The Bloodthorn Throne

Reinhardt, a former investment banking hotshot, dies in a plane crash and wakes up in the body of the second son of a fallen count on the continent of Ithran. His territory is destitute, his elder brother is conspiring with orcs, and the Federation is poised to pounce. From the start, he's facing a dead end.

With no System and no modern technology, he relies on a leather notebook scrawled with economic formulas to play the medieval power game. He swallows the estates of neighboring nobles with “debt traps,” tears away the church's hypocritical mask with “information warfare,” and binds powerful ministers to his will with “blood magic contracts.” He turns the ruined Bloodthorn territory into a fortress of war that everyone fears.

A swordsmanship grandmaster who kills without hesitation, he cuts off his treacherous brother's right hand at a family council, burns a list of heretics in the court of judgment, and rides a bone dragon to crush the enemy in the defense of the capital. Yet he loves trading dirty jokes with the women in his harem:

Accepting the poison kiss of Vivian, the dark elf assassin, he laughs: “Your venom is more addictive than a mistress's sweet talk.”

As he steadies Freya the storm mage's magic, he teases: “This ‘melding of magic’ is more exhilarating than the mergers and acquisitions I used to handle.”

Catching Charlotte the knight commander's lance, he says: “You risked your life for me, so I suppose I'll spend the rest of mine paying you back.”

Mutated creatures pour through the rifts in the void, and the three great kingdoms are busy warring among themselves. Meanwhile, Reinhardt sits on a throne wrapped in bloodthorn vines, watching the harvest ripen in his fields as he holds the waist of the elven queen, who has a dagger hidden there. “You want to kill me? First, help me draw the borders of Bloodthorn all the way to the ends of the continent.”