It was the scent that struck him first—damp linen, burning tallow, and the bitter iron tang of blood. A far cry from the sterile, over-conditioned air of the Tokyo office where Reiji Nakamura had collapsed the night before.
He opened his eyes to a high, cracked ceiling of dark oak beams. The flickering shadows of candlelight danced across a stone wall lined with shelves of thick, leather-bound tomes. Somewhere nearby, a fire crackled weakly. His body felt like lead—every breath a burden, every muscle raw.
'Where… am I?'
A gentle gasp broke the silence.
"You're awake, young master Caelum…" a soft voice whispered.
Reiji turned his head slowly. A girl—fifteen, maybe sixteen—knelt at his bedside, clutching a damp cloth. Her eyes were wide and red from sleepless nights. She wore a coarse wool dress, patched at the elbows and hem.
'Young master? Caelum?'
Then it hit him like a freight train. Memories not his own surged into his mind—half-formed images of a sickly boy, bedridden since childhood. Pale hair, blue eyes, and a name: Caelum Valenhart, second son of House Valenhart, a minor noble family in the backwaters of the Kingdom of Ravaryn.
'I… transmigrated? In a medieval world?'
He stared at his hands. Thin, almost skeletal. His body felt weak, his joints stiff. But his mind—his mind was awake. Lucid. Sharp.
The girl bowed her head. "We feared the fever would take you. The healer left last night, said there was little hope…"
He tried to speak, but his throat burned. "Water."
The girl sprang into action, bringing a chipped clay cup to his lips. He sipped slowly, grateful for the coolness on his tongue.
"Thank you," he rasped.
She blinked, startled. "You… sound different."
Reiji didn't reply. He was already processing. He'd seen enough isekai anime and light novels to recognize the signs. But this wasn't some game-like fantasy world with floating HUDs or stats. No system pinged in his head. No tutorial messages. Just a weak body, a ruined house, and a name with noble blood but no power to speak of.
'Then again… I don't need magic. I need leverage.'
His eyes drifted to the cracked window. Outside, a gray morning mist blanketed the distant hills. Horses neighed in the distance. Somewhere far off, the tolling of a bell echoed—slow, heavy, mournful.
"Someone died," the girl murmured. "A merchant, I think. His cart was attacked near the southern road. The roads have grown dangerous."
A merchant?
Reiji's eyes narrowed.
"How often do merchants come this way?" he asked, voice hoarse.
She hesitated. "Rarely, now. The taxes are too high, and the roads are unsafe. Bandits roam the forests. Most take the eastern routes to avoid this region."
High taxes. Unsafe roads. Trade collapse.
'I see. So this barony is choking itself to death while the lord bleeds dry what little's left.'
And he was the second son of this failing house. Meaning—he had just enough blood to be noticed, but not enough power to change anything. Perfect.
Perfect for someone invisible to the court.
Perfect for someone like him.
...
Later that Evening
The manor was crumbling.
Reiji—now Caelum—was helped to the balcony by the girl, whose name he finally learned: Mira, a servant who had served him since infancy. She was more loyal than expected for someone treated poorly by a once-bedridden noble brat.
The stone courtyard below was muddy and half-abandoned. The guards wore rusted mail. The stables had missing doors. The servants avoided eye contact, too used to disappointment.
"Who manages the estate now?" Caelum asked.
"Your older brother, Lord Adrian. He's away… dealing with tax collectors. The steward handles most matters in his absence."
He smirked weakly. "And who handles the money?"
Mira looked nervous. "The steward. But… there hasn't been much to manage."
Figures.
He let the silence stretch. Then said, almost to himself, "Money is the true power here. Not blood."
Mira tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
Caelum's eyes sharpened.
"In this world, strength is measured in land, swords, and birth. But all of that depends on coin. Armies don't march without pay. Farmers don't work without bread. Even lords bend to those who control their debts."
He gripped the balcony railing, weak fingers trembling. "And I will be the man who controls it all."
Mira stared at him, stunned.
...
That Night
Alone in his room, Caelum dug through the drawers of his old self's desk. Dusty scrolls, old ledgers, inkpots long dried.
But one thing stood out—a forgotten chest beneath the bed. Inside, an iron lockbox. When he pried it open, he found a few silver coins, a gold signet ring, and a parchment marked with "Ledger of House Valenhart – Year 729."
He flipped through it.
Poor harvests. Debt to local lenders. Toll losses. Bribes to the Duke. Steep taxes to the crown. Expenses for soldiers and servants. The house was bleeding coin faster than it could beg.
But what caught his eye… was a single entry from four years ago.
"Acquired salt mine, currently unprofitable due to flooding. Abandoned."
A salt mine. Forgotten. But salt in medieval economies was like gold. Tradeable. Essential. Valuable.
And unguarded.
He chuckled to himself.
'Then we start there.'