In a small makeshift tent nestled in the forest, sunlight pierces through the layers of bamboo leaves, glimmering on the thin strands of bamboo that Zihao meticulously processes. He is in the stage of flattening the freshly pounded bamboo pulp, his hands soaked with water, moving with the rhythm of a skilled artisan. Every motion reflects patience and a deep reverence for the sheets of paper soon to be born.
Yet, in the midst of focus, a sudden thought flashes through his mind."…We're growing too fast." Zihao whispers. "We need… rules."
No group can remain effective without at least a basic set of regulations. Though The Strays are still bound by trust and friendship, their activities are starting to go far beyond spontaneous actions.
Without much hesitation, Zihao calls out:— "Joon-soo! Where are you?!"
From the other side of the camp, Joon-soo pokes his head out, still chewing noisily on a rock-hard piece of bread:— "What's up? Is there an intruder?"— "No. I need you to write up a set of rules for the group. Let's call it the Rules of The Strays."— "RULES?" Joon-soo lights up with excitement. "That sounds like founding a whole nation!"
Zihao doesn't object—he only nods slightly and returns to pressing the bamboo pulp. With every press comes a new thought: "Rules are needed to bind actions. Principles to prevent chaos."
A short while later—really not long—Joon-soo returns, holding up a sheet of parchment carefully inscribed in black ink.— "Presenting, sir!" he declares, standing tall, arm raised, like a solemn soldier in camp.
Zihao looks up, frowning slightly but taking the paper.He reads the first four lines aloud:
1. All men are created equal.2. They are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights.3. Among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.4. Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.
Zihao remains silent for three seconds. Then he says:— "This is the U.S. Constitution."— "Exactly." Joon-soo shows no hint of shame. "It just felt… right. I thought: we're kind of like pre-independence America. We're fighting an oppressive system, we believe in human rights, we've got ideals… it's all the same."
Zihao grimaces.— "We're just a group of strays, not a country. And no one here gets to cosplay President George Washington."
Joon-soo bursts out laughing, but Zihao remains pensive.
After a moment, he speaks softly:— "…Actually… it can work as a foundation. But it needs to be adjusted. And don't go plastering this stuff on walls like it's some revolutionary manifesto. I want you to copy it into books—one for each member."
Joon-soo instantly stands straight and salutes in an exaggerated military fashion, hand to forehead:— "YES, SIR! HAND-COPIED VERSIONS WILL BE READY IN 24 HOURS!"— "No need to be so dramatic…" Zihao shakes his head with a faint smile. "…And make sure it doesn't leak. If Mikhland finds out we've got a 'constitution,' none of us will sleep easy."— "Got it! No printer, no trustworthy scribes—so I'll copy them all myself!" And with that, Joon-soo sprints off, muttering to himself: "Ten copies… pen, where's the pen…"
Zihao lets out a soft sigh, then turns back to the paper press. He dips the bamboo sieve into the water basin, carefully lifting it out, letting the pulp settle into thin sheets.
A gentle breeze passes through. The scent of bamboo, paper, and ink blends in the air.— "The first laws, written on bamboo paper…" Zihao murmurs, smiling as he continues working.
Not even ten minutes later, just as Zihao finishes hanging the second batch of paper, Joon-soo returns, arms full of neatly wrapped parchment in oiled cloth.— "Done!" he shouts proudly, holding the bundle high like a war trophy.
Zihao frowns, tilting his head skeptically.— "That fast? There's no way you copied that by hand."
Joon-soo shrugs, making a face like his honor has just been insulted:— "I enchanted my knife, carved the text into a wooden board, then poured ink on it and pressed paper over it. Classic manual printing! Fast, efficient, and no sore wrists."
Zihao nods slowly, saying nothing more. He takes one copy, eyes scanning each line. His brow furrows at some flowery phrasing, but finds no critical mistakes.
After finishing reading, Zihao lifts his head, his voice calm:"All good. Keep going."
Joon-soo gives another salute—this time even more formal than before:"YES, SIR!"
"Wait." Zihao calls out just as Joon-soo turns away.
"What now?"
"Do we need to translate this into another language? The beastfolk kids might not…"
Zihao waves his hand and shakes his head:"No need. Everyone understands Empiralect. It's the slaver language Mikhland enchanted into slaves like us. Translating it would just waste ink, paper, and energy."
Joon-soo nods enthusiastically:"True that."
Once again—and of course—he stands at attention and shouts:"UNDERSTOOD, SIR!"
Zihao simply sighs, turning back to the drying sheets of paper, too tired to comment further.
Joon-soo stuffs the papers into a leather satchel like an adventurer's, slings it across his back, and dashes off like the wind. He darts through the forest, trampling valuable herbs without mercy—from violet spirit orchids to soul-recall grass—making the entire forest seem to tremble in protest.
A deep roar rumbles from behind a bush."STOP RIGHT THERE!"
From the ground, a towering wooden figure rises, moss covering its shoulders, and pale green eyes glowing—it's an ancient Ent that has existed for centuries.
Whoosh!A branch lashes out like a whip, striking Joon-soo on the shoulder and flinging him off course, face-first into the root of a nearby tree.
"AAHH!!" he yells. "These trees ever heard of going easy?!"
The Ent glares:"You've just crushed over seven species of rare medicinal plants, three small beehives, and a patch of ancient bio-mushrooms! Do you even realize what you've done?!"
Joon-soo grumbles as he rubs his forehead:"Don't you have plant-healing magic or something? Your trees'll regrow the whole patch in five minutes!"
The Ent roars in fury:"Having healing magic doesn't mean you get to destroy things! Environmental protection is a responsibility—not a game!"
It raises another branch, ready to deliver another "lesson in environmentalism."
But this time, Joon-soo springs up just in time, shouting:"You're turning this into a lecture now, old man!"
He leaps onto the Ent, using his armor's boost to scurry up its shoulder like a fire ferret, then springs off to the higher branches.
"I've got a mission to finish!" he yells as he parkours through the trees, swift as the wind.
The Ent can only roar in frustration from below:"NEXT TIME I'LL CALL THE HOLY TREE TO MAKE YOU REPLANT FORESTS FOR A MONTH!"
Joon-soo laughs as he runs:"I'm not that free to become your environmental volunteer!"
His laughter and the rustle of leaves fade into the wind, leaving only the grumpy Ent staring at the wrecked forest floor.
After escaping the Ent's wrath, Joon-soo continues his mission to distribute the Rules of The Strays. This time, he races straight toward the herbal research site on the southern edge of the forest—where Hai is seated, transcribing chemical formulas onto paper, surrounded by mountains of dried leaves, roots, and pages filled with squiggly lines like crawling worms.
Hai, Aldo's close friend from Earth, now has skin faintly glowing with an acid sheen, sea-green hair, and pale green eyes that shimmer under dappled sunlight. He wears glasses and sits cross-legged in the herb patch, scribbling while mumbling to himself.
Joon-soo rushes in, pulls out a copy of Rules of The Strays from his leather pouch, and hands it over:"Hey Hai! The Guild Rules! Take it!"
Hai looks up with a cheerful face, half teasing, half serious:"Oh? What law is it this time? Don't tell me it's the law of conservation of energy?"
He takes the document and flips through a few pages before frowning."Why does my copy have a bunch of chemical symbols at the end? And even an atomic diagram?"
Joon-soo shrugs, puffing his chest with pride:"I customized each one. Gotta match the vibe. See? Pretty special, huh?"
Hai's eyes light up and he nods:"Wow, that's actually touching. Personalized copies? Thanks, man!"
Joon-soo notices beside Hai a bamboo scroll made by Zihao, full of twisting lines like hieroglyphs, clipped with leaf samples, tree bark, and even a root dripping pale yellow fluid. He curiously grabs the scroll:"What's this? Looks like a goblin cult cipher."
"That's organic chemistry, man. This is the molecular formula of Thalorinic Acid – extracted from the bark root of the siroxan tree."Then he launches into an explanation:"Its formula is C₁₁H₁₄O₄. It has a triangular open-space structure, with the hydroxyl group misaligned with the methyl group, creating a dual inductive effect. In ancient Mikhland medicine, this substance is used to reduce intracranial pressure in parasitic-type monsters when mixed with distilled bitter fruit juice in a 3:2 ratio…"
Joon-soo just stands there, mouth slightly open, eyes glazed over like he's about to faint from the overload of information. He shakes his head:"Seriously, how does an adventurer mixing medicine like that expect anyone to believe him?"
Hai casually smiles, crushing a handful of leaves as he speaks:"I take on the low-tier guild missions nearby. Stuff like 'collect 5 medicinal herbs,' 'gather slime mucus samples,' 'grill a cold-region specialty fish' – quick jobs, good money, low risk."
Joon-soo snorts:"That kind of work gets you openly looked down on by other adventurers.""Yeah, let them look down on me all they want, the money still flows into my pocket just fine. Plus, low-level monsters are drying up, so I'm shifting to potion-making. I'm working on an Acid-based antidote using mirayen tree sap mixed with neutralized slime mucus. The reaction happens at 36°C over four hours, then I add salt…"
"The only word I understood was 'salt.'" – Joon-soo cuts in, raising his hands to his head in mock surrender, then turns away, his face full of fatigue."You go on and keep researching. I've got books to hand out…"
Hai just chuckles, shakes his head, then leans back down to finish pounding the root in his stone mortar.
Just then, the ground trembles slightly.THUD... THUD... THUD...Hai looks up.
In the distance, the giant Ent from earlier is roaring and stomping through the forest like a rampaging bull:"YOU DISRESPECTFUL BRAT! STAND STILL!"
Each step it takes shakes the earth. Birds scatter into the sky, and a group of squirrels flees chaotically from a tree.Hai raises an eyebrow, watching in the direction the Ent is chasing…"Again... What dumb thing is he messing with now?"
He sighs, pushes his glasses back up, and calmly goes back to grinding the root like monster chases are just part of a normal day.
Joon-soo doesn't head straight for his bread and coffee shop. Instead, he bolts across town to the eastern district of Tarif City, where Ky usually works. The city is known for its bustling trade scene and especially for the vibrant market district where Joon-soo's bakery is located, but today he's got a different destination in mind.
Ky, an old friend of Aldo and Veritas, is currently standing in a small street corner, the wall behind him decorated with colorful murals. A bunch of kids gathers around him, all busy drawing. The vibe feels like an impromptu art class. Ky guides them on how to mix colors, basic brush strokes, and all the while speaks with the tone of a real teacher.
Suddenly, Joon-soo rushes up from behind, holding a copy of Rules of The Strays and shoves it into Ky's hands without warning. This isn't just a regular book; this version is extra colorful, with the first few pages designed specifically for Ky, including paint-mixing guides and a few brushes attached to the spine. The whole setup catches Ky completely off guard.
"Here, it's for you," — Joon-soo grins mischievously. "See, everyone? It's a rulebook, but it's got art tools too. You can draw while arguing about laws at the same time."
Ky, still a bit dazed, flips through the pages."Wow, what's with the creativity? You planning to sell a painting-law textbook now?"
Joon-soo just scoffs, then follows up:"So, why'd you stop here instead of moving on as an adventurer? Don't tell me you're doing what Hai's doing – making cash with random side quests?"
Ky shrugs, unable to hide his cheerful smile:"Not really. I'm a real adventurer, for real. I hunt mid-level monsters, stuff like Hyrling Stone Golems, Giant Vine Serpents, Iron-Rider Trolls. That vine serpent – I once took out a whole pack on my own."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few shimmering items: a strangely textured scale from the serpent, a gleaming gem, and a razor-sharp fang from a troll-type monster."Look at these. Got them from those beasts. Not bad, huh?"
Joon-soo observes for a moment, then furrows his brow while Ky continues:
"But things are a bit tense now. That REGULATION protecting the ecosystem is making it difficult. With all these monster hunting restrictions, we can't earn much."
Joon-soo, confused, looks up:
"REGULATION… protecting the ecosystem? What ecosystem? Isn't this a fantasy world?"
Ky sighs and whispers, glancing around as if to ensure no one is listening:
"Well, Terre and Mikhland aren't exactly your typical fantasy worlds, you know? Haven't you noticed? Everything has 'rules'. Even 'life' itself is regulated by those environmental protection managers."
Joon-soo chuckles, raising an eyebrow as he responds:
"Ha, sounds like a real Green Tyranny. Always acting like they're protecting nature, never letting anyone live in peace. Adventurers are constantly working while the 'eco-people' act like they're saving the entire world."
He scans the area briefly before continuing:
"Anyway, do I need to find Quang Minh and Neva?"
Ky nods while keeping his eyes on the kids drawing nearby:
"Yeah, they're doing some 'accidental accounting' and 'logistics and supply chain' stuff for the team. You know how it is."
Without hesitation, Joon-soo hands Ky two books titled Rules of The Strays, this time the "mathematical" edition filled with charts and detailed formulas:
"Help me deliver these to Quang Minh and Neva, please."
Ky stares at the books, sighs, then shakes his head:
"You're giving me everything now? I'm not even the accountant. Why am I the one handing these out?"
Joon-soo pouts, turns away, and mutters:
"Just dumping everything on you. Saves me the trouble."
Ky can only shake his head and let out a resigned chuckle, too late to protest.
Joon-soo leaves the area and heads into the bustling center of Tarif, surrounded by noisy streets, shops, and wares. The city spans 7,849 km², but for someone who enjoys running like Joon-soo, nothing feels too far.
While Joon-soo disappears into the city, back in the forest, an Ent continues silently watching him. But now that Joon-soo is deep in the city, the Ent can no longer reach him directly. It huffs in frustration—only to be suddenly bombarded by fireballs from city guards stationed at various military posts. Snarling under the intense attack, the Ent is forced to stop.
Joon-soo enters an old inn room where Quang Minh is sitting at a wooden table, surrounded by scattered papers and mathematical formulas. The room is silent, except for Quang Minh rapping out calculations like a radio host.
"When we calculate the mean, divide the sum by the sample size… We get the variance, then the standard deviation… Take a sip... oops, burned way too much money!"
Joon-soo watches in disbelief as Quang Minh raps complex statistical formulas, including medians and quartiles, to analyze the revenue and profit data from Aldo's enzyme manufacturing company. The more Quang Minh talks, the more Joon-soo's head feels like it's about to explode from not being able to keep up.
"When we calculate the median, break the group into quartiles, don't forget the sample… Aldo's revenue needs precision. Remember, his profit margin is razor thin, just a few silver coins, but still…!"
Joon-soo can't take it anymore—he snatches the pen from Quang Minh's hand and scribbles a few lines into the report:
"Aldo, you're a genius with this pricing strategy. No one dares touch the enzyme market now."
Quang Minh is surprised at Joon-soo's sudden action but says nothing. He simply watches as Joon-soo hurriedly runs out. Before he leaves, Joon-soo hands over Rules of The Strays, which Quang Minh flips through—only to find pages full of advanced mathematical formulas. Shaking his head, Quang Minh resumes rapping his numbers.
Joon-soo doesn't stop. He rushes to the next inn room where Neva is working. With her long black hair and gentle blue eyes, she stands beside a table, grinding gemstones into powder for Zihao's line of bio-detergent products.
Without pausing for breath, Joon-soo thrusts the book in front of her:
"Here, take this," he says quickly, then dashes off again.
Neva barely has time to react, only able to watch as Joon-soo disappears.
In the heart of the city, Joon-soo realizes he still hasn't finished his task. Standing in the grand plaza of Tarif, he suddenly remembers the rest of the group: Aldo, Shinji, Zihao... and all the friends he's left behind.
Rushing through the crowded streets, he accidentally knocks a passerby's hat to the ground—without even realizing he isn't wearing a hat himself. His confusion only lasts a moment before a group of nearby guards notices the odd behavior and intervenes.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" one of the guards demands sternly.
Joon-soo scowls, about to speak, when another guard steps in:
"You'll have to pay a fine. Forty silver coins!"
Joon-soo stares at them, stunned, then reluctantly nods and hands over the money. Afterward, he quickly slips back into the nearby forest.
Inside the woods, he stops to catch his breath, wondering if he's really finished the mission. But when he looks back, he realizes the Ent that had been following him is no longer there—thanks to the earlier barrage of fireballs from the city guards. Breathing a sigh of relief, he prepares to move forward when he suddenly notices a patch of rare grass he nearly stepped on.
"Phew, that was close… If I'd stepped on that, who knows what kind of fine I'd be paying now."
He glances around for a moment, then smiles, turning back. This time, he knows he's made it halfway through the journey.
"So damn tiring."
Joon-soo pants as he runs, rummaging through his backpack (still just that same adventurer's bag), and tosses two "default" editions of Rules of The Strays into Zihao's lap, who is sitting and reading beside the tent near the forest's edge. He places one more copy down next to him and mutters:
"One to read, one as a pillow, one just in case we lose one."
Zihao is about to look up and ask something, but Joon-soo already bolts away like the wind, leaving a swirl of dust behind in the golden light of the Tarif forest at dusk.
He dashes through petal-covered trails, gliding beneath the vibrant spring canopies of Terre, until he finally reaches a Japanese-style wooden house. Not a single nail is used in its construction — the entire structure is interlocked using masterful woodworking techniques like a premium Lego set. Surrounding the house are paddies of wet rice nestled among cherry blossom groves and cool, lush fruit plantations. On the wooden shelf by the window sit several neatly trimmed bonsai pots, exuding a calm and composed aura much like the owner of the house.
But the peace doesn't last long.
"UWAAAA!!" — a scream echoes from behind the house.
Joon-soo leaps up a small hill, and the sight before him makes his jaw drop:
Three hulking ogres — their skin a chaotic mix of red and green — are wielding Shaking Things, magical spears that quake the ground with every strike, and giant spear-axes. They're trying to break into Shinji's fields. Shinji, dressed in a weathered Japanese outfit with a katana gleaming like moonlight, holds his defensive stance — but he's clearly outmatched. The ogres seem to have pre-buffed themselves with enhancing spells.
Without hesitation, Joon-soo charges straight to the patch of rare herbs he nearly stepped on that morning, stomps down hard, and shouts:
"I'M BACK, BABY!! STOMPING YOUR PRECIOUS GRASS AGAIN!!"
BOOM.The earth quakes. A furious roar echoes from the depths of the forest — the Ent reappears, towering as tall as a three-story house, roots slicing through the air like swords, leaves falling like rain. The moment it sees the ogres rampaging near the treasured herbs, it doesn't hesitate. It swings its branch-like limbs straight at them.
"They're the ones ruining the herbs! I'm just a totally innocent passerby!!" — Joon-soo yells, throwing both hands in the air with the most "I'm harmless, I swear" face he can muster.
Shinji freezes for a split second, surveying the chaotic scene like something out of a Japanese manga turned into a Noh play on crack. Then he smiles.
"Classic Stray Strategy…"
Joon-soo pulls out a copy of Rules of The Strays with a red-and-white Japanese flag cover and cherry blossoms fluttering along its edge.
"For you. Totally your vibe. It even includes some optimal distribution formulas Quang Minh rapped about this morning!"
Shinji takes the book, stares at the cover for a moment, then gives a soft smile. He says nothing — just grabs Joon-soo's wrist and pulls him along.
"Let's go. We need backup from Tarif."
As they walk the stone path toward the city gates, Joon-soo groans:
"I just wanted to go to the red-light district to play chess…"
Shinji raises an eyebrow:
"Chess? In the red-light district?"
Joon-soo sighs:
"Aldo hit me way too hard… Last round, he checkmated me even though I still had my queen and rook. I'm salty… That chess wasn't even humane."
Shinji gives a faint laugh, eyes soft like he's looking at a lost kid wandering Tokyo in 2030. He pats Joon-soo's shoulder and guides him into the Tarif guard outpost by the hand.
"Don't worry. This time, you'll get to play 3D chess…"
Joon-soo's eyes widen:
"3D?"
Shinji nods:
"…With the ogres."
Their footsteps echo down the hallway of the guard post, while Joon-soo can only cry out:
"B-But I just wanted to go back to the red-light district…"
...
...
...
Late last night.The oil lamps hanging from bamboo cages under the arched gate cast shimmering reflections on the polished stone path of the mid-tier residential zone.Aldo, dressed in an outfit as black as the night itself, strides alongside a group of leather-armored guards, responding to a sudden order to inspect an inn suspected of containing the drug known as "white powder from the North."
The room door is kicked open.A strange scent, mixed with sweat and old fabric, rushes out.
"Alright, search quickly! Be careful—they might be carrying poison!"
But as the light spills into the room, everyone halts.
Two naked men are sleeping side by side, wrapped in the same worn-out blanket. One is the middle-aged innkeeper. The other... is the husband of the room's tenant.
Before anyone can say a word, the next room's door swings open with force.
The wife—hair in a twisted sleep scarf, eyes still drowsy—steps out and sees the scene before her. In a split second, her eyes widen as if about to tear her eyelids apart.
"OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!"
Her scream echoes like a thunderclap, as if it rouses the entire city.
"YOU—YOU'RE LYING THERE WITH HIM?! THAT UGLY INNKEEPER GUY? I—I THOUGHT... I THOUGHT...!"She slaps her own chest as though her heart has been thrown into the mud.
"WASN'T IT ME WHO SLEPT WITH THE INNKEEPER JUST SO YOU COULD CRY IN PEACE?! NOW YOU BETRAY ME?!"
The husband remains fast asleep, as if dead.The innkeeper jolts awake, eyes wide, then stammers in panic:
"It's not what you think—I was drunk... I... I got in the wrong bed...!"
"Wrong bed my ass! Wrong gender too, huh?!" she screams, then collapses into a corner, covering her face, sobbing miserably.
The guards step in and tie up both men—one pretending to play dumb, the other still groggy with sleep.
One of the guards whispers to Aldo as they step out of the room:
"...Honestly, I used to think only wives would NTR their husbands with innkeepers, but this... I could've never imagined..."
Aldo's face remains expressionless as usual, but his eye twitches slightly. He turns to the guard:
"The more I explore this world... the more I see things I was never meant to see."
Aldo and the guard walk away from the inn, the sounds of sobbing and the clinking of shackles lingering in the air behind them.
"Sir Aldo," the guard speaks, his voice hoarse but a bit lighter, as if a burden had just been lifted, "I never thought I'd be checking a tenement room with a Landless Noble... Thank you for not laughing back there."
Aldo glances at him. "It's not that I didn't want to. I just feel sorry for the woman."
The guard gives a bitter chuckle. "My name's Darem, third-rank guard of Ecclemiat city. Ten years in the job—thought I picked this path for stability. But... ten years now, and every day I see something more unbelievable than the last."
Aldo stays silent. Darem laughs to himself and continues.
"There was this one noble couple who filed for divorce because their only child... didn't share the genes of either parent. Not cheating—the child was just... not a match with anyone. They called in a mage to investigate—turned out, a spatial rift had swapped out their fetus with another from a different dimension while they slept. They still divorced because... 'they no longer believed in love.'"
Aldo raises an eyebrow slightly. "And the child?"
"Adopted by a bunch of atheist monks. Now it talks to walls and teaches birds to read."
Aldo slowly nods, showing no further reaction. Darem keeps going.
"And this one, classic case—I swear—two gangsters fighting over turf. Everyone thought blood would spill. In the end... both were crippled by an old lady, nearly eighty, wielding just a cane. No magic, no combat skills, just... she said: 'You bastards keep yelling, I can't sleep.'"
Aldo chuckles softly. "Respectable."
"Yeah... and terrifying."
The two near the city gate as dawn breaks. Darem shakes his head again, as if recalling the strangest case of all.
"This one happened just last week. A group of scientists, all in white coats, held a private meeting at a tavern. They claimed they could save Mikhland from deforestation by... collecting money from civilians. They called it 'Carbon Credits,' said it was the 'new morality.' They said, if people pay money to pollute, trees will grow back... because 'belief' makes it happen. They burned a pile of old documents as part of the ritual."
Aldo looks at him, calm eyes steady.
"Did the trees grow back?"
"No. But the money did grow—in their pockets."
A pause.
Aldo gently pushes up his glasses. "I used to think I was a realist... but after hearing your stories, I realize I've been too optimistic."
Darem laughs. "In Mikhland, Sir Aldo, sometimes the crazy ones... are just the last sane people left."
On the way back to the guard post, Darem loosens his helmet a bit, letting the sweat on the back of his neck dry out.
"Ah, Sir Aldo... my dear friend—Basam, a historian in Tarif—recently dug up something interesting in the national archives. It has to do with Hitler."
Aldo remains silent, though his eyes flicker slightly. It's rare for anyone to mention Hitler's name without trembling.
Darem continues, "Here's the story. About seventy years ago—just ten years after he became Führer—Hitler issued a complete ban on child labor in areas under Mikhland's control. Anyone who violated it faced heavy prison sentences, even full confiscation of assets."
Aldo narrows his eyes. "That's... more counterintuitive than I expected."
"There's more," Darem says, chewing on a candy he bought at a local market, then offering one to Aldo. Aldo declines. Darem goes on, "Hitler didn't just ban it. He forced the government to build schools, then... recruited old slave traders to retrain them, teach them jobs like schoolteachers, chemical technicians, PE instructors…"
Aldo raises an eyebrow.
"You mean… former opium growers now teach chemistry?"
"Exactly. Former enforcers teach PE. The old slavers run businesses making ink pens, stone boards, magic books... Basically, the education sector 'reformed' the entire underworld."
Aldo lets out a small smirk. "Creative as hell."
Darem laughs. "Basam once wrote in a report that since then, the literacy rate in Mikhland has risen from 4.2% to the current 68%. Slow but steady. One generation at a time."
Aldo slips his hands into his coat pockets, his eyes drifting up to the pale, starry sky.
"Forced career conversion based on personalized benefits, combined with administrative penalties and labor market restructuring—not bad. He exploited the existing variables: smuggling infrastructure, black market skill sets, social discipline... then swapped them out for legal incentives in a new model. The result is a transformed vocational ecosystem without rebuilding from scratch. Efficient."
Darem nods, not entirely sure he grasps all that, but it sounds impressive.
"Now Mikhland has 128 magical training institutions," Darem continues. "Of those, 80 focus on applying magic to daily life—from agriculture, industry, and healthcare to tech-crafting. Only 48 out of 70 territories are still state-run; the rest have been privatized. If you've got money, you can open an academy."
Aldo sinks into thought again. A cold, sharp internal monologue surfaces in his mind:
"128 training institutions... that means an average of 1.8 per territory, but if only 48 are public, then private regions own at least 80% of all applied magic facilities. Horizontal and vertical competition: both training and production reduce costs, increase efficiency. This is a semi-regulated free market model."
"Privatization creates competitive pressure. The cheaper, faster, and more practical the training, the more students it attracts. That leads to quicker economic recovery, higher labor skill levels, and accelerates the magic-ification of social infrastructure."
"Hitler didn't create education. He created an education market—with legal frameworks, academic demand, and professional supply recycled from the criminal world. Theoretically, it's a form of authoritarian pragmatism—not idealistic, but maximizing social resources at full speed."
Aldo exhales quietly. "Hard to believe... that out of all the politicians in Mikhland, the one who integrated magic into the civilian economy most effectively... was Hitler."
Darem chuckles and pops another candy into his mouth. "That's why I'm just a guard. If I thought like you, I'd probably go insane."
Aldo nods faintly, his gaze distant.
"If I were deprived of the ability to think critically and reflectively, I believe I would gradually descend into a state of psychological and emotional instability."