Supersum: Living in another world [LitRPG Transmigration Fantasy]

Alexander balanced precariously on his chair, one leg folded beneath him, as his strategic reports floated before him like a multiple-monitor setup—their chaotic arrangement reminiscent of a multiple-monitor setup, each document vying for his attention no matter how many additional pages he managed to display.

The warm glow of a mana-stone lamp illuminated the space, casting flickering shadows that danced across a sprawling coded map stretched out at one end of the tent. The map was a tapestry of cryptic symbols and strings, its margins overflowing with his meticulous annotations scribbled on vibrant post-it notes—crafted from a self-made adhesive he'd concocted in his spare time and failed batches of paper he repurposed.

His fingers traced supply lines and territorial markers while he muttered calculations under his breath. Above his head, a ball of ink floated like a miniature moon, thin tendrils descending from it to sign and revise his subordinates' reports with fluid precision.

Alexander's work was strikingly efficient and productive, comparable to several generals—quite literally. His skills, akin to [Parallel Thoughts], allowed him to juggle multiple tasks simultaneously easily. Every preparation had to be meticulously completed well ahead of time, as he was not merely a planner but an active participant in the offensives. Engaging in desk work on the very front lines turned out to be far less thrilling than one might imagine.

A dark silhouette loomed at the entrance of his tent—the fabric of the flap rustled ominously, hinting at an unexpected visitor.

"Mom... woah!" The chair tipped backward. Alexander flailed, reports flying in all directions as he crashed to the ground in an undignified heap—of all the people who might have visited his encampment, she was the last he'd expected.

Before the pieces of paper hit the ground, they all stopped mid-air like leaves frozen in a storm—ambient miasma surrounded them, holding them in place. "You have quite the operation, Alex," Marisia sauntered into the strategic planning tent, her expression filled with equal parts amusement and assessment. Her eyes—the same shade of amber as his own—scanned the interior with military precision. "I am here for a surprise visit."

Alexander, his nerves on edge, scrambled to his feet, dusting off his half-plate uniform with quick, nervous strokes. His face flushed with surprise and a hint of childish embarrassment. "Why... why not send a letter or something?!" He ran fingers through his disheveled hair, straightening his posture almost instinctively under her gaze. "I haven't expected you."

Every sense in Alexander's body berated itself for failing to detect her approach—no mana signature, scent, or sound. She moved like a ghost, but even those Lili could perceive. His mother's stealth abilities were apparently also top-notch—a less exciting discovery.

Marisia rolled her eyes—a surprisingly casual gesture, different from her typical rigid demeanor at the estate. "Of course, you didn't," she moved deeper into the tent, her leather boots leaving no impressions in the dirt. She elegantly floated the reports toward the table, stacking them meticulously while briefly checking them. "This is why it is called a surprise visit," her tone matter-of-factly.

The tent suddenly felt smaller with her presence. She had always been larger than life, but her full plate armor—lacquered dirt obsidian that seemed to drink in the light of the mana lamp—made her truly imposing. Even the fur of her tail had been fitted with articulated armor segments that fluidly moved as her tail waved lazily from one side to another, each piece flowing seamlessly with her natural movements.

'Don't look nervous,' Alexander thought frantically. This wasn't merely a surprise audit but the potential discovery of his unauthorized activities. His most closely guarded secret was the black gold flowing toward the underworld to fund his operations. 'I'm so fucked if she finds out.'

While he'd been granted an official budget for the campaign as a test and punishment, it had proven woefully insufficient, depleted after the first week of operations. The contributions from his allies hardly made a difference. Alexander was conducting warfare in a modern fashion, which translated to overwhelmingly expensive. As such, he'd established a network of fake businesses to launder gold and fund his operation through circuitous routes—channels so complex that not even Salyna could trace them.

What had begun as necessity had grown more... aggressive. Alexander had already utilized five times his allotted amount, disguising the funds as donations, pre-arranged cost reductions that allowed him to pocket the difference, and numerous other underhanded methods conceived between himself and Aurum.

"Hey," Alexander smiled nervously, walking as casually toward his mother as possible without coming off as some puppy who stole cookies. "How about some tea and cake? The cook makes a decent apple tart... well, considering our supplies," an anxious chuckle following his desperate attempt to divert her attention.

Marisia raised a single eyebrow, her eyes not leaving the reports. "Do I look like I am here for niceties?"

Alexander's eyes traced the contours of her armor, noting the wisps of dark miasma that emanated from the joints—signaling this wasn't ceremonial wear but battle-readied armor designed to withstand her infamous fighting style. Cold dread settled in his stomach.

"Sure," he narrowed his eyes, transitioning smoothly from flustered son to calculating commander. "Why, then, the armor at all? Not like you want to fight... right?" The stories of her combat techniques flashed through his mind, and he felt distinctly unenthusiastic about seeing them demonstrated seriously firsthand.

She tilted her head slightly, the movement causing a soft cascade of scarlet-red hair over her pauldron. "I will observe you going on the battlefield, of course." Her tone made it clear this wasn't a suggestion but a declaration of intent.

Confusion replaced Alexander's wariness. "Me?" He shrugged, gesturing toward the central map on the blackboard where pins and colored markers showed their campaign's progress. "This will not happen for at least two to three weeks."

"I... don't quite understand." Marisia's brow furrowed, her eyes moving toward him—creating a momentary crack in her commanding presence.

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Alexander suddenly understood the reason for her visit. 'Look who thinks I am some insane maniac,' he mused inwardly. There were many rumors that he would become merciless once thrown onto the battlefield—rumors he could somewhat understand, given his relatively irresponsible past behaviors.

However, his strategy was exemplary—unorthodox even—and he needed to explain such an approach to warfare. "You see..." His voice was matter-of-fact, telling her his approach. It was a combination of essentially revamped Second World War and modern warfare strategies, adapting them to this world's magical capabilities with greater flexibility. He also emphasized giving substantial decision-making power to lower-ranking troop leaders, maintaining strong communication channels, and keeping specialized magical and aerial units ready for swift deployment.

After his short explanation, he stepped toward the map and pointed at their progress. "Well, look," he continued describing their progress—approximately 30% of the region was colored in various shades, some borders thick and decisive, others more delicately marked. "We are now solidifying our progress and cutting these regions from any support."

Multiple towns and settlements remained unmarked between the conquered territories—not yet taken but conspicuously surrounded by Alexander's forces like islands in a sea of his influence.

Marisia studied the pattern, recognition dawning in her eyes. "Your strategy is to starve them?" The question held neither approval nor condemnation, merely professional curiosity. "Quite the lengthy endeavor."

Alexander sat on the desk behind them, more comfortable now that they were discussing tactics. "Not starving, but waiting until the locals rebel enough so they give up," he pointed his head toward the camp outside. "We send spies inside regularly to create restlessness and spread rumors of our fair treatment in conquered territories. When we assess that the discontent has reached sufficient levels, we identify and neutralize the local leadership and then step in to restore order."

It was an essential conquering tactic used in modern warfare by Western militaries, with long-term stability as the goal. Alexander's strategy involved temporarily relocating populations and then allowing them to return once the conflict stabilized, empowering them to rebuild their local economy with his support rather than under his boot.

"Wouldn't it be easier to raid them?" Her fingers traced a direct line through the heart of the territory. Alexander recognized the maneuver—her signature approach that earned her admiration and fear across multiple campaigns. It was less aggressive than his grandmother's tactics, but not by much. "This way, you could quickly take more territory and attack the center. Decisive victory."

"Why?" He rummaged in his spatial pouch, the faint shimmer of magic rippling around his wrist as he accessed the pocket dimension. "Too many unnecessary deaths, too little goodwill from the locals, and a higher chance of rebellion occurring later on." He glanced up at her. "I'm not just conquering, I'm establishing sustainable governance."

Constant rebellion would create massive problems downstream. Alexander's approach required bringing in scholars to understand local cultures and customs—developing governance models that respected tradition while encouraging progress. Forcing alien concepts onto conquered peoples would only lead to implosions and corruption. While he wouldn't preserve harmful practices, finding the perfect balance was crucial for training effective administrators.

"Hm." Marisia's expression softened almost imperceptibly. She understood his strategy, even if it differed from her own approach. "What about Majesty Lavafist and Dame Pascal? Last I heard indicated they were far more advanced in their respective parts."

Alexander suppressed a grimace. Lavafist and Pascal exemplified exactly what he sought to avoid—territory gained quickly but held tenuously. Their conquered populations either fled toward his more hospitable domains or fought back with increasingly desperate tactics. Though they controlled more land on paper, their hold was unstable, with the grim possibility that they might resort to mass killings, destroying valuable sapient resources and future economic potential.

"Those morons," he smirked, finally locating and pulling out a small crystal flask filled with iridescent liquid. "They're doing exactly that—raiding and storming with full force—but the populace already fights tooth and nail, enacting suicidal attacks with mana artifacts."

His careful relocation and thorough screening procedures had nearly eliminated such threats in his territory. Due to his fair treatment, the number of informants grew steadily—people who wanted nothing more than to be left in peace and recognized the advantages of Alexander's governance compared to the alternatives.

The situation in the other territories was far less favorable, with multiple attacks occurring daily, destabilizing bases and killing soldiers on both sides—a complete disaster by any strategic measure.

Marisia's tail flicked thoughtfully. "The exploding bracelets? I've heard of those." A slight furrow appeared between her brows. "The casualties?"

"Too high on both sides," Alexander confirmed with a grim nod. "They've taken more territory on paper, but they're holding it by force rather than consent. My approach takes longer but costs fewer lives." In his thoughts, he added that it was economically more sustainable—a consideration his mother often dismissed as unimportant.

"I see," her gaze shifted to the flask in his hands, curiosity temporarily overtaking strategic concerns. "What's that?"

Alexander offered it to her, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "This is my battlefield, and I hope you will not be against following the rules." He explained that it contained a special ink that, combined with a simple chant and spell, would color the armor with camouflage patterns suited to their environment.

Marisia accepted the flask with surprising grace, turning it to examine its swirling contents. "Very well," she said, a rare smile softening her features. "Rules of engagement."

However, when Alexander recited the incantation, the thick paint swirled around her in mesmerizing patterns, slowly seeping into the armor. Then something unexpected happened—once dried, it immediately sizzled and dissolved into harmless vapor, leaving her obsidian plates untouched.

"Cute," she chuckled, the sound warm despite her imposing presence. "But I think it will not work." She tapped her breastplate. "Enchantment incompatibility," she smirked proudly. "Remember?"

Alexander clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "So," he opened his arms in a gesture of finality. "This is my plan, and I will not go anywhere close to the battlefield for several weeks. You've traveled all this way for nothing, it seems." A small smile followed, filled with relief.

"It's fine," she turned toward the tent entrance, her armor catching the lamplight, looking ominously dangerous. "I will look over Sarah then." The casual way she mentioned his fiancée carried subtle weight.

Alexander's eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

But Marisia had already ducked through the tent flap, leaving him scrambling to follow. "Wait! The tea is really good, I swear!" He ducked, not caring about everyone else; he tried to devise a plan to make her stay. "How about cake? Chicken? We have really great sauce from the locals!"

The panic in his voice had less to do with refreshments and more with the prospect of his mother interrogating his fiancée about operations he'd rather keep obscured—especially the financial irregularities that funded his carefully constructed campaign.

But he immediately stopped once he saw her smile, making him shiver in fright. 'What the fuck is going on?!' He wondered who had pissed her off. 'It isn't about the assassination attempts, right?'

Alexander looked to the side, where a nervous and invisible blob of mana floated. "Follow her," his voice became serious. "I get Barry to watch me, but something is going on for her to join."

The swirling mana hesitated but moved with precision and far behind his mother after some consideration. At the same time, Alexander watched her—perplexed—as to why she was so aggressive, her bloodthirst barely contained. 'That's certainly not good,' he frowned, standing in the humid heat of the island, wondering which enemy wanted to lose their head.