The world was called Elyndra.
Which, in Lyle's professional opinion, was a very fantasy name.
It sounded like something you'd name your elf daughter after a bottle of wine and a lot of poor decisions.
Lyle was sitting down, sipping the hot tea. A massive book lay open on the table before him, its pages wide enough to cover a small child.
"So… Elyndra," he muttered, tapping his chin. "Ten times the size of Earth, five times the number of currencies, and approximately three times the opportunity to get horribly murdered by wildlife."
This world was big. As in, stupidly big.
And it was divided into a bunch of regions, kingdoms, and continents like a geography major's fever dream.
The book listed them all with loving detail and enough footnotes to make Lyle consider developing a caffeine addiction.
He flipped through a few pages, skimming the sections with helpful hand-drawn maps and questionably accurate illustrations of "typical locals."
One of them showed a dwarf with pecs the size of watermelons standing on a barrel holding two hammers and a sausage.
Lyle blinked. "Okay."
From what he could gather, Elyndra had several major continents:
Evanora (Human Continent): Where Lyle currently lived. Mostly humans. Some half-elves and even Demi-humans. A lot of noble drama. Also apparently had a shortage of decent barbers.
Vildrath (Demi-Human Continent): Populated by beastkin, kitsune, catfolk, and more. Known for their warrior culture, spicy food, and tail fashion trends.
Khundral (Dwarven Continent): A mountainous region of beer, blacksmithing, and bald shouting. Dwarves built everything out of stone, metal, or rage.
Seyl'Arieth (Elven Continent): Home to tall, beautiful, arrogant tree-huggers with terrifying magical power and an ancient disdain for human architecture.
Fyrgaarde (Dragon Lands): Not for tourism. Definitely not. Unless your vacation plan includes getting roasted alive and eaten by a scaled demigod.
Nyzztal (The Dark Continent): A land of mists, shadows, and questionable life choices. Said to house monsters, forgotten ruins, and at least one evil god on vacation.
There were others — smaller islands, independent territories, and floating cities with names that looked like someone had sneezed mid-alphabet.
But those were the big ones.
Lyle closed the book and rubbed his temples. "God I'm getting a big headache reading all this."
What surprised him the most — besides the elf-drawn cartoon of a human tripping on their own sword — was that slave trading was banned.
Universally.
Apparently, at some point, a human warlord had tried it.
The entire Elven Council, three demi-human war packs, and Khundral's 7th Iron Legion joined forces to absolutely ruin the guy's year.
He didn't even make it to trial. They turned his mansion into a soup kitchen.
Now, if any continent suspected humans were dabbling in slave trading, they had the legal right to start a war.
That was one of the last things humanity wanted.
"Yeah," Lyle muttered. "I do not have the army budget to be on the wrong side of a dragon-riding elf lawyer."
He reached for his drink, only to find the glass empty.
He sighed, rang the bell.
A maid entered within moments.
Not the same as before — this one was blonde, older, with a stern face and the kind of posture that said she could iron shirts just by glaring at them.
"Yes, Young Master?"
Lyle held up the empty glass like a relic of a fallen empire. "Refill, please."
She nodded, took it, and left without a word.
Lyle slumped back. "Still zero maid affection points. System, I thought I was the protagonist here."
The system, as usual, responded with the cheerful tone of a sales rep who'd had too much coffee.
[System Message: Query Received!]
"Do you have any missions?"
[Opening Mission Log…]
[Current Objectives]
[Recruit combat-ready maids (0/5)]
[Acquire 10,000 gold coins in your name (0/10,000)]
[Don't die]
[Try to be less insufferable]
Lyle stared.
"Excuse me?"
He reread the mission.
Get 10,000 gold coins in your name.
[Mission Reward: Unlocked Personal Trade License, Reputation Boost, Random Rare Item]
[Mission Note: You can't be a merchant heir without any money, genius.]
Lyle groaned. "Ten THOUSAND? Do I look like I have that kind of change just lying around? I'm living off allowance!"
Another ping.
[Sub-Mission Unlocked: Stop Being Broke]
[Hint: Selling rare items, investing, or forming trade connections can help.]
[Illegal methods not recommended. (Looking at you, alleyway scams.)]
He flopped dramatically on the chair like a dying swan.
"I can't even balance my old student loans and now I need to be a fantasy entrepreneur?!"
Just then, the maid returned with a fresh drink and a tray of scones. She placed them down, curtsied, and turned to leave.
"Wait," Lyle said, sitting up. "You've worked here a while, right?"
"Yes, Young Master."
"Do you… know how much gold is in my account?"
She blinked, then pulled out a small ledger from her apron with terrifying speed.
It even had gold trim. "As of this morning, you have two hundred and seventeen gold coins remaining for the month."
Lyle nodded slowly. "Okay. So if I don't eat, drink, breathe, or move — I'll be 10,000 gold short."
She didn't reply. She just gave him the kind of look reserved for disappointed teachers.
"…That's all. Thank you."
She left.
Lyle rubbed his face with both hands.
"Okay. Think, Lyle. What would a smart, cunning, genre-savvy protagonist do in this situation?"
The answer?
Start scheming.
If he wanted 10,000 gold, he couldn't rely on allowance alone.
That meant business. He was the son of a famous merchant, wasn't he?
"Time to embrace capitalism," he muttered, cracking his knuckles.