A Witch? She’s Just a Tool to Me

[Western Fantasy] + [Farming] + [Witch] + [Lord] + [Transmigration] + [Industrial Revolution] Transmigrated into the least favored, useless third prince, he has just two dilapidated cities for a domain and nothing but debt in the books. The first thing Ian sees when he opens his eyes is himself ordering a witch to be burned alive. On the stake, the girl’s gaze is so calm that it sends a chill down his spine. He shoves the executioner aside and cuts her free. “She isn’t a witch. She’s one of mine.” Everyone thinks the third prince has gone mad. Until the girl opens her eyes, the flow of magic across the whole world reflected in her pupils. Iron ore, underground rivers, concentrations of magical energy: she can spot them at a glance. Iron plows, blast furnaces, cement-lined canals: he builds them with his own hands. When the Church’s crusaders march on the city and the eldest prince’s cavalry tramples across the border, three hundred new recruits armed with standardized spears stand behind Ian, along with eleven witches he rescued from the stake. Seated on his horse, he points his sword ahead. “This is my domain. My rules.”