Marcos woke up with a clarity of purpose that he hadn't felt since... well, since ever really.
In his previous life, he had always been the type to meticulously plan everything and then get lost along the way to executing the plan (literally and metaphorically). But now he had power, endless resources, and most importantly: motivation.
"Okay, Mar quitos," he said to himself in front of the bronze mirror as he washed his face. "Today begins the most illegal real estate adventure in history. We're going to claim land that technically doesn't belong to us, and nobody's going to stop us because we have magic and Minecraft."
His reflection returned a confident smile.
Or possibly insane.
Probably both.
He went down to the inn's dining room and ordered a large breakfast. He was going to need energy for what he planned to do.
While eating, she mentally compiled her to-do list:
TODAY'S PLAN: GET LAND
Investigate available/abandoned land near Pentos Travel to the chosen location Claim it (aka: plant your flag and say "this is mine now") Begin construction of base fortress Not to die trying
Simple. Direct. With a high probability of going wrong.
Perfect.
He finished his breakfast and approached Lysaro, the innkeeper, who was cleaning glasses behind the bar.
—Good morning, Lysaro.
—Good morning, Mr. Vidal. How can I help you?
—I need information. Do you know the lands around Pentos? Specifically, lands that are... unoccupied.
Lysaro raised an eyebrow.
—Unoccupied? All the good land around Pentos belongs to some Magister or nobleman. Why are you looking for unoccupied land?
"Because occupied lands require negotiation, and I don't have time for that," Marcos replied honestly. "I'd rather find something no one wants and claim it myself."
Lysaro looked at him as if he had just said he planned to marry a goat.
—Mr. Vidal... that's not how land ownership works in Pentos.
"It is, if you have enough power to back up your claim," Marcos replied with a smile. "But don't worry about the legal details. Just tell me: are there any nearby lands that nobody wants?"
Lysaro sighed. He clearly thought his wealthy guest was an eccentric.
—Well... there are the Greylands to the south. No one claims them because they're barren and too close to the ruins of Chroyane. They say it's cursed.
"Chroyane?" Marcos frowned. "The city of the Stone Men?"
—The same one. It was destroyed by a plague centuries ago. Now it's infested with Stone Men, who have gray skin and drive anyone they touch mad. Nobody goes there.
Marcos vaguely remembered that information from the books. Chroyane was a ruined city on the Rhoyne, and "greyskin" was basically a fantastical form of leprosy.
"Okay, not that area," he decided. "What else?"
"There are lands to the northeast, in the hills near the Forest of Qohor. But there are nomadic tribes there, and occasional Dothraki raids. Dangerous."
-Go on.
"And then there are the lands to the east, beyond the main road to Qohor. There's a large valley there that used to have a small settlement decades ago, but it was abandoned. No one claims it because it's far from trade routes and has no strategic value." Lysaro shrugged. "Basically, it's a piece of nothing in the middle of nowhere."
Marcos smiled.
—Perfect. That's exactly what I'm looking for.
—A piece of nothing in the middle of nowhere?
—Exactly. How far is it?
—On horseback, half a day. On foot... a full day, maybe more.
Marcos nodded.
—I need a horse then.
—I can point you to a reliable horse trader at the market.
—Thank you, Lysaro. You're a genius.
"I'm an innkeeper who's learned not to ask awkward questions," Lysaro corrected with a tired smile.
An hour later, Marcos was at the Pentos market (after missing out only once, a new personal record) trading for a horse.
The merchant was a scrawny fellow with a curly mustache who spoke too fast.
"This is an excellent specimen, sir. A thoroughbred from the Summerlands. Strong, resilient, perfect for long journeys..."
Marcos looked at the horse.
It was brown. It had four legs. A tail. It looked bored.
—Does it bite?
—Never, sir. He is as meek as a lamb.
—Does it have a name?
—Horses don't need names, sir.
"Everyone deserves a name," Marcos insisted. "I'm going to call him... Rocinante."
The shopkeeper blinked.
—Rocinante?
"Yes. Like Don Quixote's horse." Seeing the merchant's confused expression, Marcos added, "It's a literary reference from my homeland. Never mind. How much does it cost?"
—Fifty gold dragons, sir.
Marcos almost choked.
—FIFTY? For this horse?
"That's a fair price, sir. Good horses aren't cheap."
Marcos sighed and took two gold ingots out of his "bag" (inventory).
—Is this enough?
The merchant's eyes lit up like lanterns.
—More than enough, sir. In fact, with that you could take two horses...
"I don't need two horses. One is enough. But I will need a saddle, saddlebags, basic travel supplies, and a map of the region if you have one."
—All-inclusive, sir. You're a very generous customer!
Twenty minutes later, Marcos left the market with:
A horse named Rocinante
A saddle that looked comfortable
Saddlebags full of provisions (which he didn't need because he had infinite food, but he kept up appearances)
A map of western Essos that was surprisingly detailed
"Good, Rocinante," he said to the horse as he mounted him (clumsily, because Marcos wasn't exactly an expert rider). "You and I are going to be great friends. I'm going to lose you constantly, and you're going to judge me in silence. It's going to be beautiful."
Rocinante neighed.
Marcos chose to interpret it as an agreement.
Leaving Pentos was easier than expected.
The guards at the city gates barely glanced at him. A nobleman traveling on horseback was not unusual.
The main road to Qohor was wide and well-maintained. There were other travelers: merchants in carts, pilgrims, some mercenaries...
Marcos followed the road for approximately two hours before turning northeast, following the directions Lysaro had given him.
"The abandoned valley is this way," he murmured, consulting the map as Rocinante walked patiently. "It should be about four or five hours from... which side is north on this map?"
Rocinante snorted.
—Don't judge me, I didn't choose to be born without a sense of direction.
Fortunately, with his enhanced magical perception, Marcos could literally "feel" the terrain around him. It was like having a built-in GPS.
"Magical technology superior to satellite GPS," he remarked. "The future is now."
The landscape gradually changed as he moved away from the main road. Farmland gave way to rolling hills covered in tall grass and occasional clumps of trees. The air was fresher, the silence deeper.
He was beautiful in a wild way.
And completely uninhabited.
"Perfect," Marcos murmured. "This is exactly what I need."
After three more hours of travel (and two instances of being completely lost before his magic reoriented him), Marcos finally saw what he was looking for.
A valley.
Large, green, surrounded by low hills on three sides and open to the east. A small river ran through it, which meant fresh water. There were woods nearby, which meant timber. And most importantly: there was nobody there.
In the center of the valley, almost completely covered by vegetation, were the remains of what had once been a settlement. Collapsed stone walls, building foundations, an old well...
"Lysaro wasn't lying," said Marcos, dismounting from Rocinante. "There were definitely people here."
He walked among the ruins, his archaeologist mind automatically activating.
The settlement had been small. Perhaps twenty or thirty buildings at its peak. Probably a farming village or a minor trading post. The structures had been abandoned decades ago, maybe longer.
"Why did they leave?" she asked aloud .
There were no signs of violent destruction. No marks of fire or battle. Only... abandonment.
Probably for economic reasons. The place was far from the main trade routes. Without trade, there was no reason to stay.
"But for me," Marcos said with a smile, "this is perfect."
He took out the map and roughly calculated where he was.
Midday from Pentos. Close enough for occasional trade, far enough for independence. Surrounded by defensible terrain. Fresh water. Fertile land. Forests for resources.
In terms of real estate, it was a diamond in the rough.
"Okay," he said to himself. "It's official. This place is mine now."
He walked towards the center of the abandoned valley, where there was a small mound that offered a decent view of the area.
He activated his Minecraft inventory.
He navigated to the decorative blocks section.
He selected "Banner".
He chose black with a gold border and a double-headed eagle design in the center (because if he was going to found an empire, he needed an epic symbol).
The banner appeared in his hand.
Marcos planted it in the ground of the mound with ceremonial force.
"By the power invested in me by literally no one but myself," he declared dramatically to the empty valley, "I claim this land as sovereign territory. From now on, this place shall be called..." He paused. "Shit, I couldn't think of a name."
Rocinante looked at him with what could only be described as equine disappointment.
"Give me a second, I'm just improvising here." Marcos thought quickly. "New Buenos Aires? No, too obvious. New Argentina? Even worse. Valdoria? Marcopolis? Santacruz Landing?"
They all sounded awful.
"Okay, until I come up with something better, I'm going to call it... Astoria." It was a generic name, but it sounded epic enough. "This valley and the surrounding lands are now the territory of Astoria, under my sovereign rule. May the gods have mercy on anyone who tries to argue with this."
The banner fluttered in a breeze that passed by at that exact moment.
Marcos decided to interpret it as divine approval.
"Good," he rubbed his hands together. "Now comes the fun part. Construction."
Marcos had played Minecraft for years.
He had built castles, cities, massive structures that had taken him weeks of work in the game.
But I had never done it in real life.
With magic.
And infinite resources.
This was going to be EPIC.
He opened his inventory and started taking out blocks.
"Stone Bricks" for solid construction.
"Oak Planks" for floors and ceilings.
"Glass" for windows.
"Iron Bars" for reinforcement.
The blocks appeared in his inventory, ready to be placed.
Marcos extended his hand, visualized where he wanted the first block, and...
POP
The block appeared floating in the air exactly where I had imagined it.
It was a perfect cube of carved stone, with textures that screamed "Minecraft" but somehow didn't look out of place in this world.
—THIS IS INCREDIBLE— shouted Marcos like a child on Christmas morning.
Rocinante cautiously walked away, clearly questioning his life choice.
Marcos didn't waste any time.
He began placing blocks with increasing speed. Thanks to his Anos power, he didn't need to physically place each block. He could visualize entire structures and manifest them with his will.
But he decided to start small. He didn't want to exhaust his magical energy (although he doubted that was possible) on the first day.
It began with a simple structure: a watchtower.
Four stone pillars, each ten blocks high. Platform on top with railings.
Internal staircase. Wooden ceiling.
It took him thirty minutes.
In a normal world, that structure would have required weeks of work, dozens of workers, tons of materials...
Marcos had built it in just half an hour.
He stood on the top platform of the tower, looking down at the valley.
"Okay," she said with a huge smile. "I've definitely gotten used to this."
But one tower was not enough.
He needed walls. Defenses. Buildings. A real fortress.
He climbed down from the tower and began to plan.
Using his powers of perception, he "scanned" the entire valley, creating a perfect three-dimensional mental map. He identified the best locations for walls, additional watchtowers, residential buildings, warehouses, barracks...
His historian's mind worked at full speed, recalling designs of imperial fortifications: Roman, Byzantine, Spanish, Chinese...
"I'm going to combine the best of all," he decided. "Thick Roman-style walls for durability. Tall Byzantine-style towers for visibility. A Spanish-style star design for crossfire. And of course, iron-reinforced gates because I'm not an idiot."
It started with the perimeter wall.
He envisioned a five-meter-high stone wall surrounding the central area of the valley. Not the entire valley (that would be too much for the first day), but a defensive perimeter approximately five hundred meters in diameter.
He extended his hand.
She channeled her magic.
And he began to build.
The stone blocks appeared one after another, stacked in perfect formation. It was like watching a giant 3D printer at work, except there was no printer, just an Argentinian with godlike powers and questionable creativity.
The wall grew.
Five meters.
Fifty meters in length.
One hundred meters.
Marcos felt the energy flowing through him. It wasn't physical exhaustion, but mental focus. It was like solving a giant puzzle while running a mental marathon.
"Come on, Marquitos," he encouraged himself. "You can do it. It's only a few thousand more blocks..."
Two hours later, the wall was complete.
A perfectly circular wall, five meters high and two meters thick, encircled the heart of the valley. It had crenellations at the top for archers (eventually). It had a main entrance with double gates of reinforced iron.
And it was fully functional.
Marcos slumped down on the grass, panting.
—Okay... that was... more intense than I thought...
Rocinante approached and sniffed his hair.
"Thanks for your support, friend," Marcos said, petting the horse. "Now I understand why you can't build things instantly in video games. It's mentally exhausting."
But it wasn't over.
He stood up (his legs a little wobbly) and looked at his creation.
A wall surrounding the ruins of the ancient settlement.
It was a beginning.
But I needed more.
"Tomorrow," he decided. "I'll continue tomorrow. For today, I think I've done enough."
He created a small temporary house inside the wall using wood and stone. A simple room with a bed (yes, he could create Minecraft beds, it was glorious), a table, a chair, and a window.
It took him fifteen minutes.
"Home sweet home," she murmured, entering her new house.
It was basic. Very basic. But it was HERS.
I didn't have to pay rent.
I didn't have to negotiate with magistrates.
I didn't have to ask anyone for permission.
This was their territory. Their land. Their nascent empire.
Marcos threw himself on the bed and laughed.
She laughed until her stomach hurt.
Because it was absurd.
Three days earlier he had died in Bolivia, beaten by a plaster Napoleon.
Now he was in another world, in his own land, having built a fortified wall in two hours using magic and Minecraft.
"My life is crazy," he said to the wooden beams of the ceiling. "And I love it."
Outside, the sun was beginning to set, tinting the sky orange and purple.
The black banner with a golden eagle waved on the mound.
And in Pentos, at Illyrio's mansion, Daenerys Targaryen awoke from a nap with the strange feeling that something important had just changed in the world.
I didn't know what.
But I felt it.
Like a small, distant fire, but growing.
Marcos woke up at dawn to Rocinante neighing outside his house.
"What's wrong, friend?" He came out rubbing his eyes.
In the distance, from the west, I could see dust rising.
Riders.
He activated his enhanced vision.
There were approximately ten of them, riding swift horses, armed with spears and bows.
And they were heading straight towards their valley.
Marcos sighed.
"I haven't even been here a full day and I already have visitors. This has to be a record."
Rocinante neighed again, clearly nervous.
"Relax, kid. Let me handle this." Marcos walked towards the wall and climbed onto one of the battlements using dirt blocks as a makeshift ladder.
The riders approached until they stopped in front of the entrance to the wall.
They were soldiers. Or mercenaries. It was hard to tell in this world.
The leader, a big guy with a black beard and leather armor, shouted:
"Hey, whoever's in there! This valley belongs to Magister Vrennis of Pentos! You're trespassing on his property!"
Marcos raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, really?" he shouted back. "That's strange, because when I arrived yesterday there wasn't a sign that said 'Vrennis property.' Nobody living here. No structures. Nothing."
—That doesn't matter! The abandoned lands still belong to the magistrates!
—According to whom?
—According to the law of Pentos!
"I'm not from Pentos," Marcos replied simply. "So their laws don't apply to me."
The leader looked at his companions, clearly not expecting that answer.
"Look, stranger. We don't want any trouble. If you leave now, we'll forget about this. If you insist on staying..." He touched the sword at his hip. "We'll have to remove you by force."
Marcos considered his options. Option 1: Leave. Avoid conflict.
It wasn't going to happen.
Option 2: Negotiate.
That wasn't going to happen either.
Option 3: Demonstration of overwhelming strength so that he is never bothered again.
This.
"Listen to me," Marcos shouted. "Do you and your friends want to work for me instead of for that Magister Vrennis?"
The leader laughed.
"Work for you? A lone outsider who built... whatever that is?" He pointed at the wall. "Seriously?"
—Yes, seriously. I pay well. Very well. And unlike the magistrates, I won't betray them or leave them without pay.
—We're not interested, stranger. Last chance: you leave or we'll throw you out.
Marcos sighed.
—Okay. Don't say I didn't warn you.
He raised his hand.
Her eyes shone crimson red.
And the ground around the riders exploded upwards.
It wasn't violent. No one was hurt. But pillars of earth and stone emerged from the ground, surrounding the horses and forming a perfect cage in two seconds.
The horses panicked. The riders screamed.
"WHAT THE HELL?!" The leader tried to control his horse.
Marcos jumped off the wall (five meters down) and landed without a problem, his knees absorbing the impact as if nothing had happened.
He walked towards the earthen cage he had created.
The riders stared at him in terror.
"Listen carefully," Marcos said in a calm but firm tone. "This land is mine. I claimed it. I'm building it. And I'm not going to leave just because some fat teacher who probably didn't even know this land existed until today decided it belongs to him."
"You're... you're a sorcerer," one of the riders whispered.
"I am many things," Marcos replied. "Witch doctor is one of them. Now, you have two options."
He snapped his fingers.
The earthen cage opened, freeing them.
—Option one: Go back to Vrennis and tell him that this territory is occupied by someone he DOESN'T want to mess with. If he insists, he can come in person to discuss it. But I warn you: it's not going to end well for him.
"And option two?" the leader asked, clearly terrified but trying to maintain his composure.
—Option two: You stay and work for me. I pay you three times what Vrennis pays you. I give you lodging, food, and eventually, when this grows, glory and wealth beyond your dreams. —Marcos smiled—.
They also won't have to fear that he'll accidentally kill them, which is a considerable benefit.
The riders looked at each other.
The leader swallowed hard.
—The triple?
—Three times as much. In pure gold. In advance if you want, to prove I'm serious.
There was a long silence.
Finally, the leader slowly dismounted.
"My name is Garrett. These are my men. We're mercenaries, not soldiers of Vrennis. He hired us to investigate this valley because someone told him there was activity." He glanced at the wall. "He assumed they were common bandits or invaders. No... whatever you are."
"I'm Marcos Vidal. And I'm the new ruler of this territory." He extended his hand. "Deal?"
Garrett looked at the hand.
Then to his men.
Then to Marcos.
And he shook his hand.
—Deal. But I want to see the gold first.
Marcos smiled.
He opened his inventory and took out ten gold ingots, placing them on the floor.
The eyes of all the mercenaries lit up.
"This is a preview," Marcos said. "Keep it going until I establish a regular pay system. And welcome to Astoria."
"Astoria?" Garrett asked.
—The name of this place. I just came up with it yesterday, so it's still kind of improvised.
Garrett laughed.
It was genuine laughter.
—You're a weird guy, Marcos Vidal.
—I've heard that before.
And so, unexpectedly, Marcos Vidal Santacruz got his first ten employees.
They weren't loyal yet. They didn't fully trust him. But they were here.
And that was a start.
[END OF CHAPTER 5]