Hidden Territory Clearing Speedrun (2)

The first day was spent from dawn till dusk clearing weeds, rocks, and scrub brush. The farm was in such a state that it defied description.

If I go around introducing myself to the villagers looking like this, I'll never have any dignity as their lord.

It was exactly the kind of mess that made me think that. And I hadn't even used the full day. I'd arrived by carriage around five in the afternoon, started working right away, and now the sun was already dipping low.

Today's investment goes into tidying up the front yard.

This territory had been neglected for far too long. From the villagers' perspective, like it or not, they were used to surviving without protection. If I just showed up out of nowhere claiming to be their lord, getting their cooperation would be an uphill battle.

At the very least, I should clean things up nice and neat before showing my face to the territory folk.

It was a plan I'd hatched even before arriving. The moment I stepped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠off the carriage, I dove straight into cleanup—sweep it all pristine. And honestly? It was pretty enjoyable.

This rural estate my father left me. Here, the healing game's features were in full effect: every task piled on experience points, levels rose. I cast Garden Horticulture Tool 1.0, securing valuable alchemy ingredients with a satisfying pop-pop-pop!

Double the profit, huh.

I'd have done it anyway. Selling to alchemists brings in decent coin. But now with levels and skill growth on top? To sum it up: it's overflowing.

My weary, validation-starved heart felt warmly filled. Is this world really okay just handing out this much? Then what about all my time at the Academy... Yeah, maybe if it had been a straight academy story instead of this healing game, I'd have been the lone genius mage-scholar.

Pushing aside that lingering regret, I drifted off to sleep that night.

"You're truly my grandson."

In my dream, Grandfather spoke.

"I spent my life chasing the truths of magic, only to grasp endless emptiness and unsolved riddles. Even my own spells couldn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠properly clear the yard weeds."

It was hard to believe. Can't you just tweak the power output?

"Magic's true wonder lies in transforming human lives."

......

Hmm.

I woke to find it was just a dream. Lifting my head, the surroundings came into focus bit by bit. First, the magitech fluorescent lamp on the ceiling. And then.

"......!"

Miroa Avis's face blocking it, right in front of mine. Our eyes met; her brief surprise faded as she calmly announced morning's arrival.

"Master. You must rise."

Waking up at this rigid hour—classic maid material. Me? Still groggy. I scanned her from top to bottom.

Miroa was kneeling primly on the bed, gazing down at me. The positioning felt... oddly intimate. She sensed it and added context.

"You insisted I wake you early, no matter what."

Ah, right.

"So I attempted a northern-style morning call."

"Don't."

It's pressing cold metal to your throat to jolt you awake. Strictly traditional? A real sword. What kind of place is the North?

Rustle! I bolted upright. Thankfully, no gleaming blade in sight. Even for a northerner, bringing a sword into your master's bedroom is beyond the pale.

"You didn't actually bring a sword into the bedroom, right?"

"These days, we usually use a spoon."

Just to be sure.

"But Master, you're planning to wash right away?"

"Didn't get to yesterday, so yeah. If it's possible."

Preservation magic isn't omnipotent. It falters on sprawling infrastructure like plumbing.

Those romance-fantasy idiots only researched pointless spells.

Blame their romanticism. Grandfather's spells were the same. House intact, but no water from the taps. So yesterday afternoon, I hiked the mountain path to the estate's aqueduct and applied some magical fixes.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"How's the aqueduct? Clear now?"

"Water comes out."

Success?

"But it's all rusty."

As expected—insufficient power.

"It's not your fault, Master."

"Nah, it was an on-the-spot spell. Wasn't expecting miracles."

No one developed a pipe-unclogging spell? They have fireworks for show, carbonated tea, covert ring-sizing scans—but not this? I scoured lifestyle magic tomes; zilch.

What even counts as 'real life' for those romance-fantasy hacks?

So I improvised one urgently, but it fell short. It'll clear eventually, but the blockage was ironclad—maybe landslide residue. Gonna take time.

Yet Miroa looked awestruck.

"You crafted magic like that on the spot?"

"Just remixing similar spells with mental math. It failed too."

"Water started flowing where there was none—from an improvised spell."

I figured three, four hours tops, but morning came and it was still chugging. Gotta refine it later.

But words like that didn't faze her.

"I'm convinced now. Master, you belong at the Academy."

"Now you say that?"

One-way trip's fifteen days.

"Please."

Even pleading didn't sway me. No returning anytime soon.

"Your magic is vital to the world! It just hasn't been accepted yet!"

Miroa teared up again. Stoic as stone normally—how does she get this misty only now?

I ignored the familiar scene.

"Guess I'll hit the hot spring."

"Don't go, Master."

"I need to wash."

"I won't move! I'll punch everyone ignoring your magic! Let's go back to the Academy now!"

Punching... well, I get the urge. Smashing those pathetic romance-fantasy faces would feel great. Her words comforted, but no.

"We had a promise. Remember?"

"Ugh...."

Miroa and I made a vow long ago. A snowy day in childhood. Details fuzzy now—a cheat key for times like this. She flinched, wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and snapped back to cool maid mode.

"Understood. You need to wash first; I'll attend you."

Lightning-fast emotional pivot. Northern women thing? Like a mental switch.

"But is there really a hot spring in this backwater?"

Game knowledge, but yeah. Status window mentioned it yesterday.

I'd pushed nonstop day one; warning popped immediately. Others can't see it. Fobbed Miroa off vaguely.

"Grandfather mentioned it offhand when I was a kid."

Perfect timing on the status window.

"Miroa. This way."

System arrows made navigating the mountain path to the hot spring a breeze. It looked like a rundown rural bathhouse.

"No caretaker, huh."

"No charge, but maintained. Preservation magic, periodically refueled with mana."

"You can tell ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at a glance?"

"From the entrance—er, never mind."

Sensing another gush of praise, I bolted to the men's side. Stripped and entered: spotless interior, hot water gushing.

Splash! Scooped a handful, washed away yesterday's grime.

"Phew."

Finally felt human. Quick rinse, then soaked, lost in thought.

Academy souvenir ailment. Gotta shed it.

Exactly eight minutes.

Perfect for planning.

Lock in the optimal route first.

Real territory life starts today. No slacking just 'cause it's a healing game.

Memories from my past life surfaced. Even in the original game, I skipped healing. Low on cash? Optimized village booze barrels for max profit. Brewing nets the most gold. Day one prep, spec into it—hefty earnings await.

Game was one thing; this is reality. Sweeping every gold source, plus my magic? Smooth sailing.

No time to dawdle!

Splash! Eight minutes up, out of the bath.

Utterly refreshed. Academy fatigue, stress, exhaustion—all sloughed away. World has top-tier hair-drying magic too—optimized for all, widely distributed. Love it.

Whirr! Pinch of mana, warm air from nowhere dries your hair. Done. Fluffed and fresh, out of the bath.

Mind already racing ahead. Stayed up plotting optimal routes via status window. Trees first. Massive wood and sap haul needed. Build villager affinity too—some gift useful stuff.

Tons to do, but Miroa lagging. Team up and dive in!

Burnout gone; motivation surging—I couldn't stand still.

Pacing the bathhouse entrance with puffed-up resolve...

"Um, who...?"

A tickle in my ear. Snapped from thoughts, looked up.

"Huh?"

"New face. Who're you?"

Soap scent like fresh from a bath, mismatched for village life. Big bucket in hand. I faced the red-haired village girl.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the Empire's heart, the Academy loomed. In a lab, an ice-flower beauty gnawed her lip, face shocked.

"This...."

The novel's heroine and transmigrator: The Villainess Doesn't Hold Back on Magic. Past life or now, research-mad grad student. Perk: dissecting magic structures.

Ailiya von Wintervalt's gaze fixed on one thing.

A thesis from some Academy alum.

Liberio? Was there someone like that?

Original plot forced some interactions; otherwise, avoided others. Never read random papers. Full of useless magic.

Turning plants pink? Thesis material?

Common name's Rii, maybe.

Anyway. This was different.

Magic revolution!

Industrial-revolution level idea. Shock turned to ecstasy.

"Gogle! Gogle!!!"

Hyper Ailiya summoned her search spirit, grilling it.

"Can I meet this guy?"

"One sec. Searching... Hmm...."

"Hurry!"

Response left her stunned.

"He dropped out."

"Where is he now?"

"No clue!"

"Argh! Damn it!"

Ailiya's flung pen thunked into the paper stack.