Southern Normalization
As the title suggests, I possessed into a romance fantasy novel where everyone loves the heroine. And at the worst possible timing, no less.
"Lord Kyle Leopold, why..."
A girl lay collapsed on the ground, cradling her cheek with a pitiful expression, surrounded by gazes pouring in from all sides—and the crown prince glaring at me with open hostility.
It seemed I'd possessed into an extra who tormented the heroine in her childhood backstory. Or more accurately, a sacrificial lamb she'd manipulated to highlight her own fragility?
In any case, fresh off possession and still dazed, I was exiled to the south before I could even react.
Dubbed the "Southern Archduke cum Southern Naval Admiral cum Southern Supreme Commander"—a bunch of empty titles dangling like ornaments.
Kyle Leopold was fifteen at the time. Considering his imperial blood, exile was lenient, but everyone knew it was effectively a political death sentence.
The south was dominated by emerging forces like merchants, factory owners, and capitalists, beyond the central government's proper control. Plus, there were hardly any mages worth noting. No matter what strange ideas Kyle Leopold harbored, the south lacked even the capacity for rebellion.
Everyone figured a fifteen-year-old kid with the hollow title of Southern Archduke could do nothing.
It made sense. Even I thought so.
A life of lounging and feasting, with retirement guaranteed. Compared to how modern folks slave for that security, the Southern Archduke position—free of responsibilities and unentangled with the original plot—seemed like paradise.
Perfect. I'll just slack off and live it up.
That was my mindset on the first day I received the title.
...Or so I'd thought.
Capital
Workers of the World, Unite!
"Subversive books and pamphlets confiscated from factory workers, Your Grace."
A month into my tenure as Southern Archduke, that's how long it took me to realize my comfy bed was actually the scaffold of revolution.
Thinking back, it all made sense.
In Everyone Loves Me—aka Mona's Crush Fest—"Kyle Leopold's" cause of death was rebellion. I'd skimmed it as fitting for such a scumbag, but there was an unimaginable backstory.
It was inevitable, really. The south was a capitalists' playground untouched by central law. And in a world without labor laws, how brutally they could squeeze workers? Just look at 19th-century Britain.
A week of seven days, nineteen hours a day, with a lump of eel jelly as your "meal"—that was enough to unite the world's laborers.
At that point, I had two choices:
1. Flee to some obscure village before the revolution hit.
2. Normalize the south.
I picked 2. As a modern man, I couldn't hack rural life in this era.
So I pulled out my past-life knowledge. Thanks to Kyle Leopold's absolute memory, recalling it was easy.
"Ah, this is called the Labor Standards Act."
"A law that drives out evil capitalists and lets workers live like humans."
While the original protagonists frolicked through academy youth, I battled southern capitalists.
The hollow legitimacy of the Southern Archduke was bolstered by the workers who supported me. The token army of the archducal house transformed into a righteous force toppling exploiters.
Seven years passed, and at twenty-two:
"For violations of the Labor Standards Act and wage theft, I sentence Count Allen Bernhardt to twenty years' imprisonment."
Only after purging the last evil capitalist did I finally normalize the south.
By then, it was no longer a penal colony.
Over those seven years growing alongside the south, I'd grown attached without realizing it. I felt proud watching its improved constitution flourish; modernizing it became a joy. I started understanding why people love their work.
Maybe that's why.
"...The empire's in rough shape these days."
"Tensions between the east, west, north, and center aren't what they used to be, right?"
"And that's not all? The neighboring republic's snapping up colonies like crazy. At this rate, the empire might lose its top spot."
"Hell, monsters and black mages are stirring in the chaos. What the hell is Crown Prince up to...?"
"It's a blessing Lord Kyle Leopold governs this south so wisely."
The constant bad news from the imperial heartland left me uneasy before I knew it.
"They say it's all because of that woman who appeared in high society seven years ago."
In the frenzy of growth, the south had become the empire's sole thriving region amid the chaos.
A crumbling empire. Collapsing public order. And a wealthy but militarily weak south.
The pirates took notice first.
"Why's this ship yours?"
Pirates started plaguing the south. Profits were so high, even bandits took to the seas. Thus began an untimely age of great piracy.
Next came the sea monsters. The south's high-quality magic stone products were prime bait for deep-sea beasts.
And as the south boomed, harassment from all sides intensified.
"Pardon? Demand this much tribute? That's double what it was five years ago!"
"Hasn't your production tripled since then?"
"That's thanks to Lord Kyle and us workers..."
"Tch, without the empire's mighty military, could you have developed so peacefully without invasion?"
"Then at least handle the pirates in our waters..."
"Hm, not sure about that. Anyway, pay up this year—or the center might withdraw protection."
Sadly, the south lacked the military to resolve it.
This era's naval combat? Mages dueling with spells atop ships.
If magic's stronger, why bother with cannons?
One spell hit sinks you anyway—why armor the hull?
Such thinking kept sailing ships dominant even in the industrial age.
The commerce-focused south had few elite mages. Kyle Leopold, with his imperial blood, was exceptional—but I couldn't spend all day pirate-hunting as archduke.
My conclusion was simple.
"We need a devastating weapon for emergencies."
One that didn't rely on mages.
So I summoned my adjutant.
"Lucilla."
"Yes, Your Grace."
In walked a silver-haired girl. The only servant who'd followed me into exile—and my comrade in revolution against the south's capitalists.
"I won't be around for a while. You're in charge as regent."
Lucilla's signature emotionless blue eyes fixed on me.
"What are you making this time...?"
"The ultimate weapon."
With that, I locked myself away.
Lucilla accepted Kyle's temporary regency as if it were routine.
She'd refused before—"How could I take such an important role?"—but knew her words wouldn't sway him.
And above all...
"He must have a plan."
She remembered the first time he'd holed up. Days of racking his brains, then emerging with the Labor Standards Act.
The changes were monumental.
No one in the empire thought the mocked "Southern Archduke" could seize real power.
But Lord Kyle pulled workers into politics—a new force.
No factories without workers. Same for commerce, transport.
Mastering society's backbone, he funneled that power into reforming the south.
Thus, the empire's only growth story amid collapse. He'd proven himself to a blind center.
So she waited confidently.
Until the international crisis around the south escalated.
"Regent Lucilla! Urgent news!"
"What is it?"
"Sarsen County is building a fortress in violation of the Sarsen-Lutetia Treaty! Estimated completion: three years."
The Sarsen-Lutetia Treaty was a free trade pact between south and west. It simply forbade any obstacles on the sole land route between them.
The violation's purpose? Obvious.
"...Damn westerners. They ignored us in hard times, now they want to leech off our prosperity."
Fortresses cost a fortune. Builders recouped via tolls.
And Sarsen-Lutetia was the only overland path from south to west.
In short: fleece every southern merchant using the route.
"Protest immediately! This breaches the treaty!"
"We did. But... Sarsen claims it's to protect the south from invaders. No budging."
Lucilla ground her teeth. Even a child would see the lie—but the south was powerless.
The center disliked Kyle. The west wouldn't interfere with incoming cash. Others would dodge involvement.
Military clash? Humiliatingly unfeasible. Beyond Kyle, no proper mages in exile south.
"They think we're a colony."
Robbed in broad daylight, helpless. Lucilla's hands trembled with rage.
That was when Kyle Leopold returned.
"Phew... basic design complete."
He convened a meeting and unrolled blueprints on the round table's center.
One councilor hesitantly asked, eyeing the massive steel warship schematics.
"What... is this blueprint for?"
Kyle Leopold answered without hesitation.
"The Dreadnought."
Humanity's greatest war machine—the invincible vessel that could shatter any fortress like kindling.