"Chopper! Chopper! He’s done it, ladies and gentlemen! God-tier control! He split his army into three simultaneous flanks, turning a devastating disadvantage into a complete siege of the South Korean team's main base! This is legendary micro-management!"
The shoutcaster's voice pierced through the soundproof headphones, echoing across the stadium under the glare of spotlights and the deafening roars of tens of thousands of fans. The stage floor vibrated with the rhythmic stomping of the frenzied crowd.
That was the final memory of the 31-year-old RTS (Real-Time Strategy) World Champion, who had just poured a grueling 12 hours straight into the fierce grand finals.
Chopper's fingers danced across the keyboard and mouse at a speed surpassing human limits. The click-clack-click rattled like a machine gun. He hadn't blinked in over three minutes. His APM (Actions Per Minute) monitor broke past 600 as he commanded thousands of units, dodged skills, repaired bases, and struck enemy weak points in split seconds.
'Just a little more... just destroy that core, and it’s all over,' Chopper thought, his jaw clenched so tight he could taste blood in his mouth.
But the exact second the golden word [VICTORY] flashed across the screen, his heart gave a violent, terrifying lurch.
It wasn't excitement. It was a razor-sharp agony, like an invisible knife plunging straight through his chest. The pain surged, spreading to the tips of his numb fingers and toes. Lloyd tried to open his mouth to gasp for air, but his lungs refused to work.
As his body tumbled from the gaming chair and hit the floor, he couldn't see the championship trophy being wheeled out. He couldn't hear the panicked cries of his teammates. There was only a soul-crushing loneliness...
'Funny...' his final thought surfaced through the fading consciousness. 'I dedicated my whole life, won everything on the board... but in real life, there's no one waiting for me at home.'
Darkness swallowed everything, drowning out the faint wail of ambulance sirens in the distance. Until a new wave of torment—the sensation of drowning—shocked him awake.
"Cough! Cough! Ugh!"
The young man's eyes snapped open as he spat out thick saliva, greedily gasping for air. He bolted upright in bed, panic-stricken. His hands instinctively scrambled for a keyboard, but all they met was a coarse, musty wool blanket.
The sight before him wasn't the stadium's infirmary or a luxury hotel suite. It was a dilapidated stone bedroom. The walls were cracked, moss clung to the corners, and a single flickering candle provided the only light.
"Where... the hell is this?" Chopper muttered, his voice as parched as a man who hadn't drank water in days.
Suddenly, a splitting headache pierced his skull. Countless bizarre memories flooded his mind like a broken dam—images of an unfamiliar world, magic, monsters, and the life of another young man.
Lloyd Weston... 17 years old... Baron rank... a bottom-tier bloodline of the Weston House of the Veltine Empire...
He raised his hands. The fingers that were once thick and calloused from gripping a mouse for over a decade were now slender, pale as paper, and trembling uncontrollably. On his left middle finger sat a tarnished silver ring, engraved with the family crest of a withered tree.
'Did I... get reincarnated? Transmigrated into someone else's body?' Chopper closed his eyes, trying to piece the puzzle together.
The body he now inhabited belonged to the ruling Lord of 'Verdant Territory,' the most desolate and impoverished borderland in the empire. The original owner had just perished last night from a chronic illness, compounded by severe malnutrition that sent his body into shock.
Yes... a malnourished noble. It sounded like a sick joke, but it was the harsh reality of this world. A world where 'Mana' was the foundation of everything. For a body born with crippled mana circuits like the original Lloyd, no amount of fine food could allow him to absorb enough life force.
The young man took a deep breath. The damp stench of mold and dust triggered another coughing fit. He forced himself off the hard wooden bed, both legs quivering as if they might snap at any moment, and made his way to the old door. He pushed it open with all his might, stepping out onto the second-floor balcony of the manor... which looked more like an abandoned shrine than a noble's estate.
The biting morning wind hit his face. The scene that met his eyes was 'Verdant Village'—barely twenty dilapidated wooden huts with rotting roofs. A few villagers, so emaciated their ribs showed, were walking with their heads down, using dull hoes to dig into the cracked, barren agricultural plots.
No laughter. No smiles. Only an atmosphere of despair lingering in the air.
"Are you awake, My Lord?"
A raspy voice sounded from a dark corner of the balcony. Lloyd jumped slightly before turning to see an old woman with stark white hair, wearing a drab, heavily patched cloak. She leaned heavily on an old oak cane. Both her eyes were clouded and completely blind, yet she turned her face toward him with uncanny accuracy, as if she could see.
"Elder Aura...?" Lloyd uttered her name instinctively from the original body's memories. She was a former priestess of the Forest God Cult, revered by the villagers, and the only person who had cared for this body since he was exiled here.
"Your fever spiked so high last night, I thought your soul had returned to the embrace of the Forest God," the old woman smiled faintly, the crow's feet on her face deepening. "But this morning... your breath has changed."
"Changed how?" Lloyd asked, trying to steady his voice to hide his panic.
"It is firmer... like a great tree taking deep root in solid rock." She took a slow step toward him. "But at the same time, it still harbors a profound loneliness. I can sense the confusion within you."
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Lloyd was stunned into silence. He didn't know how magic worked in this world, but this blind old woman had peered straight into the mental state of a newly deceased champion.
"I just... had a bit of a nightmare," Lloyd brushed it off. "Where is everyone else? Why are there so few people in the fields?"
Elder Aura let out a long sigh. "Our provisions are running dangerously low, My Lord. Most of the villagers lack the strength to even get out of bed. Some of the able-bodied men fled into the forest last week. They said they'd rather risk death by monsters than wait to starve in this cursed village."
Before the conversation could finish, the sound of horse hooves and wooden wagon wheels crushing gravel interrupted them from the courtyard below.
Lloyd whipped his head around. A stout, middle-aged man in a fine cloak—starkly contrasting with the village's condition—was frantically ordering his subordinates to toss luggage trunks and sacks of barley onto a wagon. He looked frantic, like a criminal making a getaway.
That was 'Boris,' the former bailiff sent by the capital to oversee extortion here, long before Lloyd was kicked over to be a puppet lord.
"Boris!" Lloyd shouted fiercely. The leadership and tactical instincts that had commanded dozens of teammates in his past life flared up. He hobbled down the wooden stairs rapidly, ignoring the pain in his legs. "What the hell are you doing!?"
The stout man jumped out of his skin, dropping a scroll to the ground. He turned to stare at the young lord in absolute shock, as if he'd seen a ghost. His once-arrogant face drained of color.
"L-Lord Lloyd! You... you aren't dead!?" Boris's eyes widened before he hastily forced a cover-up smile. "Uh... I mean, I am overjoyed that the gods still protect you! I saw you unconscious since yesterday and thought..."
"I asked where you are taking those things," Lloyd closed the distance, his eyes locked onto the provision sacks. "Isn't that the village's communal barley supply?"
Boris gulped. But seeing the emaciated, defenseless state of the young lord, he drew a breath of courage, his expression shifting to a mix of tension and irritation.
"I must go, My Lord. I can no longer stay here!" Boris pointed around the village. "Do you see this place? It's a blatant graveyard! In less than two months, the Veltine Empire's annual tax collectors will arrive!"
"So what? You're the bailiff, isn't it your job to manage it?" Lloyd crossed his arms.
"Manage? Manage my ass!" Boris raised his voice, momentarily forgetting class etiquette. "This year's tax quota is one thousand sacks of wheat and five hundred iron ingots! Look around! You can't find a single lump of iron in this godforsaken dirt, food won't grow, and the entire territory's population is down to less than forty! If we don't pay in full, the Empire's Shadow Unit will sever my head and mount it on a pike!"
"So you're going to steal the villagers' absolute last bit of food for your own travel rations to save your own skin, is that it?" Lloyd narrowed his eyes, his tone ice-cold.
"I am not stealing!" Boris argued back, his face flushing red. "This is the wage I am owed! I've endured eating dust and sand here for two years. I have a wife and children in the capital to feed. I cannot throw my life away in a wasteland that even God has turned His back on!"
Silence fell over the courtyard. A few villagers peeking from behind trees lowered their heads to hide their tears. They knew Boris was telling the truth. The Empire never showed mercy to a failing city.
Lloyd remained silent, rapidly processing the data in his head. As a pro-player who had analyzed thousands of scenarios, he understood Boris's logic. This world wasn't driven by romanticized loyalty like in a novel, but by stomachs and survival. Keeping Boris around would be like keeping a ticking time bomb in the base.
The young man let out a long sigh before waving his hand dismissively. "Go. If you want to leave, get the hell out."
Boris froze, dumbfounded. "M-My Lord, you aren't stopping me? You aren't ordering the villagers to seize me for treason?"
"In this state, where would the villagers get the strength to seize you?" Lloyd smirked pitifully. "Besides, keeping someone in the camp who's lost their nerve is just a waste of space. Get out of here before I change my mind. And remember... the moment you step out of Verdant territory, we owe each other nothing."
Boris didn't wait for the young lord to repeat himself. He bowed so hastily his head nearly touched the ground, leaped onto the wagon, and whipped the reins, galloping south into a cloud of dust. He left Lloyd standing alone, facing the absolute void of a village that could only be described as 'completely ruined.'
"Alright then... time to start a new game," Lloyd muttered to himself, raising a hand to his throbbing temples. "Zero resources, a dying population, no military. This isn't just Very Hard mode. Can I just press quit right now?"
Ding!
A crisp sound, like a computer notification, rang in Lloyd's head. Suddenly, a semi-transparent blue light window popped up, floating right in front of him. The former World Champion jumped so hard he nearly landed in the dirt.
[RTS Master System has detected a compatible host soul.]
[Status: Absolute Authority Confirmed — Lord Lloyd Weston]
[Downloading Territory Data... 10%... 50%... 100%]
"Whoa... what the hell is this?" Lloyd's eyes widened. The pain and despair from moments ago were instantly replaced by adrenaline. The gamer blood in his veins began to pump furiously.
A second later, the blue window expanded, transforming into an ultra-futuristic interface overlaid on his vision. It was a HUD (Heads-Up Display) he knew better than the back of his own hand!
In the top right corner appeared a circular [Mini-Map] displaying the entirety of the Verdant territory. Tiny green dots were scattered around the manor and courtyard, indicating the remaining population. The dense outer forest was shrouded in pitch-black [Fog of War] , obscuring everything from sight.
In the bottom left, a data tab popped up in an organized list:
[Basic Verdant Territory Data]
Population: 34/50
Wood Resource: 12 Units
Stone Resource: 0 Units
Food Resource: 5 Days
Remaining Personal Mana: 15/100 (Warning: If it drops below 20%, the body enters a state of severe weakness)
Lloyd scanned the gray icons on the right side. It was a [Tech Tree] , almost entirely locked. The unlock conditions for each tier were clearly stated and brutally demanding.
For example:
Basic Irrigation System: Requires 500 Population + 200 Wood
Militia Barracks: Requires 150 Stone + 50 Iron
"This is... the interface of the base-building game I'm best at."
A faint smile graced the former world champion's lips. The headache vanished without a trace. Seeing the whole world translated into numbers, resources, and maps made his previous survival anxiety melt away. This deeply familiar challenge was awakening his dormant micro-management instincts.
'With this system, even if it's a fallen territory, I can forge it into a mighty empire,' Lloyd thought, lightly twitching his fingers to test navigating the system windows.
However... when he looked past the glowing blue window to the courtyard below, his smile slowly faded.
Elder Aura was patting the head of a little girl, comforting her as she cried from hunger. An old man was coughing up blood near a patch of dry grass. A widow was scraping tree bark to boil into a meager soup just to survive.
No... this wasn't a game.
The green dots on the [Mini-Map] weren't just pixels or computer code designed for his entertainment. They had flesh and blood. They had hunger, families, and pain.
If he issued the wrong command, these units couldn't just hit a 'Respawn' button. The cost of his decisions in this world... was the 'lives' of real people.
"Okay, get a grip, Lloyd," the young man took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "We only have 5 days of food left. We need to start by repairing the storage depot, then send people to chop wood at the forest's edge. But with the villagers' current physical condition... forcing them into heavy labor might kill them."
(End of Chapter 1)