Chapter 1: Chapter1-The Belated System and the Supreme Court of the Otherworldly Town

Dalton Town.

Inside the Oakwood Hall, the heavy air seemed like congealed amber, wrapping around every breath.

On the long table, the polished wooden grain glowed with a gentle luster beneath the soft light of the magic crystal lamps.

This was the council chamber of Dalton Town’s assembly.

Though simple, it was already the highest temple of reason and order on this barren land.

At the head of the table sat a face weathered by years yet still unable to hide its mature, handsome sharpness.

The man’s features were distinct, as if a master sculptor had carved them from austere stone.

Leo Grey—the mayor of this impoverished small town!

His fingers tapped lightly on a parchment proposal.

His calm gaze swept across the councillors present—farmers, craftsmen, small merchants… Their clothes were plain, their faces carved by wind and frost, yet their eyes shone with a strange brilliance.

“Honored councillors,” Leo began, his voice clear and resonant.

“We have all borne witness to a miracle. The famine and fear of the past have been replaced by full granaries and peaceful streets.”

“Our ploughs have cut through the hardened soil, and also the hardened ignorance. Hunger is no longer the sword hanging over our heads.”

He paused briefly, his eyes like a clear autumn night sky.

“Yet, while our bellies are full, our spirits and our future still wander a wasteland far more desolate!”

“Our children, the future of Dalton Town—can they, with only the strength of swinging hoes or hammers, understand this vast and complex world?

When facing the storms of the future, will they have not only brute force, but also wisdom and magic as their oars?”

Hans, a councillor born a farmer, rubbed his thick knuckles and rumbled, “Mayor, what do you mean?”

“My proposal is this,” Leo pushed the parchment across the table.

“An education tax. Every adult citizen shall pay one-tenth of their yearly income, to build a public school, hire teachers, and purchase magical and literary tomes.

We must ensure that every child in Dalton Town may step into the halls of knowledge, to learn reading, arithmetic, history, and even basic magical identification.”

At those words, a low, uneasy murmur rose in the hall.

“One-tenth? Isn’t that too heavy?”

Blake, the blacksmith councillor, frowned deeply.

“Children are important, yes, but every household has its struggles. That money might be better spent on seeds, or shoring up a roof beam.”

Leo nodded, not rushing to refute him.

He knew well that changing minds was like moving an ancient tree—it required patience and skill.

“Councillor Blake,” his voice remained steady, “may I ask, to forge a fine ploughshare in your smithy, how many steps are required? How much iron and charcoal consumed?”

Blake blinked.

“At least twenty steps, thirty pounds of iron, five baskets of fine charcoal.”

“Now imagine a craftsman who can improve the furnace heat so that the same amount of iron yields a sharper, more durable ploughshare, saving you a third of your time and charcoal.

How much would you say his wisdom is worth?”

“This…”

Blake faltered, tongue-tied.

“Then how much is it worth, to give our children the chance to gain such wisdom?”

Leo’s voice was calm yet filled with force.

“What we invest today is not a stone sinking into water—it is the most precise investment in our future.”

“Save a single silver coin today, and tomorrow we may lose a genius who could improve our tools, a mind who could perceive new trade opportunities, perhaps even a mage who could lead us into broader worlds.”

He turned to Hans.

“Councillor Hans, do you not wish for your grandson one day to read the seed instructions, to calculate the most suitable sowing method, rather than rely on vague experience and chance?”

Hans’s eyes lit up, his lips trembling.

Leo looked to another councillor, a shopkeeper’s wife.

“Madam Morris, do you not hope your daughter can calculate accounts precisely, perhaps even expand your shop to the neighboring Blackrock City someday?”

Madam Morris clutched her apron tightly, a flicker of yearning passing through her gaze.

Leo said no more. The seeds had been sown. He knew these plain folk understood the balance of gains and losses, and longed for their children to live better lives than themselves.

The debate went on for a while, but doubts melted slowly beneath the glow of hopeful visions of the future.

At last, when the vote was called, one rough hand after another was raised.

“The proposal—passed unanimously.”

Leo rapped the table, settling the matter. His voice revealed little ripple.

The councillors departed one after another, bearing with them both relief and expectation for the days to come.

Oakwood Hall fell silent, leaving only the faint hiss of the crystal lamps and the soft breeze seeping in through the windows.

Leo leaned back against his chair, which groaned under the shift of weight.

The signed proposal lay quietly on the table.

His gaze drifted to the rough Dalton Town emblem carved upon the opposite wall—

A sprout breaking through the earth, symbolizing Dalton Town’s resilience and rebirth.

Another reform accomplished.

Yet the joy of success flowed away like a shallow stream.

Forty years.

Leo Grey’s expression grew complicated.

Today marked his fortieth year in this world.

Once, he had been a brilliant university student in political economy and agriculture, until crushed by relentless academic pressure, he collapsed and died—only to awaken here.

A world steeped in magic, yet equally steeped in backwardness and poverty.

A remote hamlet nearly forgotten by the civilized world—Dalton village.

The land seemed cursed by the gods, unwilling to yield even a single grain more than the barest minimum.

The Grey family, rulers here for generations, had long since withered into nothing, leaving only a hollow surname and a crumbling tower.

When the old village chief breathed his last in the depths of winter, the village itself stood at the edge of collapse.

It was then that the young Leo stood before the lost villagers and voiced a shocking idea:

“We no longer need a hereditary lord deciding who starves and who survives.”

His voice, clear and youthful, carried a force that brooked no doubt.

“Let us decide for ourselves. Let us vote for the one who can lead us to survive, and together draft our own rules. I call this—the ballot system!”

Desperate people will grasp at any sliver of light.

With the agricultural knowledge in his mind, Leo managed to coax wheat from the cursed land, and was chosen as the new village chief.

In the decades since, with nothing but the knowledge in his head, he had dragged the village from the brink, until it grew into today’s small but self-sufficient town.

…

Tap.

Tap.

Leo’s fingers drummed on the table.

On this barren land he had established order, brought food to the people, and now even lit the spark of education.

Yet deep inside, discontent surged like a caged beast.

His youthful ambition of becoming a great mage, his dream of roaming the world’s vast wonders—all seemed trapped within this meager patch of soil.

His cunning was spent calculating harvest yields and repelling bandits, his composure used for mediating petty squabbles, his heart’s blood poured into cultivating half-dead seeds…

The people adored him, but none could understand the burning restlessness within him, far beyond the reach of this age.

A fate so predictable, so plain—how could he accept it?

Then—

A cold voice rang in the depths of his mind.

[Ding!]

[Supreme Creator System successfully bound!]

?!

What the hell?!

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