Lyra stared at Arthur, her mind spinning in complete disbelief. The harsh, arrogant glint that had defined his eyes for years was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, dark pool of quiet authority and razor-sharp intellect. As his warm fingers gently lifted her chin, a sudden flutter rushed through her chest. It was a sensation so sharp and foreign it made her cheeks burn red beneath the dirt.
Who is he right now? she thought, her breath hitching as she looked into his face. He’s always been cruel and loud... but right now, he feels like a king standing in a pile of trash.
Arthur stood up smoothly, dusting the dried mud from his tunic. His mind was already whirring, discarding the emotional turmoil of his past life and breaking down his new reality into strategic variables.
A female-dominated world with an imbalanced gender ratio, Arthur analyzed silently, pacing the small dirt floor of the shack. Scarcity creates artificial value. Men here are treated like pampered, arrogant cattle or tools for status. That means the entire geopolitical and economic structure is completely lopsided. If I play this right, I can exploit every single market inefficiency in this world.
Lyra watched him pace. She couldn’t take her eyes off his posture—shoulders back, spine straight, moving with a calm, deliberate rhythm that belonged in a grand palace, not an abandoned shed. In her memory, the Arthur of yesterday would have stumbled out drunk, barked orders at her to fetch water, or spent hours cursing the world. Today, he looked like a strategist mapping out a war.
He really changed... she thought, clutching her trembling hands over her chest as her heart beat out of time. Is it really possible? Did the fall bring back the kind boy I used to know? No... he feels even grander than that.
Arthur stopped pacing and turned to face her, his eyes locking onto hers with intense focus. "Lyra. I need information. Treat me as someone who knows nothing about how this world operates."
She blinked, startled, and quickly sat up straighter. "A-Anything... ask me anything."
"First, magic," Arthur said, leaning against a wooden beam. "How does it function? Is it innate, or does it require external media?"
"It... it depends," Lyra stammered, intimidated by his rapid-fire questioning yet eager to help. "Everyone has a mana core near their heart, but most slum-dwellers have weak cores. High-born ladies and wealthy adventurers pay thousands of gold coins for magic swords, enchanted armors, and spell scrolls made by Dwarf blacksmiths. The Dwarves hold the monopoly on magic weapons, and the Elves control high-tier potion brewing."
"Dwarves and Elves exist..." Arthur muttered under his breath, taking a mental note. A multi-species economy with monopolized production lines. Classic supply-chain control.
"What about monsters?" Arthur continued. "And what holds the highest value in this region?"
"Monsters roam outside the city walls," Lyra explained, gathering her thoughts. "Slimes, goblins, and dire-wolves are common, but high-tier monsters like Wyverns carry mana cores. Mana cores are the most precious thing in the world, Arthur. They power everything—floating carriages, city barrier wards, heating systems, and forge fires. The Adventurer Guild pays fortunes for pure-grade mana cores. But... only high-ranking combatants can get them, so the nobility hoards almost all of it."
Arthur’s eyes narrowed as a brilliant, complex web of economic strategies formed in his head. Energy control. Mana cores are the equivalent of crude oil and electricity back home. Whosoever controls energy production controls the world. A distorted gender ratio, a monopolized craft industry, and an energy-dependent society... this world is begging for an industrial revolution.
"Tell me about our current situation," Arthur said, looking down at the ragged blanket she slept on. "Where do we actually live? Is this shack our only home?"
Lyra flushed, looking down at her bare feet. "N-No... this is just where you fell asleep last night after coming back from the district. We... we have a small room further down the alley. It’s barely anything, just four stone walls and a broken door, but it keeps the rain out."
Arthur extended a hand toward her. The gesture was simple, but filled with an unwavering assurance that made Lyra’s heart leap into her throat.
"Lead the way," Arthur said softly. "Pack anything of value you have here, though I doubt there’s much. From this moment on, Lyra, you are coming with me. We are going to pack up our things, leave this slum, and rewrite the rules of this world."
Lyra looked at his open palm, her eyes shimmering with fresh tears—not of fear, but of an overwhelming, blossoming hope. She reached out and placed her small, dirty hand into his.
"I’ll go anywhere with you, Arthur," she whispered.
Lyra clutched the frayed hem of her tunic, her boots making soft, nervous thuds against the cobblestones as she hurried behind Arthur. She was a tamed, skittish thing—years of survival in the slums under his former abuse had trained her to flinch at every sudden movement. Yet, as she watched his posture, her fear began to melt into an overwhelming, breathless awe. He didn’t walk with the slouch of a bitter drunk anymore; he moved with the steady, imposing grace of an absolute ruler.
They reached the end of a claustrophobic alleyway, stopping before a heavy, rot-strewn oak door. Lyra pushed it open, revealing a cramped stone room devoid of warmth. A solitary straw mattress lay in the corner alongside a cracked washbasin, cheap ale jugs, and discarded rags.
Arthur stepped into the room, his sharp eyes instantly scanning every inch of the architecture. "A man who spends his nights at the pleasure district earning coin doesn’t leave everything at the bar," Arthur murmured to himself, his voice cool and calculating.
Having manipulated human behavior and corporate espionage for decades, Arthur understood the mindset of a low-life scum perfectly. A paranoid, arrogant young man living in a hostile slum would never trust a bank or a companion with his hoard. He would keep his emergency reserve hidden close, buried where no one thought to look.
Arthur walked directly past the mattress and knelt by the damp stone hearth. He pressed against the mortar work, testing the resistance of each brick until one gave way with a soft scrape. Sliding the loose stone free, he pulled out a heavy, oil-wrapped leather pouch.
Inside, dozens of heavy coins gleamed in the dim light.
"Lyra," Arthur commanded gently, holding up two different coins. "Explain the currency system. Denominations, purchasing power, exchange rates."
Lyra blinked, startled by his methodical approach, but answered quickly. "T-Ten copper coins equal one silver piece, and fifty silver pieces make a single gold crest. What you hold there... that’s almost fifteen silver pieces and fifty coppers! It’s... it’s a small fortune in the lower ring! You could buy meat for months!"
"Capital," Arthur corrected with a cold smirk. "Not food. Investment."
He tied the pouch tightly to his waist, swept his eyes across the dismal room one last time, and turned back to the door. "We’re leaving this place for good. Follow me closely, Lyra."
As they stepped back onto the dirt path, Arthur glanced down at her. "Tell me about magic manipulation. Even if you aren’t a high-born mage, you know the basic theory of mana circulation, don’t you?"
"I... I do," Lyra whispered, blushing as she walked alongside him. "When we were children, I found an old, tattered primer thrown out by a minor noble family. I don’t have enough mana to cast real spells—my core is too small—but I learned how to feel the ambient energy in the air and draw it into the chest."
"Teach me," Arthur said simply. "Guide me through the fundamental exercise right now as we walk."
Lyra swallowed hard, nervous to act as his teacher, but began explaining the basic steps. "You... you have to close your eyes momentarily and imagine a clear reservoir at your sternum. Then, you pull the breath deep into your diaphragm, imagine pulling the invisible threads of light from the air around you, and squeeze them into your heart core..."
Arthur listened attentively, applying his absolute mental discipline to her words. As a child back on Earth, he had devoured countless fantasy novels detailing magic systems, and as a modern genius, he understood energy transformation better than anyone. He knew the tropes of his situation—an overpowered mana capacity was practically guaranteed for a reincarnated soul.
He took a deep breath, following her directions precisely.
Pull the ambient thermal and kinetic variance... condense it at the center, Arthur visualized.
BOOM.
An abrupt, invisible pressure erupted from Arthur’s chest. The air around them grew heavy, making the dust on the ground swirl in perfect, concentric circles around his boots. A soft, brilliant blue aura flickered around his body, radiating a faint crackle of atmospheric static.
Lyra gasped, stumbling back into a brick wall, her violet eyes wide with absolute horror and admiration. "T-That’s impossible! That... that amount of mana pressure... it’s larger than a Guild Master’s! How can a slum-born male possess a core that vast?!"
Arthur relaxed his breath, letting the blue glow dissipate into the air. A dry, knowing smirk touched his lips. Classic reincarnation gift, he thought amusedly. Immense raw output, zero refinement.
"A vast reserve is useless without precision and technical knowledge," Arthur remarked smoothly, turning to Lyra whose heart was beating so hard she could hear it in her ears. "This basic theory isn’t enough. I need a proper spell tome—a grimoire."
"A-A real grimoire?" Lyra stammered, her chest heaving as she tried to regain her composure. "Arthur, legitimate magic academies and guild markets strictly regulate grimoires! They cost hundreds of gold pieces, and low-born males are banned from buying them!"
Arthur’s eyes glinted with a sharp, dangerous light. "Then we don’t buy from the legal markets. Where is the undercity? Take me to the black market, the dark magic stores, or the gray-tier pawn shops. Lead the way, Lyra."