**THAT EVENING**
Over dinner, I asked Alfred about the execution's aftermath.
"The public sentiment has shifted dramatically, my lord," he reported, looking exhausted but satisfied. "This morning, they called you a demon. Tonight, they're naming their children after you."
"And the rumors?"
"Already changing. Now they say you're a lord who actually cares about the common people. That you're tough but fair. That you brought justice when no one else would." He paused. "There are still some who fear you, of course. But fear mixed with gratitude is a powerful combination."
"Good. And the workers for the mana cure production?"
"All fifty are ready to begin work tomorrow morning. I've vetted each one personally. They understand that discretion is… mandatory."
I leaned back in my chair, considering my options. The cure formula was valuable—too valuable to risk someone stealing it or reverse-engineering it. I'd already decided on a solution.
"Actually, there's been a change in the production process," I said. "I'll be providing a pre-mixed base compound from my personal laboratory. The workers will only handle the second half of the synthesis—combining it with the prepared ingredients according to specific ratios and temperatures."
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "A base compound, my lord?"
"Yes. I'll prepare it myself using the alchemical synthesizer." I gestured vaguely, as if referring to some complex piece of equipment. "It's a proprietary mixture that cannot be replicated without precise knowledge of the molecular structures and reaction sequences. Even if someone tried to analyze the final product, they'd hit a wall—the base compound contains elements that mask the individual components."
"So no one can steal the formula?"
"Exactly. The workers will think they're making the entire cure, but they're really just finishing the last steps. Without my base compound, their knowledge is useless. And without watching them complete the synthesis, my base compound is equally useless." I smiled. "Two halves of a secret, neither useful alone."
Alfred nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Brilliant, my lord. Even if someone bribed a worker or an alchemist, they'd only get half the picture."
"And even if someone stole samples of both the base compound and the final product, they couldn't work backward to discover the formula. The synthesis methods don't follow conventional alchemical rules—they operate on principles this world hasn't discovered yet."
"How long will it take you to prepare the base compound?"
"I can synthesize enough for a month's production in about six hours. I'll do the first batch tonight." I stood, already planning the process in my mind.
Alfred looked impressed despite his exhaustion. "You've thought of everything, my lord."
"Not everything. But I'm learning." I paused. "Make sure the workers understand they're working with a pre-prepared base. Frame it as a necessary precaution to protect both them and the formula. If they don't know the full process, they can't be tortured for information."
"A protection for them as well as for us," Alfred murmured. "They'll appreciate that reasoning."
"Good. Now, get some rest, Alfred. You look like a zombie."
"Zombie? What's that, my lord?"
I froze. *Shit. I'd just used a term from my previous world without thinking.*
I scrambled for an explanation. "Uh… a creature which never gets tired and works 24 hours a day."
Alfred's eyes lit up with genuine interest. "Oh! I wish I were a zombie, my lord. So that I could work 24 hours without feeling tired."
I stared at him, completely thrown off. That was… not the reaction I expected. At all.
"That's… not really…" I trailed off, unsure how to explain that zombies were actually undead corpses that ate brains and shambled around mindlessly. "You don't actually want to be one. They're, uh… not pleasant."
"But my lord, you just said they work tirelessly—"
"Yes, but they're also…" Dead? Rotting? How did I explain zombie lore to someone who'd never seen a horror movie? "Never mind. Just… just go get some rest, Alfred. The regular human kind of rest."
Alfred looked confused but nodded politely. "As you wish, my lord. I will take my leave."
As he turned to go, I felt like an idiot. *Great, now my butler thought zombies were some kind of aspirational work ethic goal.*
I really needed to be more careful about what words slipped out. This world didn't have the same references, and explaining modern Earth concepts was going to get exhausting fast.
Though knowing my luck, I'd probably accidentally mention WiFi or something equally ridiculous within the week.
**NEXT MORNING**
Alfred knocked on my door at dawn. "My lord, the new workers are waiting."
I'd barely slept, spending most of the night synthesizing the base compound through the system. The glowing blue interface had done most of the work, combining rare alchemical reagents in sequences that would be impossible to replicate without supernatural assistance. Now I had enough base compound stored in enchanted vials to last a year.
I was exhausted, but there was no time to rest. I don't want to use system mana cure. Relying solely on system would not improve my territory.
In the manor's converted warehouse, fifty workers stood in neat rows. I'd divided them into three groups, each led by an alchemist I'd recruited from the guild's network.
"Your work is simple but critical," I addressed them. "You will be producing medicine under my direct supervision. The formula is partially secret—I will provide you with a pre-prepared base compound that you will combine with other ingredients according to precise specifications. If any of you speak about what you do here, to anyone, you will be executed. Am I clear?"
Fifty heads nodded in unison.
"The base compound is for your protection as much as mine," I continued. "If you don't know the complete formula, you cannot be tortured for information. You cannot be bribed to betray secrets you don't possess. Your ignorance is your shield."
Several workers looked relieved at that explanation. One even whispered a quiet "thank you, my lord."
"Good. Each group has a manager—Master Aldrich, Master Brennan, and Master Corvin. They will oversee your work and report to Alfred weekly. You will be paid well, fed well, and housed well. In return, I expect perfection."
I spent the next three hours organizing the production line, demonstrating the precise measurements, temperatures, and timing required for the second half of the synthesis. The alchemists caught on quickly—they understood the principles even if they didn't know where the base compound came from.
By noon, the first batch was underway. I watched as workers carefully measured the base compound—a shimmering silver liquid that looked like liquid starlight—and combined it with purified water, crystallized mana essence, and ground moonflower petals according to my instructions.
The mixture turned a brilliant azure blue, then settled into a clear, slightly luminescent liquid. Perfect.
"Bottle these in the prepared vials," I instructed. "Each vial is enchanted to preserve the cure's potency for up to six months. Label them clearly and store them in the cooling chamber."
The workers moved with careful precision, clearly understanding the value of what they were creating.
Back in my office, I summoned Alfred.
"I need you to find someone," I said without preamble. "Actually, two people."
Alfred pulled out a notebook, ready to write.
"First: a boy named Benjamin. Orphan with blond-yellowish hair, green eyes. He should be in the Malakor Kingdom—they're famous for agricultural products and continuous dungeon and territorial wars. He's probably working in a dungeon or in an orphanage."
Alfred's pen scratched across paper. "Description noted. And the second person?"
"A slave near Count Veyron's territory. Name's Robert. Red hair, black eyes. He was kidnapped while crossing the border with his family—mother, father, and a sister. Find him quickly before he's sold too far south."
Alfred looked up, curiosity burning in his eyes. "My lord, there are many nobilities with Veyron's name, and how do you know about these people? You've never left this territory."
I met his gaze steadily. "Some of the details might change. They might not be slaves yet, or their circumstances might differ slightly. But their names and appearances should match. Find them, give them whatever they ask for, and bring them here."
"As you command." He started to leave, then paused. "Is there anything else, my lord?"
"Yes. I need tailors—good ones. And dwarves. Specifically, dwarves skilled in metalwork and precision engineering. I want them here within two days."
Alfred's exhausted expression deepened. He'd barely slept yesterday, and now I was piling on more work. "I… will do my best, my lord."
"I know you will. That's why I hired you."
After he left, I slammed my fist on the desk in frustration.
"Damn it!"
If I'd known I'd actually be transported into this world, I would have memorized every single character's name and location. Every quest chain, every hidden item, every crucial event. But I'd thought it was just a game—why would I bother memorizing details I could look up in a wiki?
Now I was working from fragmented memories and hoping the crucial pieces hadn't changed.
I forced myself to calm down and pulled out fresh parchment. Time to design something that would actually improve my quality of life here.
I started sketching: pants with zippers and buttons instead of these ridiculous laces. Shirts with modern cuts and proper collars. Practical clothing that wouldn't make me feel like I was drowning in fabric.
Then my mind wandered to bigger projects. A paper factory. I knew the chemical processes—sulfuric acid, caustic soda, bleaching agents. This world had magic, but their manufacturing was primitive. With proper alchemical knowledge, I could revolutionize production.
My thoughts drifted to my past life. The years I'd spent as an assassin, creating poisons and chemical weapons to eliminate targets. I'd never felt satisfied, even after killing everyone responsible for my uncle's death. The revenge had been hollow, leaving nothing but emptiness.
When I'd taken over the underworld organizations, I'd dismantled the drug trade piece by piece. I'd learned about every narcotic, every chemical compound, every synthesis pathway—all so I could destroy the industry that had ruined so many lives.
I'd never imagined that knowledge would be useful again.
But here, in this world, with alchemists who understood mana theory but lacked modern chemistry… I could do so much.
Medicine. Manufacturing. Maybe even weapons, if it came to that.
I sketched chemical formulas in the margins of my clothing designs, my mind already racing ahead to future projects.
First, establish a stable income with the mana cure.
Second, recruit the key players I remembered from the game.
Third, build an industrial base that would make my barony wealthy beyond imagination.
Fourth, expand my territory and build the empire.
And eventually… well, the game was called "Become the God of Eden" for a reason.
I had five years before the main storyline began. Five years to position myself perfectly.
I smiled and continued sketching.
The pieces were falling into place.
**THAT EVENING**
**THE CIVIL WAR BRIEFING**
"Tell me about the civil wars," I said, pouring myself a glass of wine.
Alfred spread a map across my desk, marked with colored pins representing different factions. "Five major conflicts currently destabilizing the kingdom, my lord. Each one bleeding resources and creating opportunities for those smart enough to exploit them."
He pointed to the eastern region. "First: Count Aldric Thorne versus Marquess Helena Blackwater. It started as a trade dispute over river rights but escalated into open warfare six months ago. Aldric controls the upper river valleys, Helena controls the port cities. Both are choking each other's economies, and neither will back down. The fighting has killed thousands, mostly peasants caught in the crossfire."
"Who's winning?"
"Neither. It's a stalemate. But winter's coming, and whoever survives the cold will likely take everything." Alfred moved his finger south. "Second conflict: Viscount Robert Ashford against Baron Thomas Grey. Robert claims Thomas sold grain to enemy nations during the last famine, which technically counts as treason. Thomas claims Robert fabricated evidence to seize his territory. The truth?" Alfred shrugged. "Probably both are guilty. They've been skirmishing along their borders for eight months."
I studied the map, noting the proximity to my own lands. "That one could spill over into our territory."
"It could, my lord. Which brings me to the third conflict." He tapped a cluster of pins to our west. "Baron Marcus Fell versus Baron David Stone. Both claim ownership of the Ironwood Forest—a massive timber reserve worth hundreds of thousands of gold coins. They've been fighting a guerrilla war for a year now. Ambushes, burned villages, poisoned wells. It's brutal and personal."
"And the fourth?"
"Count Elias Redmane versus Viscount Catherine Morse. This one's particularly nasty." Alfred's expression darkened. "Elias accused Catherine of practicing forbidden magic—specifically, necromancy. Catherine countered by revealing that Elias had been embezzling from the royal treasury for a decade. Now they're both trying to destroy each other before the Crown investigates too closely. The fighting is vicious. Elias hired mercenaries from the south. Catherine summoned something from the dungeons—creatures that shouldn't exist outside the deep levels."
I raised an eyebrow. "The Crown isn't intervening?"
"The Crown is weak, my lord. King Heinrich is old and sick. His heir, Prince Roland and other princes, are more interested in gathering the faction for their regin than governance. The royal army is stretched thin, and the treasury is bleeding thanks to corruption—" Alfred paused meaningfully "—much like what we just cleaned out of this barony. The kingdom is rotting from within, and these civil wars are just symptoms of a greater disease."
"And the fifth conflict?"
Alfred's finger moved to the northern territories, uncomfortably close to my own lands. "This is the one you need to worry about most, my lord. Marquess Victor Draven versus Count Julian Ashcroft. Victor controls the northern mines—iron, copper, silver, even some mithril. Julian controls the smelting facilities and trade routes to the capital. They've been partners for twenty years, splitting profits equally."
"Let me guess," I said. "Someone got greedy."
"Exactly. Three months ago, Victor demanded a larger share, claiming his mines were more valuable than Julian's infrastructure. Julian refused. Now they're preparing for war. Both are recruiting mercenaries, buying weapons, and fortifying their borders." Alfred looked up from the map, his expression grave. "My lord, their territories border is near the count valaden. When this war starts—and it will start within the next two months—we'll also be caught in the middle."
I studied the map in silence. Five civil wars, each one creating chaos and opportunity. And a sixth about to erupt right on my doorstep.
I traced my finger along the border between Victor's and Julian's territories. A dangerous position—but also a strategic one.
"There's a option," I said slowly. "We prepare for war, but we don't choose a side yet. Let them fight first, later when they are weak we can attack them".
Alfred was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "That's... remarkably cold-blooded, my lord. We don't have that much troops for war? "
"We have to buy new soldiers," I replied. "This kingdom is tearing itself apart. We can either get crushed in the chaos, or we can use the chaos to build something stronger. I choose the latter."
I looked at the map again, at all the colored pins representing armies and nobles and conflicts. Five civil wars raging. A sixth about to begin. A kingdom collapsing under the weight of its own corruption.
And me, a reincarnated player with knowledge of how this story was supposed to unfold, sitting in the middle of it all.
"Alfred," I said quietly, "I want intelligence reports on all five conflicts. Who's winning, who's losing, what resources they have, what they need. And I especially want detailed information on Victor and Julian—troop numbers, supply lines, allies, weaknesses. Everything."
"Yes, my lord. And the mana cure production?"
I looked at him and said, " tomorrow new batch will be ready. Use teleportation scrolls to transport it. So that noone can track the location."
I would need gold for operating system and said, " also borrow 50,000 gold coins form the guild. I want gold coins immediately ".
" Yes, my lord." He bowed down and left.
To be continued...