Reincarnated as The Greatest Scientist in Another World

The wind bit at Ain's face as he stepped beyond the village's last crooked fence. Mud squelched under his worn sandals. Ahead, the ragged dirt path bled into the wilderness — a thick line of gnarled trees where the sun vanished behind twisted trunks and shadows breathed like monsters.

He'd sworn to himself: he would find a way to power his people — if not with mana in their blood, then with what he knew — true energy, real light. And the only place untouched by the kingdom's patrols, where he might find raw materials, lay inside that cursed forest.

He tightened the frayed cloth around his shoulders and forced his feet forward. The closer he came, the colder the wind felt. Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the distant shrieks of unseen beasts. Then — the ground fell away.

Ain froze. Before him yawned the same ravine — the gaping wound in the earth where he'd first awakened in this body. It stretched endlessly, flanked by brittle bushes and loose stones that tumbled at the slightest touch. The bottom vanished into swirling mist and darkness. He clenched his fists, memories flickering — the rope, the voices above, the hands that had dragged him back from the brink. Now it stood between him and the forest's secrets. He needed a bridge. He needed a plan.

But before he could take another breath, voices rose behind him.

---

"Hey! You there! Stop!"

Five men in white-and-steel armor stepped from the trees, boots cracking twigs underfoot. Each carried a long iron staff capped with crystal shards that pulsed cold blue. Their cloaks marked them as royal wardens — the border guards who kept the wilderness at bay.

Two broke off, circling behind him. Cold iron kissed the back of his neck.

"What's your business here, Null?" one barked, his voice dripping disdain.

Ain forced himself to stand tall, though his knees threatened to buckle. "I… I was just looking for—"

"For what? Food? Or are you trying to cross?" Another knight stepped close, tapping his staff into the dirt. Sparks flickered from the crystal tip.

Ain's mind raced. Behind their glares, he caught a flicker of real fear. They weren't just guarding peasants — they were guarding themselves.

"This ravine is our first wall," one sneered, spitting near Ain's feet. "It keeps the filth back. Monsters, plague — things even you Null can't imagine. If you crawl across, you drag it to our gates."

Ain opened his mouth — then shut it. What could he say? Five staffs humming with mana, ready to burn him alive for daring to stand here.

The knight closest to him jabbed a finger at his chest. "You people know your place. Null don't wander. Null don't cross. Back to your mud hole."

Rough hands grabbed his shoulders. The cold snap of shackles bit his wrists before he could even flinch. No chance to run. They hauled him back through the muddy path, dragging him toward the outline of the starving village he'd tried to leave behind.

---

Far away, behind towering marble walls, the royal city of Holly Stone blazed under endless magic lamps. Tall spires stabbed the sky, polished white stone glittering under moonlight. Inside the king's council hall, Zuko Hearthfilia — seventh prince of the Hearthfilia bloodline — shoved open a pair of gilded doors.

The crescent chamber fell silent at once. Old men in velvet robes turned beady eyes on him. At the far end, King Barnabas Hearthfilia sat on a black granite throne, ringed by loyal knights.

Zuko's boots cracked against polished marble as he strode forward, his black cloak trailing like a dark flame.

"I have a motion," he snapped, tossing scrolls onto the central table. "The Null settlements are rotting to death. Our fields wither outside these walls while children starve in our shadows. I propose we open the outer gates — let the Null farm the land, build real homes—"

A sharp laugh cut him off. An old lord leaned back, jeweled cane tapping against his knee. "Another fantasy, Your Highness? You plan to teach rats to walk upright?"

Snide chuckles rippled through the chamber. Even King Barnabas shifted, looking anywhere but at his son's eyes.

Zuko's jaw clenched. He slammed a fist on the table. "You bloated parasites. You prattle about grace while you dine on gold plates as babies scrape mold from rotting crusts! You think this kingdom stands forever on the bones of slaves?"

One by one, the council's polite masks cracked. King Barnabas rose, his robes whispering over the marble. "Enough," he said, voice cold as iron. "You shame me, Zuko."

Zuko bared his teeth. "Good. Be ashamed. If you want a puppet prince licking your boots, find another. I'd rather rot in the gutter—"

Steel-clad guards moved in. Rough hands seized his arms. He barely got another word out before they dragged him through the hall, his curses echoing off ancient stone.

Outside the palace gates, they hurled him down the steps. The heavy iron doors slammed shut behind him, final as a tomb.

---

The mud was freezing where Zuko landed, cloak torn, boots scuffed raw. A handful of Null families huddled near the outer wall, watching him with wary eyes — like strays sniffing at a wounded wolf.

Zuko pushed himself up, blood dripping from his lip. He spread his arms wide, mocking the silence.

"Behold, citizens of dirt!" he called, voice heavy with irony. "Your savior, cast out for daring to care whether you live or die! Applaud, won't you?"

No one moved. A mother pulled her child behind her skirt. A few men turned away, muttering. To them, he was still just another noble — another whip, another boot.

Zuko's grin faltered. He let his arms drop, laughing bitterly at himself.

"Idiots. They don't even see the spark."

A single voice answered him.

"Prince Zuko, right?"

Zuko turned. Thin, filthy, eyes sharp as a hawk's — Ain stood in the mud, shackles still red on his wrists.

Zuko cocked an eyebrow. "You know me?"

Ain nodded once. "I know you talk loud. I want to see if you do more than talk."

Zuko's grin returned, smaller now, almost real. "All right, Null boy. Lead the way."

---

Ain's hut was no marble chamber. The roof leaked. The floor creaked under every step. Zuko sat cross-legged on a rough mat, knees brushing the low wooden table where Ain's mother set a chipped plate — on it, a chunk of stale bread, crusted green with mold.

Zuko eyed it, then looked at Ain. "This is dinner?"

Ain met his stare. "This is life, Prince. For us."

Zuko picked up the bread, turned it in his hands, then bit down without flinching. Mold or not — hunger didn't care. He chewed, forced a crooked grin. "Exquisite."

Ain sat opposite him, eyes burning like coals. "This is what we eat while you drink wine behind stone walls. This is the Null's truth. You say you want to change it — so tell me how."

Their eyes locked — the exiled prince with no throne, and the reborn scientist with a furnace where his heart should be.

And in the flickering flame of that broken hut, a conspiracy took its first breath — bitter, moldy, and unstoppable.