Reincarnated in a New World and Brought “Democracy” with Me — Including 50 Abrams Tanks and the Aircraft Carrier Gerald R. Ford

Three helicopters flew through the night sky toward headquarters. Two Chinooks carried a damaged Apache. The Black Hawk led the way. Below, thousands of translucent yellow silhouettes drifted across the creatures like a flock of birds in the sky — but on the ground, waist-deep in Argo. On board the Black Hawk sat me, Pex, and Clarence, who was looking down and carefully trying to boast that he, too, could fly — but, of course, was afraid of offending me, and so mostly just thanked me and apologized, even after I passed out.

And I... Yeah, I passed out immediately in Pex's arms — even the helicopter's noise couldn't get through to me.

—

—

I opened my eyes. My tent. The same ceiling. I jumped out of bed and splashed water on my face.

"Maybe I dreamed it?" — with that thought, I stepped outside — and it was scorching hot, hitting me like an oven at two hundred degrees, my mouth dry even though I'd just had a drink.

I looked around. No Yellows on the base. But how could I have slept through it? My body was sore, and it was all too real to be a dream.

Alright. To headquarters.

I went back inside and grabbed my XM-7. I promised to carry it always.

And in headquarters, life was bustling.

"GOOD DAY, COMMANDER!" they all shouted in unison.

"Good day!" I answered cheerfully and walked to my chair.

But, to be fair, there were no other officers — only CUB. The Strategist immediately stepped up to the "board."

"I'd like to discuss... What to do with 1,539,017 translucent entities standing around the base?" he turned on the screen, showing satellite images of everything covered in Yellows.

(It wasn't a dream...)

"I'll tell them I'm not an Archon."

"There were two hundred and fifty-nine attempts to communicate that information to them. Under any pretense. They simply want to follow your Wisdom. My theory: due to the loss of their bodies, they follow the basic instinct of any entity — to find an alpha. And now you are their alpha."

(Trouble...)

"Is that bad?"

"Quite the opposite. According to the Analyst's data, these entities... Let's call them..." (Me: Yellows) "Good. Yellows have the ability to physically interact with the world. But they have a problem — they expend energy and disappear. According to..." — he paused, — "I won't fully say his name. According to Clarence, they can physically influence the world for about five hours, after which they retreat underground into the Argo lake, where they recover," the Strategist continued. "These entities are trapped in the Silent Silence territory, unable to leave it without a shell. And they are directly tied to their killers — the Argo. But they cannot interact with them. They can only push them away when a large number of Yellows gather at one point." The Strategist clicked the kettle. "My idea: channel this entire 'collective' into productive work."

(How quickly they gathered all this data... Amazing how well CUB works. And would it be bad to make them work? What would it bring us?)

"How good would that be?"

"Eight hundred and seventy-eight years of labor per day — or 3,078,034 hands. That's very good. We could start building our own equipment and warehouses, and also relieve the overworked Pex from all tasks, replacing him with Yellows. From quarry work to sweeping the territory."

(I see. A very efficient workforce for developing our base...)

"Here's what I'll do. I'll go out and declare that I'm not an Archon, multiple times. If they believe me — then no. If they still wait for 'Wisdom' — then go ahead," I decided and headed toward the exit.

And at the gate, all the translucent figures turned fully yellow and knelt in a wave.

(Wow...)

"I am NOT an Archon!"

Gestures.

"Go away, I am NOT an Archon!"

Gestures.

"I am NOT AN ARCHON!!"

The Yellows looked at each other and began communicating with gestures, still kneeling, then lowered their heads again in a bow.

I looked at the camera.

"Flag surrendered."

[Loudspeaker]: Yellows. That is your name. Wisdom today commands — quarries to mine. Floors to sweep. Learn the Wisdom of "Work" from the officers and spirits. Each will receive their group number — so says Wisdom.

The Strategist divided them into fifteen groups:

YF-1 through YF-10 — general labor. (30/7 Training.)

YF-11 — drivers (for future transport). (30/7 Training. Since they only listen and don't interact with the world.)

YF-12 — complex equipment repair. (30/7 Training.)

YF-13 — pilots, tankers, sailors (all future military equipment). (30/7 Training.)

YF-14, 15 — complex equipment construction. (30/7 Training.)

And along the HESCO walls, "individual" training sessions began for the groups by Pex's soldiers. Each monotonously spoke something, and the Yellows listened...

I watched it all and decided to just return to headquarters.

"Hey. Why didn't we see them before?" I decided to ask.

"Several theories. First — they were filled with energy when you flipped the switch, and after that they became visible through satellite or drone lenses," the Strategist proposed and took a sip of tea. "Second — a blind spot of the eye. Third — dynamic occlusion."

(Amazing... What else am I not noticing in this desert... Maybe there's even more mystery here, and this world is far more populated than it seems?)

"Eureka!" the Scientist shouted. "Ahem. Permission to report," he walked to the "board," taking the Strategist's tea along the way. "Clarence was handed over to me. As a result of a night-long discussion with him, I managed to figure out how to remove the magical barrier from Argo. Plus, with the disassembled Abrams shell — depleted uranium in its pure form absorbs the entire protective shell. The result: we get very heavy, very cold, impurity-rich — but... Oil!" the Scientist downed his tea in one gulp. "We also get magical depleted uranium as a byproduct."

(Now we have oil too... And I'm just sitting here. Of course, I don't want to brag about bringing a million workers — but in any case, I'm glad we're settling in here, and we'll probably feel comfortable soon. The main thing is that this place is without people or mages — and they're literally standing on the walls, protecting us, keeping everyone out.)

"Well, good then. We're all great!" I decided to encourage — mostly myself.

"I'll compile a list of ideas. But right now I want to propose Argo extraction. Since uranium only works on the secreted liquid, and on the creatures — it takes a long time. We need to insert uranium into it, wait until it temporarily dies from stress, and then work. And a downside — uranium becomes single-use because of the magic, transforming into a new element," the Scientist sat down opposite me. "My idea: fully collect the liquid from the caves and build the first... oil refinery."

(A factory... Sounds good, and if they're offering — why not?! We have nothing to lose. We'll send the Yellows for collection. Construction too — Yellows. Metal extraction and everything else — Yellows will do, as long as they believe I'm an Archon. When they stop believing — they can leave. I'm not keeping them enslaved — they chose this themselves.)

"Do what needs to be done."

I realized I needed to train. Soon there would be new equipment — I'd have to learn to use it all myself. And the Strategist had created the "K-1-ZZ" plan (Complex 1 Factory Complex, "to keep pace with this territory").

I was just about to get up and head to training when I remembered Clarence.

"Should we banish him?"

"Not necessary. Pex lost one soldier out of seven hundred. That's minimal loss for the useful intel about this entire world," the Scientist convinced me, walking with me to the exit.

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

(Fine... They know what they're doing.) And in the heat, the Scientist and I parted ways. He went to the lab. I went to Paladin for training.