Burnout Reincarnation [SLOW BURN COZY 'MAGIC CRAFTING' KINGDOM BUILDING PROGRESSION] (LitRPG elements) [3 arcs done!]

For the first time in a long while, Archmund Granavale was at peace with his own mind.

He didn't expect it to last. But for once, he allowed himself to enjoy the respite, until the next demands flowed.

It was a quiet spring day in Granavale County. The snows had finally melted, leaving the meadows renewed and green. The first buds of new leaves were sprouting in the apple grove, pale spring light filtering down through the branches. The sky was filled with birdsong, mixed with the ritual farming songs.

Planting season had arrived. The people of Granavale County had, as in countless generations past, begun sowing the fields with grain. It would take the better part of the month for them to finish halfway, before the wandering workers would arrive. They would be a band a few hundred strong, easily equal the population of Granavale Village, but all of them — man, woman, and child — would join the fields and begin sowing.

The migrants followed the changing seasons, Archmund knew. And right now he had little to offer them. He'd offered them sturdy houses last fall so that they might winter in Granavale County, but they had politely demurred and so had left on their journey. Perhaps they'd seem such offers before, been given honeyed promises to stay and labor, only to realize that such deals were hardly worth the trade.

Now, things could be different.

He pulled out his Gemstone Tablet.

"Based on the historical dates you've collected, the wandering workers should arrive within a week," Gemmy said in his head.

Archmund nodded idly. A sunbeam hit the tablet; the Gemstone display automatically shaded itself to be perceptible.

There were still many problems to avail himself of. Granavale County was no crown jewel of the Empire, and though he sought to uplift his people, there was still much work to be done.

He was lucky that his father still lived, that the Lord Granavale spent so much time in the Imperial Capital shielding Archmund from the grand machinations of Empire. But one day he would die, and Archmund would have to be prepared for that.

But that day was many, many years off — and he knew that he had many years to cherish these times, and many years to prepare.

He was alone physically, but he wasn't emotionally alone. He knew his friends were just a letter or missive or call away. All of them had capabilities he could draw upon, should he need a lighter touch or ancient wisdom or a mirror opinion. He was no longer alone, no longer forced to tackle everything by himself — only the stuff that interested him.

"Young master," his maid Mary said, as she walked up the hill. "I was wondering where you were."

She was dressed casually, as this was her day off, in a lightly-colored frock and a sun hat. Though her face was caught in shade, her smile was like the sun itself. Not a week ago she had been writhing in the depths of a creepy Dungeon, rotting from the inside with its horrific magics. But now she was hale and whole, and it warmed his heart to see her.

"Isn't it your day off?" he said.

"I'd rather be party to your antics rather than hearing about them after the fact," she said with a smile. "Still playing with that odd artifact?"

"You've seen it. You know what it can do. I hardly think it's idle play," Archmund said with a smile. "But I don't think I want to be married to it anymore. Gemmy?"

Gemmy spun into existence between them, looking ever-so-much like a jewel symbol with googly eyes, a weird ambiguous entity reduced to a cartoon mascot.

"If you need a chart made, just ask me! If you want to track your progress, I'm your subconscious routine! If you want a skill readout, I can give you the deets!"

"…cool?" Mary said.

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"It really is. It's much cooler than you'd think."

He had been many things in his last life. "Gifted". "High potential". Burned out. He had almost repeated that in this life. Sitting in a dank office deep beneath the earth, managing humanlike resources as nothing more than pawns in a spreadsheet, hoping each transaction would lead to greater power.

But now he had people he could lean on instead, people who could execute for him. People to embrace instead of exploiting, people to trust instead of test. Partners, not tools.

At long last, he had a team.

The vast sky above Granavale County was clear and blue, its infinite vastness broken by white bubble clouds. There were no stalactite skyscrapers looming above them, like swords of Damocles waiting to fall. Stretching across the horizon, he could see the Blackstone Peaks, the Red Mountains, the Greenroot Rainforests, all once strange and exotic lands but now the home of friends. And to the southwest was Agraria Pass, and through it, the rest of the Empire.

The future was open to him, and all he had to do was take it.

Archmund's Journal.