(A/N: Throughout time and space, my existence is truly sublime, I alone am the Author)
...
(Subaru's POV)
One month has passed since Emilia's first official speech, and I have to say, a lot has changed during that time.
It's been an incredibly productive period, and while most people might consider the pace overwhelming, to me it was just another month of getting things done.
To begin with, I ended up staying in that city for about two weeks after Emilia's speech. During that time, I focused primarily on overhauling their primitive irrigation infrastructure.
The irrigation canals in use were outdated and inefficient.
Honestly, they were only a few steps ahead of digging trenches and hoping for rain.
I redesigned the layout and constructed a more advanced canal network, allowing for better water flow regulation and significantly improved crop hydration.
I also developed and installed more effective water distribution systems that ensured consistent coverage across larger agricultural zones.
Interestingly, they did have windmills, but calling them "functional" would be generous.
Their design hadn't been touched or revised since the original introduction by none other than the legendary Hoshin of Kararagi.
Unfortunately for them, that so-called innovator—who probably made a decent trader at best—had absolutely no grasp of mechanical advancement.
Now, he's nothing more than fertilizer feeding the same crops he probably couldn't improve even if his life depended on it.
'Seriously, the man may have been revered as some kind of hero or founder, but if that's the extent of his technical legacy, I'm not impressed.'
Well, since the so-called Great Hoshin—an isekai pargalizer with absolutely no sense of innovation—failed to improve the design, I had no choice but to step in and upgrade it myself.
With my past experience as a Mechanical Engineer back in my previous life, the improvements came naturally.
Add to that my absurdly overpowered abilities—like 64 fully flexible hands that can multitask with godlike precision, a mini-supercomputer-level brain capable of handling calculations and logistics in real-time, psychic abilities, magic sensitivity, and an aura sense so sharp it can pick up a mouse blinking a mile away—and you've got a recipe for miracles in engineering.
'When you're basically a one-man research facility and construction crew, stuff that normally takes years becomes a weekend project.'
Thanks to the upgrades, my windmills can now pump water significantly further and with greater efficiency.
I've already made plans to roll them out across all the territories under my control, as well as a significant portion of Roswaal's land over the course of the coming year.
Next up was agriculture.
I introduced the four-crop rotation system across my lands.
Using my psychic abilities to make it easier to explain the concept to farmers—who, to their credit, were eager to learn once the benefits became clear—I managed to get full compliance within my territory.
One-third of Roswaal's territory has adopted it as well.
The system's benefits are already becoming visible, and it'll take just one harvest season for the yield increase to shut up any doubters.
While experimenting with my magic in my free time, I also achieved an incredibly fine degree of control. People often say, "Hard work beats talent."
Well, those people should probably rinse their eyes out with bleach and see the world clearly. Let me ask you this—what happens when you have both talent and an inhuman capacity for hard work?
'Try stacking 1024x learning speed, 1024x precision, 1024x magic control, and 1024x elemental affinity. Then throw in several mental, magical, and physical enhancements. What takes most people a decade takes me a single day. No contest.'
People say "hard work beats talent" because it's a comforting lie. In truth, hard work can beat talent—but only under specific conditions.
The talented guy has to be lazy and complacent, while the hardworking one needs to be relentless, nearly self-destructive in their effort.
Without that extreme imbalance, talent always wins.
And if the talented guy works hard? Well, then good luck, you'll need EX-rank plot armor and luck bordering on divine intervention.
Moving on, I also took some time to develop NPK fertilizer—Nitrogen, Phosphorus, and Potassium, the holy trinity of plant nutrition.
I extracted Nitrogen directly from the air using Wind Magic, while Phosphorus and Potassium were sourced from ash and naturally rich mineral deposits I had previously scouted, haha praise Echidna's 'Memories of the World' and her teleportation magic making everything easy to scout and procure!
With this new fertilizer, I'm expecting at least three to four times the crop yield per hectare.
The increase would've been even greater if I had access to genetically improved seeds.
Unfortunately, my knowledge in biotechnology is negligible, and frankly, I don't feel like throwing resources into starting that research from scratch right now.
So, for the time being, I'm shelving that idea.
'Still, a 3x to 4x yield is more than satisfactory. When combined with the four-crop rotation, it's practically cheating.'
As far as the taxation goes, I'll stick to paying the standard 25% to the Royal Treasury, calculated based on what the old, inefficient system would've yielded and since I will pay actually more than the previous Lords who used to embezzle the money I will come off as generous.
That way, I fly under the radar even if the fact that I had increased yield of crops this year, though by how much? They won't know.
I'll be keeping the massive surplus for myself, which, unlike the previous corrupt nobles, I actually intend to use properly.
If those greedy nobles can keep their grubby eyes off my growing prosperity, then great.
If not, I'm fully prepared to start another civil war. I have the infrastructure, strategy, and raw magical and psychic firepower to win it.
The surplus money will be invested into my private company and used to upgrade infrastructure across my territories.
My priorities include building roads, water systems, and schools. Education is one of the core areas I'm focusing on.
Unlike Kararagi, where Hoshin introduced some primitive school systems, Lugunica has nothing comparable.
Their schools barely scratch the surface, only teaching the bare basics, and that's being generous.
'You can't build a future with a workforce that can't even read a land deed or calculate interest rates.'
I plan to completely overhaul the educational structure.
My idea is to build an actual school system from the ground up, not just basic literacy and numeracy training.
Real schools, for all children, with structured classes and a comprehensive curriculum.
Homework will be part of it, but I'm intentionally skipping the whole exam culture.
I don't want the children to chase grades or memorize answers—they need to understand what they're learning.
After a few years of foundational education, students will be allowed to follow whatever path suits them.
If they want to pursue further studies, they can.
If they want to go into farming, trading, craftsmanship, or something else entirely, there will be specialized classes and vocational paths to guide them.
'The goal isn't to create scholars or elites. It's to build a society where even a farmer knows why crop rotation works and a merchant understands supply chains.'
That was the type of education system I had envisioned, and if everything continues moving smoothly, it should be fully functional and widespread within the next three years.
I let out a long sigh, the kind that escapes your body after hours of non-stop mental effort.
I glanced at the stack of papers and documents on my desk—reports, logistics data, agricultural plans, school blueprints, territory assessments—all now reviewed and signed off.
My day's work was finally done. I leaned back in my chair, allowing myself a few well-earned minutes of rest.
It was one of those small luxuries that felt more rewarding than any feast.
I tilted my head back, closing my eyes for just a moment. That moment, of course, was promptly interrupted by the sound of knocking at the door.
"Lord Zero, may I enter?" came a familiar voice—calm, slightly formal, and undeniably sharp.
It was Ram, the pink-haired Oni maid.
"Yes," I replied without looking up.
The door creaked open, and in she walked, holding a tray balanced expertly in her hands.
On the tray, I spotted a neat arrangement of fruits—two bananas, two apples, a cluster of grapes, and one solitary orange placed perfectly in the center.
Honestly, it looked more like an offering platter than a snack tray.
She stepped forward and gently placed it on my desk before straightening up and bowing slightly. "It is your late afternoon meal," she stated with her usual quiet professionalism.
I sat up properly in my chair, rubbing the back of my neck before reaching out and grabbing one of the bananas. I wasn't particularly hungry, just felt like having a light bite to clear my head.
Holding the banana in one hand, I waved at the rest of the tray lazily.
"I'll just take a banana. You can put the rest back, eat it yourself, or give it to someone else. Up to you."
She blinked for a second, clearly confused by what I'd said. Then, like a light switch flipping on, her eyes lit up in realization.
"Lord Zero, you mean Anana," she corrected, with a straight face.
I almost choked on the piece of banana I was chewing.
If I hadn't already started swallowing, I probably would've spat it all over the desk.
'Excuse me?! What did she just say?!'
My eyebrow twitched violently as I stared at her. She didn't even flinch—in fact, she started giggling.
Giggling! Ram giggling, and at me, no less.
She was clearly amused by my sudden reaction, and I could tell she was savoring every bit of it.
"What kind of cursed name is that?!" I exclaimed, genuinely baffled. "Anana? Seriously? What the hell are people in this world even smoking?!"
Still smiling, Ram tilted her head slightly, one eyebrow raised, her tone light and full of mock curiosity.
"Lord Zero, are you sure it's not the people from your world who have unnecessarily lengthened the word?"
'Oh great, now she's turning it around on me. Classic Ram.'
To be fair, Ram had been a lot more open and relaxed around me lately.
While she still carried her trademark sarcasm and sharp tongue, it no longer felt malicious.
She wasn't trying to insult me just for existing anymore, and she hadn't called me any degrading nickname in a long while.
Instead, her remarks had this dry, clever humor that actually made conversations more entertaining.
This was a version of Ram I could actually get along with—let's call her Ram 2.0. Still blunt and biting, but not cruel.
She knew how to tease without hurting, and even threw in the occasional helpful comment or sharp observation when needed.
"Anyway, thanks for the meal, Ram," I said as I finished the banana, making sure to carefully place the peel back onto the tray so she could toss it out later.
No reason to create extra work or mess when someone else was being considerate.
As a Japanese, I was already something of a clean freak. But back when I lived as an Indian in my previous life, I went beyond that—I was what you could call an unusual clean freak. And yes, that's saying something.
I still vividly remember how my older brother used to mock me.
I'd finish eating a pack of chips and instead of tossing the empty packet anywhere—like 99% of the population might—I would fold it neatly and carry it in my pocket until I came across a dustbin.
The thing was, in India, dustbins weren't exactly within arm's reach every other block like they were in Japan. You'd sometimes have to walk half a kilometer before finding one.
But still, I'd rather carry them and throw on a dustbin back on my home than litter.
That was just how I was wired.
(A/N: Yours truly)
'Seriously, if I ever return to the world from where my Raj self comes, the first thing I'd do is launch a one-man crusade against the entire corrupt system.'
No exaggeration.
If I had the power and legal freedom, I'd probably execute half of the corrupt politicians in that country without blinking.
That's the extent of my disgust.
That's how deep my resentment runs for the absolute joke of a governance system some of those parasites have built.
As for Japan? Let's not pretend that place was a paradise either.
Sure, it was cleaner, more efficient, more developed... but the work culture? Complete trash.
A system that demanded you to be nothing more than a mindless, obedient dog in front of your seniors, no matter how idiotic or power-hungry they were.
Workplace bullying wasn't rare. It happened even to my father, Natsuki Kenichi. Thankfully, he wasn't the type to bow down to that crap. He wasn't built to be a victim.
When things escalated to a toxic point, he didn't hesitate. He quit on his own terms and, not surprisingly, landed another job shortly after.
The man was competent and had the backbone to match it.
To Natsuki Subaru—the version of me who used to live a pathetic shut-in life—my father was the ideal.
The man I wanted to grow up to become.
Until, of course, life took a nosedive, and I spiraled into depression, quit school, and wasted my days lying in front of a computer screen, doing absolutely nothing of worth.
Yeah... not exactly something I'm proud of.
'If it weren't for my Raj memories merging with Subaru's mind, I probably wouldn't be here today. I'd still be that miserable shut-in drowning with no self-esteem, considering myself having no worth and thoughts that my death was a way to save everyone else, not valuing myself'
Back then, suicidal thoughts weren't just occasional.
They were daily visitors.
A routine part of life.
There were also various things that I disliked about Japan.
Right then, breaking me out of that grim spiral of memories, I heard Ram's voice.
"Lord Zero, is something the matter? You seem deep in thought... perhaps wondering about your self-proclaimed daughter's incestuous tendencies?" she asked with her usual poker face, her tone perfectly flat.
I couldn't help but chuckle, mostly out of disbelief.
'Of course she'd say something that outrageous with a straight face.'
Thankfully, Gloria wasn't here. If she had heard Ram say that, I'm 95% certain she would've slapped her then and there without even blinking.
And knowing Ram, she probably would've taken it with a smirk, like she won some kind of sarcasm contest.
"Nothing like that…" I said while standing up, brushing the subject away. "Just remembering some things from the past."
I didn't add anything more, nor did Ram ask.
She simply nodded slightly, respecting the boundary, and I calmly left the room.
As I walked through the hallway, I thought about Gloria.
She'd taken it upon herself to single-handedly cleanse my territories of corruption.
Every crooked soldier, every lazy bureaucrat, every two-faced official—she was personally handling them.
With that level of dedication, she was likely stationed back in Altenberg right now or out patrolling villages to ensure everything was in order.
As for the spirits bonded to me—excluding Beatrice—they were currently in a deep sleep, residing in my so-called soul space or whatever magical domain they chose to call it.
On the way, I stopped by one of the large windows and gazed outside.
The garden was blooming as expected, its carefully managed flora dancing with the light breeze.
Beyond it, the forest stood silently, its depths obscured by shadow and distance.
Beatrice wasn't inside the mansion today.
She was probably out with Otto and the others.
She'd recently taken quite the interest in the various machines and mechanisms I had designed and implemented.
It was rare to see her curious, but when she got hooked, she dived in completely.
My company's first official product was fertilizer—specifically, NPK fertilizer. It was manufactured and distributed exclusively to the territories under my governance.
I kept the price low to make it accessible, but thanks to the production process being practically costless—literally using air and ash—I still turned a solid profit.
'Creating something valuable out of practically nothing? Now that is what I call satisfying economics.'
Next in line were ballpoint pens.
Unlike fertilizer, which was a consumable, these required a more permanent manufacturing setup.
I had to set up an entire factory dedicated to producing the pens and the required components.
Due to the lack of electrical infrastructure, most of the machinery operated using manual power—pedals, levers, crank wheels.
The pen bodies were made from polished hardwood, durable and easy to shape. The ink cartridges required precision metalwork, which I achieved using the lathes and rolling machines I designed from scratch.
Ink, surprisingly, turned out to be the real challenge.
Producing it required a whole different machinery line, focused on chemical processing.
Most of the effort was invested in obtaining benzyl alcohol, a critical component for creating the oil based ink.
Fortunately, pigment was never an issue.
The raw materials for colorants were already abundant and readily available in this world.
While the locals mainly used fountain pens and water-based ink—which often smudged and took ages to dry—my product was a complete upgrade.
I tailored it for nobility, government officials, scholars, and anyone who could afford high-quality writing instruments.
My pricing was strategic: one silver coin per pen, with additional charges for refillable ink packs.
Considering oil-based ink was unheard of here, I had zero competition. Complete monopoly.
'Nothing like selling innovation in a world still stuck in the medieval mindset. It's like handing smartphones to cavemen and charging them rent.'
The next major step was the printing press.
Yes, I had successfully built one—an early version, similar in function to Gutenberg's design, but improved with my own modifications.
I had planned to finally let out the author inside me and start publishing books under a pen name or two, flooding the market with literature, manuals, scientific texts, and even fictional stories.
But then I hit a snag.
'Figures. Things can't go too smoothly, right?'
The main obstacle standing in my way right now was paper—plain and simple.
I needed it.
Not just in stacks or bundles.
I needed mountains of the stuff.
If I was going to build a proper publishing industry, then I would need a constant, uninterrupted supply of mass-produced paper. And this world's current methods of book production were laughably primitive.
Books here were still written by hand.
Either through traditional handwriting or, if the person was wealthy and had access, through the use of magical quills or enchanted metia designed to transcribe at higher speeds.
Still, the number of books available was extremely limited. Literacy wasn't just a skill—it was a luxury. And books? Rare commodities, often too expensive for common folk to even dream of owning.
But I intended to change that.
'If knowledge is power, then why the hell is it locked behind an artificial wall of scarcity?'
To break that wall, I needed mass production.
And to mass-produce books, I first needed to mass-produce paper.
That meant building machines—fully automated ones if possible, or at least something close to it. if I made mechanical ones I would need more workers, and I wasn't going to hire people who can leak my core secrets.
The designs in my head were already fleshed out: roller-based paper mills, mechanical pulpers, drying and pressing systems.
The whole works.
However, electricity didn't exist as a widespread utility in this world, so everything had to be powered either manually, magically, or through some hybrid design.
I wasn't going to use manpower where magic could do a cleaner, more efficient job.
So I made a decision—to invent magical machinery.
A fusion of mechanical engineering and arcane energy, something that could revolutionize not just papermaking, but industry as a whole.
Beatrice—Betty—had offered to help with that.
She was actually quite invested in the project.
At the moment, she should be analyzing the machines I had already built, understanding the physical principles behind them—levers, gears, pressure dynamics—and trying to replicate or even improve upon them using magic.
The way I saw it, with her deep knowledge of magical theory combined with the foundational engineering I've been feeding her, she should be able to prototype her own magical-machinery hybrids within a few months at most.
I exhaled sharply, letting out a long sigh as I resumed walking down the corridor.
My next destination was Echidna's room.
It made me remember her obsessed servant slash yandere disciple.
Roswaal? He was somewhere handling all the administrative duties I had dumped on his desk.
He'd been reduced to something of a hollow shell these days—nothing more than a lifeless puppet who followed orders to the letter.
Just a machine in human skin.
A former mastermind now broken and subdued.
'And I'm perfectly fine with that. In fact, I want him to suffer. Not for some poetic justice or emotional closure, but because he damn well deserves it.'
It wasn't just about what he didn't do—like his failure to save the Oni village.
That alone didn't warrant my hatred.
I've always believed that even someone with immense power has the right to choose not to intervene.
Not everything is your responsibility just because you can.
Look at Spider-Man.
If he had just ignored the crime and lived a quiet life, maybe he'd have been happier.
Maybe Uncle Ben would still be alive. Maybe not.
Power doesn't obligate action. Not in every case.
But Roswaal? He went far, far beyond negligence.
He committed atrocities I still struggle to wrap my head around.
He killed his own children. Repeatedly. And not just that—he used some twisted soul transference magic to usurp their bodies and continue his own existence.
He—or she, depending on which gender Roswaal was inhabiting during that cycle—would marry, father or mother a child, and once that child grew to a certain age, he'd snuff out their life and take over their body like putting on a new outfit.
Afterward? The spouse, lover, or surrogate who bore him that child? Disposed of like trash. Forgotten.
That... That was just one reason I couldn't bring myself to like him.
And no, I didn't hate him just for that. Because I don't hate people for being monsters. I don't live in their shoes. I don't exist in their circumstances.
Who the hell am I to judge someone's choices if I don't carry their burdens?
I reserve my hatred for people who commit evil not out of desperation or trauma or twisted logic—but because it's convenient.
Because it's easy. Because it benefits them. That's the kind of evil I despise.
Roswaal? I hated him because of how many times I had to die. Because of how many loops I suffered through. How many failures I endured—all thanks to his manipulations and interference.
'I don't care about moral high grounds or philosophical justifications. I hate him because of what he did to me. End of story.'
I sighed again, this time out of exhaustion.
My thoughts drifted to Reina, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. I missed her presence. Her warmth. Her voice.
Her ability to make things feel less heavy, even for a moment. I knew I could call her to my side anytime if I wanted to. She'd appear without hesitation. But I didn't want to interrupt her work.
She had accompanied Emilia on her current speech tour across the territories. Another one of those carefully planned public appearances that were essential for solidifying Emilia's image and legitimacy among the people.
Once the speeches were done, I had already made plans to train her in the Ice Brand Arts myself.
I couldn't afford to have Emilia getting stabbed by some random bandit or rebel during a village visit. Her safety needed to be more than just someone else's responsibility.
Then there was the issue of Puck.
I had recovered enough of my Aura and magical balance that I could safely restore him from the backlash he suffered after forcefully breaking his contract with Emilia.
He had done it to save her, but the cost had been enormous. Magical shock, spiritual trauma, essence loss—the whole magical breakdown cocktail.
Still, I wasn't in a rush.
I figured it would make a good reward for Emilia once she finishes her speech tour in a few days. A gift to give her back the companion she lost. One she didn't expect, but absolutely deserved.
'She's done more than enough. A little emotional boost might be exactly what she needs next.'
I stopped walking for a moment and looked out another window that lined the hallway.
The trees swayed gently outside, and the garden below remained still under the mid-afternoon sun.
The world, for once, seemed calm.
But the work was far from over.
And there was something I needed to do, because if not, it would mean I am just an your typical isekai protagonist.
To be continued...
(A/N: Guys if we reach 525 PS by tmrw I will update a bonus chap, hmmm, this chap is 4k words big, basically two chaps long. So consider it a slight bonus.
Also let's have a talk
Do you know in Hindu Mythology, Lord Shiva's first wife, Sati, was a daughter of a king and fell in love with him.
In fact she was Goddess meant to be Lord Shiva's wife from the beginning, however the King, her father didn't regard this union as well.
Because during that time the most worshipped god of trimurti were Brahma and Lord Vishnu.
Lord Shiva was considered an outlier, and everyone was scared of him, as he was the god whom demons and spirits worshipped, he lived very frugally, like a monk.
He would meditate for days, and would stay away from lavish things.
So he considered Lord Shiva, the God of Destruction himself to be not worthy of his son-in-law.
After Goddess Sati married Lord Shiva, he casted her out.
After that he began a big ritual, where many Gods, including Lord Brahma and Lord Vishnu appeared.
He invited many minor but respectable gods as well, but he didn't invite Lord Shiva or his daughter.
While Lord Shiva was chill and didn't care much about the disrespect, preferring to spend his days in meditation and with his beloved wife, her wife couldn't bear the disrespect towards her husband.
So she went to her father, alone, not only to greet him but wanted him to bless their union and perhaps invited Lord Shiva as well.
Of course being arrogant man he is, the bastard insulted Lord Shiva in front of her, cursed Sati, saying 'How he didn't consider her worthy to be his daughter'
Goddess Sati wasn't able to take the shame, in anger she went Sati, basically burned herself to death as to stop the Puja that her father is doing or to preserve her husband's pride(I am not sure about this part, I will have to visit the puranas to verify it, modern media always twists the fact)
While her father laughed in glee as he watched her daughter turn into ash, Lord Shiva who was meditating sensed her wife's death.
Instantly anger took him over, his wife's death made him so angry that he performed dance of destruction and created an Avatar.
He was the guardian of cosmos and destroyer of time.
Kal Bhairav, who then proceeded to make his way to the Puja.
The Gods weren't able to stop the King from insulting sati or her dying because they were bound by the promise, and when the Kal Bhairav appeared the Gods had to protect the King due to their promise.
Result?
Total annihilation, All the Gods, immortals, including Lord Brahma and Lord Vishnu were slaughtered.
Ultimately the King's headless corpse rolled on the ground.
This is how the ritual of Sati was born.
However, it was completely voluntarily, and with how Lord Shiva cried after Sati's death, it was clearly made to be not done casually and was considered a taboo itself, perhaps only committed to preserve own's pride if circumstances were really dire.
Like rather dying than to become someone's slave, or being raped.
But then came the wise Brahmins and Kings, who were like 'Why If I die my wife can live?' so they deliberately twisted the truth and facts, viola! Sati is now mandatory!
Later on it was abolished, and thankfully it was.
To be honest whether Sati was truly a part of Hindu Culture it is still under some debate, perhaps the main moral was to never to be 'Sati ever as it only causes grief and suffering' but again, people believe what they want.
I hope you learn from this story!
Anyway! Send me the PS)