I transmigrated into the lowest-ranked servant in another world, but awakened a System that could exploit bugs in the most literal sense. Plant flowers, become a gardener. Work iron, become a blacksmith. When I turned economic principles into a foreign-world legal code, the whole world started calling me a “god.”
Reid transmigrated into the lowest-ranking servant of a dying fiefdom and awakened the most useless calling of all: [Silver Cross Attendant].
That very night, an assassin’s poisoned blade was at his throat. The System issued a cold warning: [If the master dies, you will be buried with him.]
Cornered, he finally understood.
“Keep the master safe through the night”?
He grabbed a fire poker. “I’m a blacksmith now!”
Dead vines sprang wildly to life. “And a gardener on the side.”
Poison coursing through his veins with no cure in sight?
He dashed into the kitchen. “Apprentice alchemist, get cooking!”
When the enemy nation’s cavalry descended on them, the whole continent watched Reid trip heavy cavalry with vines and drain the enemy’s treasury through economic warfare, then fell into stunned silence.
“You call that an attendant?!”
“No.” Reid wiped the blood from his iron shovel and looked up at the cold rules in the heavens, the ones trying to “format” the world.
“I’m just a ‘class player’ who knows how to bend the rules a little.”
