of the voice—different now, feminine and precise, with an underlying current of efficiency. Even now, I could hardly believe this thing was talking to me, responding to my thoughts as if they were spoken commands.
"..."
My intended question died on my lips. What does one ask of a disembodied voice claiming to be a "system" created by gods? But if insanity had claimed me, I might as well use it to my advantage. Perhaps this delusion could guide me through the hell my life had become.
As if it could read my thoughts—and perhaps it could—an unsettling silence filled the space around me, patient and expectant.
"What should I do now?" I finally asked the practical question cutting through my existential crisis.
[SYSTEM MANAGER DOROTHY: A GREAT QUESTION, MASTER. FIRST, I RECOMMEND SECURING YOURSELF.]
"What do you mean by that?" I asked, frowning. The answer was vague, devoid of emotion, yet oddly intelligent—like speaking to someone who understood human concerns but didn't share them.
Suddenly, new text appeared before me, glowing with an eerie blue light that illuminated the dark cellar:
[SYSTEM MISSION: SECURE THE MAYA VILLAGE FROM PREDATORY BEASTS]
[REWARD:]
MINOR REWARD: SLIGHT INCREASE IN BODY CONSTITUTION AND MENTAL STATE (+1 TO ALL STAT/SUB-STAT)
MAJOR REWARD: UNLOCK PERSONAL PANEL
TIME LIMIT: INDEFINITE
As soon as I received the mission, my body briefly glowed with hues of gold and blue, sending tingles across my skin like the static before a lightning strike. The sensation wasn't unpleasant—almost invigorating, in fact.
My mind swirled with countless questions, yet none found answers in the silence that followed. The text hung before me, both challenge and promise.
[SYSTEM ADMIN MAGNUS: G O O D L U C K, M A S T E R . . .]
And just like that, the system shut itself down, the text fading from view and the presence withdrawing from my consciousness, leaving me utterly exasperated. It expected me to carry out its mission as if securing an entire village from the beasts that had slaughtered everyone was an easy task for a child!
That damned voice—sometimes it sounded like a mischievous old man with hidden depths of wisdom, other times like an icy, beautiful woman with calculating precision. Whatever it was, I wanted to punch it square in its non-existent face!
[...]
"Oh? So you can hear my thoughts, huh?" I shouted into the empty cellar, my voice echoing off the stone walls. "Playing dumb with me? Acting like some detached, aloof entity?!"
The silence that answered me was profound, almost mocking in its completeness. Not even the usual scurrying of mice disturbed it.
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Let Me Ponder
I remained seated in my father's chair for what felt like hours, staring at the space where the mission panel had been. The leather had long since warmed to my body temperature, and the smell of father—woodsmoke and leather oil—had faded from it months ago.
What else could I do? I was just a powerless ten-year-old boy, orphaned in a village of corpses, talking to voices in my head. The rational part of me—small but persistent—suggested I was experiencing a trauma-induced hallucination. But another part, growing stronger by the minute, embraced this strange new reality.
After resting for the night, surviving on whatever scraps of food I could scavenge from the basement—dried meat, wrinkled apples, and a half-loaf of hard bread—morning arrived with pale sunlight filtering through the cracks in the cellar doors.
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Feeling The System's Effects
The next day, I woke up close to noon, judging by the angle of the light beams. My body felt exhausted and still sore from being beaten half to death a few days ago, but today something was... different.
Surprisingly, my body felt... better. The cut on my arm and body from crawling through sharp debris had scabbed over cleanly. The bruises on my legs seemed lighter, fading from angry purple to yellowish green. My injuries seemed to be healing faster than they should have. It was subtle, but I could tell from years of watching my mother treat the village's wounded.
"Hmmm... Could it be...?" I murmured, examining my arm with newfound curiosity. "No, there's no way. That thing is too cold, too indifferent... Ahhh, whatever. I don't care anymore."
Whether the system was helping me heal or my young body was simply resilient, the result was the same—I was getting stronger. And strength was what I needed now.
After eating the last of the dried meat stored in our root cellar—father's hunting prize from last winter—I decided it was time to be productive. Keeping idle wouldn't keep me alive forever.
I needed to see what was left of this place, to assess what resources remained that might help me survive.
Taking a deep breath, I grasped the cellar door's iron handle and slowly pushed it open, wincing at the harsh scraping of wood against stone. I had to be cautious—there could still be predatory beasts lurking nearby, drawn by the scent of death that surely permeated the village. My legs ached with each step of the rough wooden ladder, but I forced myself upward. I needed to assess the state of the village, to see if anything of value remained in this ruined wasteland that had once been my home.
The bright midday sun temporarily blinded me as I emerged from the darkness, and the smell hit me immediately—decay, smoke, and the metallic tang of dried blood. I pulled my shirt collar over my nose, fighting the urge to vomit.
Whatever I found amid this devastation, I would make use of it. Every tool, every scrap of food, every weapon—they were no longer mere objects but keys to my survival.
Because I had no other choice.
Because I was August Finn of System Centuury now, whether I understood what that meant or not.
And because somewhere in the back of my mind, a mission panel glowed, promising rewards for tasks that seemed impossible.
As I stood at the threshold between the safety of the cellar and the ruins of my former life, I felt something stirring within me—not just determination or fear, but something new and alien. Something the system had awakened.
"Secure the village," I whispered, testing the weight of the words on my tongue. "I'll start with our house, then the blacksmith's forge. There might be weapons and tools there."
For the first time since the massacre, I felt a flicker of purpose ignite within me. Whether the system was real or a figment of my traumatized mind, it had given me direction.
And in a world suddenly devoid of meaning, direction was everything.