Chapter 2: The Most Chaotic Guild in the World
Livia Marcelline Quinn, newly minted Emotional Buffer 2.0, sat on her creaky bench in the heart of the MMORPG camp, her Therapist's Log open to a blank page. The camp was a circus of chaos—players sprinted past, yelling about "raid wipes" and "OP builds," while NPCs looped their sales pitches like broken chatbots. A mage nearby set a crate ablaze with a misfired spell, and a rogue tripped over his own cloak, cursing the "lag spike." Livia's introverted soul begged to vanish into the background, but her gray robe and glowing HUD screamed "I'm here, deal with it." She doodled a frowny face in her notepad, muttering, "If I'm stuck in this game, can't I at least get a stealth skill?"
A notification pinged : [Achievement Unlocked: Wallflower's Lament. +10 Invisibility Points (Non-Functional)] "Oh, come on!" Livia swatted at the air, her dry sarcasm flaring. "Even the system's trolling me now."
She'd tried to get answers from a merchant NPC, hoping for a hint about her bizarre new existence. His response? "Purchase premium potions for 99 gold!" repeated ad nauseam. Another NPC, a quest-giver with a glitching smile, had called her "Sentiment Processor 1.0" and told her to "stand by for emotional data input." No logout button, no tutorial skip, no escape. Just her, a notepad, and a role she was woefully unqualified for. I flunked counseling practicum, she thought, gripping her pen. Now I'm supposed to fix heroes? The ground shook, snapping her from her spiral. A warhorn blared, loud enough to rattle her teeth, and a group of players stormed into the camp like a hurricane of ego and enchanted gear. Their banner, emblazoned with a bloody sword and a sarcastic grin, read Bloodbath & Beyond. A floating leaderboard overhead declared them the #1 guild in the server, their names glowing in gold: Miles Vexley, Psychoblade Commander, Lv. 99. The rest were a blur of titles—Eldritch Archmage, Immortal Wall, Ghost Rogue—each more intimidating than the last.
Livia shrank into her bench, praying to blend into the scenery. Please don't notice me. I'm just furniture. But the universe, or whatever sadistic game dev ran this world, had other plans. Bron "Bronie" Ironslam, the guild's tanker, stopped dead in front of her, his hulking frame blocking the sun. His armor, dented from countless battles, clanked as he pointed a gauntleted finger. "You!" he boomed, voice like a landslide. "You're the new NPC, right? Emotional Buffer 2.0 or whatever?" "Uh… yeah?" Livia squeaked, clutching her notepad like a shield. "I'm, um, Mental Supporter. I listen to… problems?" Bron's eyes lit up, a manic glint in them. "Perfect! I've got problems." He dropped onto the bench, splintering it into kindling, and launched into a rant. "I'm immortal, see? Can't die. Sounds epic, right? WRONG. It's boring as hell! I tanked a dragon last week—biggest raid of the year—and it felt like filing taxes. No thrill, no stakes. What's the point of living forever if I'm just… existing?" Livia blinked, her half-forgotten psych training kicking in. "So… you're saying you feel purposeless because you're too strong?" She winced internally. Great job, Livia. Real Freud-level insight there.
Bron froze, his scarred face crumpling. "Yeah. Exactly. It's like… what am I even doing here?" To her horror, the mountain of a man began to sob, tears streaming down his cheeks like a broken faucet. The camp fell silent—or as silent as a place full of screaming players could get. The guild's other members gathered, their expressions ranging from shock to amusement.
Miles Vexley, the Psychoblade Commander, leaned against a pillar, his armor radiating menace and his smirk dripping sarcasm. "Well, damn, Bronie. Didn't know you had feelings under all that metal." His voice was smooth, laced with mockery, but his eyes flicked to Livia with a glint of curiosity.
Livia, panicking, fumbled for a technique from a lecture she'd half-slept through. "Okay, Bron, um, try this: breathe in for four, out for four." She demonstrated, her voice shaky. Bron followed, his massive chest heaving like a bellows. His sobs slowed, then stopped, leaving him sniffling like an oversized toddler.
A notification flashed : [You calmed an immortal tanker suffering existential dread. +800 EXP. Passive Skill Unlocked: Soothing Aura Lv. 1]
Livia gaped at the text. "Wait… I get EXP for this?" She glanced at her HUD, where a tiny progress bar had ticked up.
Mental Supporter Lv. 1: 800/1000 EXP. "I'm leveling up by… listening?" The guild erupted into chaos. Seraphina "Phina" Duskveil, the Eldritch Archmage, glided forward, her robes shimmering with arcane runes. "Fascinating," she purred, her voice like a velvet blade. "The NPC has utility. Tell me, Emotional Buffer, can you mend a heart enthralled by… unconventional desires?" Her eyes flicked to a nearby slime, which jiggled innocently.
Livia's jaw dropped. "Uh, what?"
Before she could process, Nyx Shadowmint, the Ghost Rogue, slunk forward, clutching a Hello Kitty flashlight. "I… I need to talk," he mumbled, barely audible. "It's about… the dark." His hood hid his face, but his trembling hands betrayed him.
Miles clapped, slow and mocking. "Well, look at that. Our newbie NPC's got the whole guild spilling their guts." He stepped closer, his smirk widening. "What's next, Buffer? You gonna fix my trust issues?" Livia's panic spiked, but she masked it with a deadpan glare. "I'm not a miracle worker. And stop calling me Buffer." Her sarcasm earned a chuckle from Miles, who raised an eyebrow as if impressed.
Another guild member, a paladin glowing with holy light but reeking of cheap ale, staggered forward. "Hey, Buffer! Can you cure a gambling addiction? I bet my sacred sword on a goblin race last night. Lost it to a slime." He hiccuped, swaying dangerously.
Livia's head spun. This is a nightmare. I'm surrounded by overpowered lunatics with therapy-level baggage. She opened her notepad, scribbling: Patient: Bron. Issue: Existential dread. Approach: Breathing exercise. Result: Crying tanker. She paused, then added, Note to self: I'm screwed.
The guild's chaos escalated. Phina began reciting poetry to the slime, Nyx hid behind a crate, and the paladin tried to bet his boots on Livia's next sentence. Bron, still sniffling, patted her shoulder, nearly knocking her over. "You're good, Buffer. I feel… lighter."
A final notification pinged : [You prevented a guild meltdown. Skill Unlocked: Group Therapy Lv. 1. Achievement Unlocked: Therapist by Accident] Livia stared at the text, her dry humor resurfacing. "Great. I'm the accidental shrink for the world's most unhinged guild." She glanced at Miles, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. "What's your deal, huh? Gonna cry about your childhood too?" Miles laughed, sharp and dangerous. "Stick around, rookie. You might just survive us." But as the guild dragged Bron off to celebrate, Livia felt a chill. These weren't just players—they were a walking disaster, and she was their only lifeline.