Chapter 6 – Orshek Report
Leonard still felt the weight of Natalia's magic. It wasn't holy, nor learned—it was wild, raw, and hungry. He had saved her from the pyre, but he couldn't decide if he had rescued a woman… or unleashed a monster.
"Your Highness."
It was Oswin, Orshek's steward. The man bowed as he entered, scrolls and ledgers clutched in his ink-stained hands. Behind him trailed two newly recruited clerks, carrying fresh parchment, and Garreth, Leonard's bodyguard—his scarred face grim as ever, his voice always ready to cut like steel.
The steward laid the reports down.
"These are the accounts of Orshek, sire. As you commanded."
Leonard's eyes scanned the pages, details leaping out—
Population: 950 souls + 140 ( MC recruit along the travel )Children (0–14): 30% ≈ 285 + 42 = 327
Elders (60+): 2% ≈ 19 + 2 = 21 , many die due to deceases and winter.
Adults (15–59): 646 + 98 = 744 ( Men and Women 50~50 %), due men being dying in wars,mining and hunting accidents .
Resources:
Iron ore veins (abundant, though poorly worked)
Timber (dense pine forests)
Lime deposits near the eastern river (used in stonework, smelting, preservation of food) Coal ore veins (abundant, though poorly worked)
Grain stores: enough for 3 months only
Livestock: small herds of goats,sheep and cattle,and chickens hardy against cold
Weapons:
Spears: 71
Bows: 49 (crude)
Swords: 12 (rusted)
Shields: 33
Armor: scraps of leather, patched furs
Leonard leaned against the desk, voice low.
"Tell me, Oswin. How do your farmers plant?"
The steward answered without hesitation.
"In the first month of Spring, Thaloris, we sow. By the last month, Verdantus, we harvest the spring yield. Then, in Solara, the first month of Summer, we plant again. By Umbralis, the heart of Autumn, comes the greater harvest. Afterward, we plough once more, let the soil rest through Winter, and repeat. The spring harvest is meager, but the summer harvest… it sustains us through the frost."
Leonard thought of Earth—of fields hardened by bitter winters, where men sowed in March and harvested by August. Here, the rhythm stretched longer. Thirty-six days a month, fifteen months a year, twenty-eight hours each day. A world vast in time, and yet… his own five years here equaled nearly ten years of Earth's labor. Enough time, perhaps, to build something lasting.
Yet still, doubt gnawed at him.
Oswin added cautiously, "Repairs near completion, sire. Already, seed is currently being sown for the spring harvest. Though rations are thin for 3 months only , families hunt, forage, and trade for what they can until the spring harvest."
Leonard's gaze sharpened, though his voice stayed calm.
"Endure… survival by threadbare cycles. One misstep, one drought, one swarm of beasts, and the town starves."
The clerks shifted uncomfortably. Garreth, the old soldier at his side, rumbled,
"Your Highness, Orshek has stood through harsher winters than this. We know how to bend with the storm."
But Leonard's mind was elsewhere. He saw graphs in his memory, numbers marching across glowing screens, Earth's logic grinding against this world's fragile traditions. The spring yield too meager. The summer yield too slow. The people's survival too uncertain.
If this was an engineering project, Allen whispered from the other body within him, we'd call it inefficiency. Risk stacked upon risk.
Leonard's thoughts wandered. He recalled the animals and birds resembling Earth's animals, yet little bigger in size, their colors darker, hides thicker, horns jagged. Mutations of nature, alien and familiar all at once. Even their crops and fruits bore oddities. He remembered one moment in the capital—an orange, yet pale as bone-white flesh, citrus bitterness biting his tongue.
He exhaled, setting the report down.
"You've done well, Oswin. Continue as you always have—for now. I will draft adjustments soon."
The steward looked relieved, though confused. The clerks bowed quickly. Garreth's eyes narrowed with suspicion, reading something in the prince's tone he could not name.
The silence stretched long before he finally waved his hand.
"Leave the papers. All of you, go. I need solitude."
They obeyed, puzzled glances traded between them as they departed, the heavy door creaking shut
He dismissed the clerks and Garreth with a quiet nod. They bowed, exchanging uncertain glances as they filed out. Leonard remained still, memorizing the report word for word before sinking into the deep trance of transmigration.
Allen awoke at his desk, the familiar hum of his computer filling the silence. His fingers flew across the keyboard, transcribing Orshek's state into digital order—statistics, cycles, resource maps. Then he pushed back, closed his eyes, and let himself drift back across the veil.
Leonard stirred once more in Orshek's keep. He repeated the cycle again and again: memorize, transmigrate, record, return. Until the town's every detail was etched in data and ink, until a plan began to take shape. Three nights without proper rest, but finally—finally—he had the framework of Orshek's survival in hand.
When dawn came, he sat at his desk in Orshek, quill scratching over parchment as he translated Earth's methodical order into this world's ink. He wrote of work divisions, field schedules, mining quotas, repair cycles—plans fit for a realm that had never known such order.
He leaned back, exhaustion tugging faintly at him, though 3 hrs had pass on earth only 3 or 4 hrs in Orshek. A paradox that both comforted and unnerved him. So much time to shape this land… if only I can keep my two selves alive long enough to see it.
The latch clicked.
"Your Highness."
It was Martha, the castle's housekeeper, her figure small but sturdy, wrapped in a plain apron still dusted with flour. She bowed low before speaking, her voice soft yet firm.
"Lunch has been prepared. The table is set in the hall."
Leonard set aside the final scroll, letting his fingers rest on the wax seal. His stomach stirred, reminding him that though his mind had toiled for nights, his body here had only starved for hours.
"I will come," he said simply, rising from his chair.
The hall was alive with the clatter of servants arranging platters. The table stretched long, filled with roasted hare, boiled roots, baked bread still steaming, and thick stew—far from the luxury of the capital, but to Orshek, a feast.
Yet as Leonard sat, he noticed it. The hands of the servants trembled as they set down dishes. Their eyes did not rise to meet his. Instead, there lingered a stiffness in their shoulders, a quiet tension clinging to the room.
Leonard's gaze darkened.
Resentment… envy… survival scraping against duty.
He picked up his fork, but the weight of their silent emotions pressed heavier than the food before him.