The other side of Reincarnation

　Himari arrived at Horizoncrest three days later, alongside another of the widow’s staff, carrying instructions to assist Elaine with the mounting trade calculations that had outpaced everyone’s original expectations.

This place is enormous, she thought, taking in the mansion, the council hall, the sheer scale of infrastructure that hadn’t existed at all a year earlier by every account she’d heard. Whoever’s actually running this operation clearly knows exactly what they’re doing.

　Elaine greeted her personally, warm and efficient in equal measure.

”You’re from Roshan? Good — we genuinely need the extra hands. I’ll walk you through the current ledgers.”

”Of course,” Himari said, already scanning the room out of old habit, cataloguing exits and faces the way years on the force had trained her to.

No sign of him yet. Whoever this Kai actually is.

　The work itself came easily enough — trading calculations weren’t so different from what she’d handled managing her own modest finances, back in a life that felt, more each day, like something from an entirely different existence. She fell into the rhythm of it, quiet and competent, watching Horizoncrest’s own strange, warm chaos unfold around her.

　It was Ivy, eventually, who properly introduced her to the actual production process — the same knowledge Kai had spent weeks carefully teaching to anyone willing to learn it.

”Lord Kai insists everything be properly documented,” Ivy explained, settling a thick manual in front of Himari. ”Not just produced. Taught. He wants Horizoncrest’s knowledge to actually spread, not stay locked inside a handful of specialists.”

That’s — that’s an unusual philosophy, for someone who could easily just monopolize everything he’s created.

　Himari read through the manual with growing fascination — Kai’s own explanations, dictated and transcribed, walking through exactly how Dragonsteel was forged, step by careful step: True Dragon energy, channeled through a specific resonance pattern into raw ore, the dwarven smiths trained to recognize the precise temperature and timing that let the metal properly bond with that borrowed power.

　Genesis Seeds followed — a combination of Elaine’s Authority of Genesis and careful agricultural science, seeds infused with concentrated restorative mana that, once planted, actively repaired the soil around them rather than simply growing despite poor conditions.

He’s not hoarding any of this, Himari realized, turning page after page of careful, methodical instruction. He’s teaching it properly. Documenting every step so someone with no magical background at all could follow it.

”Who actually wrote all this?” she asked, curious despite herself.

”Lord Kai,” Ivy said. ”Personally. He believes knowledge that stays locked to one person eventually dies with them. Better to teach it properly, even the parts that could theoretically be copied by rivals.”

That’s a strange kind of confidence. Or a strange kind of generosity. Maybe both.

　She found herself, without quite meaning to, growing curious about the man behind all of it — every account she’d heard so far painting someone considerably more thoughtful, more deliberate, than the simple word ”Demon Lord” had prepared her to expect.

I want to actually meet him properly. Whoever he is.

　Kai spent that same week walking a delegation of visiting merchants and craftspeople through the production process personally — a habit he’d settled into deliberately, believing, same as he’d told Himari’s manual, that hoarded knowledge served nobody properly in the long run.

”Voidstone,” he explained, to a cluster of attentive dwarven smiths, ”works by binding raw stone with a lattice of suppressed anti-mana — carefully measured, never full strength, or it simply cancels itself out along with whatever magic it’s meant to absorb. The key is balance. Too little, and it does nothing. Too much, and it becomes actively hostile to any magic nearby, including your own defensive spells.”

”How do we measure the balance properly?” one smith asked.

”Resonance testing,” Kai said. ”I’ll walk you through it directly.”

This is the part of the old life that actually translates cleanly. Teaching. Explaining a system clearly enough that someone else can actually replicate it themselves.

　He moved through each product in turn over the following days — Astral Crystal’s careful mana-compression technique, borrowed loosely from principles he half-remembered from old-world battery technology, adapted into something the magic here could actually sustain. Celestial Glass, requiring a specific fusion of Elaine’s creation magic with dwarven glasswork, patient layering rather than a single working. Soul Elixir, the most delicate of all, requiring genuine care and understanding of spiritual anatomy that Vance herself had helped properly formalize into something teachable.

”You’re giving away your entire advantage,” one visiting merchant observed, genuinely puzzled. ”Once we know how to make this ourselves, why would we keep buying from you?”

”Some of it, you’ll be able to replicate,” Kai admitted, honest. ”Some of it requires materials or conditions only Horizoncrest actually has access to — True Dragon energy, for one, or the specific quality of mana my own domain carries. You’re welcome to try. I’d rather you understand what you’re actually purchasing than treat it like unexplainable magic.”

Besides, he thought, privately, watching the merchant turn that answer over with visible surprise, trust built on transparency lasts longer than trust built on mystery. I learned that lesson properly, eventually, even if it took losing people to learn it.

　The knowledge spread exactly as he’d intended — slowly, unevenly, some kingdoms managing partial reproduction, most falling considerably short without Horizoncrest’s specific resources, all of them, regardless, coming away with genuine respect for a Demon Lord who’d chosen to teach rather than hoard.

”He explains everything,” the reports eventually said, spreading alongside the trade goods themselves. ”Doesn’t treat us like children incapable of understanding. Doesn’t demand blind faith in exchange for goods. Just — explains, and lets us decide for ourselves whether the price is worth it.”