Chapter 17: The Forbidden Beast
He—Prince Ryuguin—looked down upon the people of this world.
The reason was simple and clear: they were of the lower caste, while he considered himself the pinnacle of humanity.
He possessed a kind of elitist mindset, akin to thick, clinging sludge, believing that those at the bottom of the triangular pyramid deserved whatever treatment they received from those above them.
When he was first summoned to this world, he managed to hide this true nature to some extent. However, as he realized the solidified status of the Hero and grasped his own power, his arrogance began to surface quite early on.
He believed that his creative endeavors were what would improve this world. In truth, he had no desire to make this world better; rather, the praise directed at him was what mattered most.
Every time he recalled the triumphant return after conquering the Blade Labyrinth, he felt an overwhelming rush of excitement tinged with sexual thrill. It was a forbidden fruit for Ryuguin, the sweetest and strongest treat that he could never get enough of.
That said, this was all before the real work began. The manifestation of Ryuguin’s so-called creativity required a process of turning ideas into reality, a process he had no intention of undertaking himself.
No matter the attempt or invention, it would likely require countless trials and errors, consuming a significant amount of time. Moreover, just because he put in the effort didn’t guarantee success; achieving his goals would demand not only money and manpower but also a certain conviction—something Ryuguin lacked entirely.
If he ever heard the word “conviction,” he would probably scoff, saying, “Conviction? What can something so vague even accomplish?”
Now, to begin with, Ryuguin believed that his true talents lay in using his intellect to manage others, rather than doing the work himself. Of course, he had some creative talent, but he saw no reason to exert himself.
He would toss out ideas and expect those willing to act to do so.
If he lacked knowledge, he could employ someone knowledgeable. If he lacked skill, he could hire someone skilled. If labor was needed, he could simply bring in workers from around.
This approach sufficed for everything.
Indeed, many had succeeded using such methods. However, that success stemmed from individuals with overwhelming charisma and talent, who led projects with a firm conviction.
But none of that mattered to Prince Ryuguin. What he needed were results—and he had achieved them.
If he failed, it was due to the incompetence of others. If he succeeded, it was his own merit.
This was only natural. After all, he—Prince Ryuguin—was the greatest Hero in history. Thus, all accomplishments of the commoners were undoubtedly his.
Indeed, this was his conviction.
Ryuguin embodied the overwhelming class disparity, living out the mantra of “Laugh, commoners!” Yet, there was a vast chasm between his self-image and his actual abilities.
Still, he was not entirely incompetent; if he acted with sound reasoning, he could achieve something. But he chose not to.
This is the story of one of his endeavors.
He loved high-end taverns where he could be entertained by girls, but he also enjoyed the local pubs. The attention from various townsfolk delighted him. However, he couldn’t skip the girl entertainment, so it became his routine to bring along two or three girls whenever he visited a local tavern.
So, on that day, while he was out partying at a tavern, he overheard an unfamiliar man at the next table lamenting, “This year’s crops are suffering due to poor yields.”
Having indulged in a potent cocktail of excessive alcohol and flattery, he was already in a euphoric state. Overwhelmed by the feeling, he arrogantly declared, “I’ll take care of it!”
He was like a version of a certain character from another world, but I digress. It was a rather disrespectful comparison to make about the man in the black suit.
There are many instances where people don’t do something not because they can’t, but because it would be futile to try. The world had already seen the introduction of games like Reversi and chess, thanks to past transfer students. As Yamada knew, this world had fluffy bread, curry, and stew. If one looked hard enough, they could even find chocolate.
Though no one mentioned it, the familiar concepts of carriage suspension and wells were also commonplace.
Ichiro Yamada, aware of his own lack of knowledge, briefly considered the absurd notion of being a master of otherworldly summoning knowledge—but quickly dismissed it as impossible.
In contrast, Prince Ryuguin looked down on the cultural level of this world, never bothering to investigate, and maintained his condescending attitude.
In this case, it was clear who had the better approach.
To put it simply, he declared that he would create a fertilizer pit without knowing how to do so.
It was a rather “creative” situation, but he was dead serious.
Though it was hard to comprehend what he was saying, he insisted, “If we build a fertilizer pit, the crops will thrive! You didn’t know that?”
Though alternatives to a fertilizer pit already existed in this world, he was blissfully unaware.
Initially, the farmer had refused his offer, but after Ryuguin threatened, “If you refuse my offer, does that mean you intend to leave the Arcana Kingdom?” he caved in and accepted the proposal. The farmer’s face turned pale as he hung on every word and action of the so-called Hero, internally lamenting, “It’s over… I’m finished…”
He had no idea how to store the fertilizer, transport it, or what conditions were needed for fermentation. There were countless issues he had no answers for.
Yet, he pushed forth the vague memory of, “Just ferment it and cover it with leaves, and everything will be fine!” as if it were solid knowledge.
When the farmer gently suggested stopping, Ryuguin would respond each time with, “Are you trying to trample on my—your Hero’s—kindness and sully my reputation? Well, if you insist on stopping after understanding that, I won’t stop you.”
In the end, his crops died.
But it was all because of that incompetent farmer’s interference. Every time something went wrong, he would complain about money and resources, shouting from the sidelines.
Instead of simply denying the possibilities, it was the farmer’s job to find solutions. Wasn’t that right?
Already feeling ill, the farmer left without even thanking the Hero for his assistance, and Ryuguin felt nothing but anger at such irresponsibility.
There was no way someone like him would succeed anywhere.
How dare he, a mere monkey, be granted knowledge…
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