"Ha, ha..." Chris forced an awkward smile to cover his shock. It seemed that everything he once understood as common sense was useless in this world.
If dragons existed here, then surely other strange things existed as well—monsters, magic, perhaps even races other than humans.
Under such circumstances, it was hard to say whether the "golden finger" in his mind was really as powerful as he had imagined.
At this moment, Chris had no choice but to face the cruel reality. He tore his gaze away from the exquisite dragon-slaying mural.
"There are dragons in the Arante Empire?" he asked.
"Not exactly," Wagron replied. "The Arante Empire, the surrounding kingdoms, and most noble castles are mortal domains. There is no magical atmosphere here, and no magical creatures."
"Because there's no magical aura, magicians can't live or practice here. Those great magic empires look down on us. They only let us manage the land, pay taxes, and rule indirectly through us," Deans added. "The Yarand Empire is a powerful mortal empire nearby."
"Of course, even the weakest magical empire could crush a mortal kingdom. They have dragon knights and magicians—we are no match for them," Strider continued, speaking for the third time. "Your grandfather once fought against a wild dragon and, because of that, was granted the position of city lord of Seris."
"Alright," Chris shrugged, feeling the weight of fate pressing on him. For now, he could only move carefully and plan step by step.
Still, there was good news: since mortals had once killed dragons, it meant dragons were not invincible. If Chris managed to produce anti-aircraft guns, slaying a dragon might not be so difficult after all.
"How many soldiers does my city command? What properties and power do I actually hold? Tell me everything," Chris asked, pushing aside the steak before him, suddenly losing his appetite and shifting into a state of work.
His three subordinates quickly laid everything out for him.
As a lord, Alan Hill Chris commanded a strong cavalry force of 300 men, as well as around 1,000 city guards.
Seris, his city, sat on a major trade route. It had small handicraft workshops, good agricultural output, and brought in about 1,000 gold coins annually.
From any angle, Seris was once a prosperous place—at least, before taxes had been raised. Unfortunately for Chris, he had arrived just as the good days were ending.
"Why are the taxes so heavy? Do you know the reason?" Chris asked Deans after a pause.
Deans gave a bitter smile. "My lord, the Arante Empire must also pay tribute to a mighty magical empire farther west. Whether they raise the tax or not depends entirely on the whims of those magicians."
It was a classic case of passing the burden downward. The Arante Empire acted as a kind of comprador, shifting all its tax obligations onto the smaller surrounding lords and kingdoms in order to relieve its own pressure—and even profit.
"Do we have any special products?" Chris asked, now turning his thoughts toward generating more income rather than cutting expenses. If he could open new sources of wealth, even a tax burden of 1,000 gold coins would not be impossible to bear.
"We have a rare metal called spoiler," Strider explained. "It's extremely hard yet light, making it excellent for weapons. We also have a woodworking workshop that produces quality furniture, which is very popular among the nobility."
"Another source of income is tolls," Deans added. "They bring in about 100 gold coins a year. But tolls are risky—raise them too high, and merchants and travelers will avoid Seris, leaving income stagnant."
Chris nodded, gradually piecing together the picture. In truth, the problems weren't overwhelming—at least not yet.
"It seems our best option is to improve our special products. Increasing production capacity might be the answer," he decided aloud.
"Our artisans are already stretched thin," Strider explained. "Carpenters and apprentices work to their limits, and the same is true in the ironworks. If we enslave more civilians, farming will suffer. Dissatisfaction will spread, and free citizens may even abandon the territory."
"Who said increasing production requires more people?" Chris smiled with sudden confidence. This was an area where he had a clear advantage. In his old world, a car factory needed very few workers thanks to mechanized production lines.
The knowledge in his mind might not help with slaying dragons or conquering empires—for now—but improving productivity and simplifying woodworking processes? That was child's play.
"I can design a few parts. If our blacksmiths can forge them, the rest of the work will become much easier," Chris declared. Rising from the table, he spoke with conviction: "When I was unconscious, God gave me instructions! God has shown me the way! Under His blessing, Seris will become the most glorious city in the world!"
With that, he strode out. Wagron hurried after him, uneasy, half-afraid Chris might have lost his senses again.
"Oh… If God truly cared for this land, why would He abandon it as a forbidden realm, leaving us to suffer?" Deans sighed, watching Chris's departing figure with loneliness in his voice.
"Yes. We mortals were abandoned by God—I've known this since I was two years old," Strider added quietly.
"Do you think… our lord is truly alright?" Deans asked guiltily.
Strider only shook his head, his silence heavier than words.
Chris, unaware of their doubts, walked the corridor until Wagron guided him to his office. Two guards stood firmly at the door, proving that even during his coma, discipline in the castle had not faltered.
The guards saluted with fists pressed to their chests as Chris pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The room was more luxurious than he expected, filled with scrolls that gave it a scholarly charm. A huge glass window flooded the chamber with sunlight, brightening it far more than the rest of the castle.
"I'll be working here alone. Just call me when dinner is ready," Chris told Wagron, pushing him out before closing the door.
He immediately pulled from memory some design blueprints from the Industrial Revolution and began sketching them with a quill pen. They weren't particularly advanced, and Chris had to add notes to ensure others could understand.
The first sketches were of a waterwheel-driven sawmill, its rotating blades able to cut timber far faster than human carpenters. Next, he drew a simple gear press—two iron rollers that could flatten and shape sheets of metal. Then came a lathe, a machine that could spin wood or metal evenly, letting artisans carve out perfect cylindrical shapes.
Each drawing was simple compared to modern standards, but in this world, even such crude mechanisms were revolutionary. Chris explained each part in plain instructions: wooden pulleys, iron gears, crankshafts, and belts made from leather.
By sunset, the light dimmed, and Wagron's knock reminded him of the passing hours.
"Bring me plenty of candles," Chris ordered when Wagron entered with a waiter. "And several candlesticks—one is never enough."
After the waiter left, Chris rolled up the thick stack of drawings and handed them to Wagron.
"Wagron, take these to the workshop yourself. Find the craftsmen and have them make these parts as quickly as possible. There will be rewards once they're done!"
Wagron accepted the drawings, nodding firmly. "My lord, I'll go immediately! We have the finest craftsmen, and they will forge the finest armor!"
Chris gave a satisfied nod. He then ate a quick dinner before returning to the study, working until every candle burned out before finally retreating to bed.
By the time he awoke, it was nearly noon. He had slept late, having worked until the middle of the night. He would have gladly continued "romancing his quilt," but an urgent knock dragged him back to reality.
Stretching and yawning, he called, "Come in! …What is it?"
General Wagron entered, sword at his waist. "My lord, the blacksmiths have already completed all the parts you requested."
"So fast? Excellent!" Chris's drowsiness vanished instantly. He scrambled out of bed, ran a hand through his hair, and hurriedly dressed.
His black hair, according to the servants, was a feature inherited from his family's foreign ancestry. Chris liked his appearance—his well-shaped figure and handsome face. He had even admired it in the mirror last night.
The only annoyance was the overly complicated noble attire of this world. Dressing himself was frustrating enough that he finally called a servant for help. Once finished, however, he looked every bit the noble lord.
Unlike the specialized factories of his former world, here the craftsmen worked in a cramped and disorganized fashion.
The blacksmith's shop stood beside the woodworking workshop, separated only by a fire-prevention canal. The air was filled with the sound of hammering iron and sawing wood.
Though the craftsmen hadn't understood the drawings given to them the night before, they worked tirelessly on the parts. After all, the order had come directly from the lord, and rumor spread that the work might even grant tax exemptions or rewards.
On the tables lay iron gears with sharp teeth, wooden shafts polished smooth, and curious crank handles unlike anything the craftsmen had ever forged before. Some pieces were heavy, glinting in the firelight, while others were delicate, almost fragile, yet fitted with astonishing precision.
Chris stepped forward, eyes gleaming.
"Good!" He cracked his shoulders and neck, rubbing his wrists as he stood before the pile of newly forged parts. "Now, let's witness the miracle of industrial civilization together!"