Roland woke up and became Baron Frosthill - a nearly forgotten name in the imperial aristocratic pedigree.
Here, magic is talent, bloodline, and the yardstick by which all values are measured.
But he, a baron who was judged to be "mediocre in magic", disassembled magic into energy and programmed runes in a dilapidated castle.
While the neighboring Viscount showed off his newly hired mage advisor, Roland's golem farming team was making green shoots grow in the frozen soil.
When the earl's envoy arrogantly came to collect the "vassal tax", what he saw was a row of rune blast furnaces and magic cannon muzzles pointed at him.
He planned the city together with a tough local girl, discussed the underlying logic of the world with a knowledgeable female mage, formed an alliance with a down-and-out noble lady, and dealt with the cunning marquis and the greedy bishop.
He started from a baron's territory, used machine tools to cut out standards, used railways to penetrate the territory, and used radio to transmit ideas.
He integrated magic into the assembly line and regarded divine magic as a subject to be studied.
When the dragon knights of the empire cover the sky, when the light of judgment of the Holy See of Light comes.
Roland stood in front of his Iron Throne, behind him was the already formed, roaring industrial behemoth.
"Your Majesty, the magic sequence has been activated, and the target is the old god."
He nodded slightly:
