Reborn as a Ruthless Entrepreneur in Another World

Chapter Three: The Formula on the Anvil

Scene Setting

The wailing of the half-elf maiden pierced Chen Mo's ears like a fine needle, leaving a pale green mark. He held the forged patent application, his fingertips tracing the uneven magical runes on the parchment. The rustle of the maiden's skirt gradually faded down the hallway.

Outside the study, elf craftsmen were busy cutting magical crystals with Chen Mo's "Efficiency Incantation." The clanking of gears was mingled with suppressed coughs—a sign of excessive magical dust inhalation. The system panel displayed an injury rate of 17%, yet his conscience level had only inched up from 90% to 91%, much like the hidden bitterness beneath the sweetness of the honey cakes he had slipped into an apprentice's pillow last night.

Chen Mo's Preparation

"Time to visit the Dwarf Blacksmith," Chen Mo muttered, straightening his tie before the mirror. He noticed the teardrop mole at the corner of his left eye glowing faintly under the candlelight, resembling a drop of fresh blood.

The acquisition plan pushed by the system unfolded on his retina. The timeline for forging the steam hammer patent was precise to the minute. The dwarf ancient calendar characters generated by Excel Alchemy shimmered faintly on the parchment, a twelve-layered magical formula woven into a lie specifically designed to bait tech-savvy dwarves.

Arrival at the Dwarf Blacksmith

As the carriage rumbled over the iron-strewn road, Chen Mo heard the roar of forges in the distance. Upon arrival, he found seven dwarf craftsmen bustling around the smelting furnace. Sparks danced on their gnarled beards, illuminating the family crest on Chen Mo's cuff intermittently.

The eldest, Father Anvil, straightened up, his monocle sliding down his nose. His eyes, though clouded, exuded warmth—a gaze reminiscent of eager veterans taking in new recruits, equally enthusiastic and equally susceptible to exploitation.

"A human noble? Rare sight!" Father Anvil's voice grated like rusted gears, resonating with a metallic tone. "Care to see our newly improved quenching incantation? This blade can cleave through three oak shields..."

"I'm here to discuss a collaboration," Chen Mo interrupted. His attendant unfolded the patent application from the sandalwood box at the right moment.

The Patent Application

The moment the steam hammer blueprint spread out on the anvil, the dwarves' exclamations drowned out the forge's roar. Youngest's metal earrings jingled, and Father Anvil's beard trembled as his fingers traced the "Year of the Dwarf Ancient Calendar" on the document. Little did they know it was a time trap—the true dwarf ancient calendar had been lost centuries ago, and these characters were merely randomly arranged magical symbols.

"This... this is a gift from the lost God of the Forge!" Father Anvil's monocle fell to the ground. "Where did you get this from?"

"Family heirloom," Chen Mo replied calmly. The system judged his lie's credibility at 89%. He summoned the mall interface and used points to redeem the "Authority Patent Seal," which glowed in his palm as he stamped it on the application. Golden light danced on the dwarves' beards, reflecting a mixture of awe and greed. Chen Mo's conscience level dropped from 91% to 89%, accompanied by a stinging sensation at the back of his neck, much like the heart palpitations he felt when signing his first shady contract in a past life.

The Negotiation

The negotiation ensued amidst the heat of the forge. Chen Mo deliberately left three obvious flaws in the steam hammer's power system, watching the dwarves huddle together to discuss "improvement plans." It reminded him of the sleepless nights his engineering team spent optimizing designs for him.

Father Anvil insisted on retaining the workshop's name in the credits, to which Chen Mo readily agreed. However, in the th clause of the agreement's annex, written in tiny, nearly invisible font, he stipulated that all improvement intellectual property rights belonged to the Earl's domain—clauses that, to the dwarves, were merely aristocratic red tape.

"We need three months for verification," Father Anvil said, rubbing his calloused hands. "But with the blessing of the Forge Song, perhaps we can advance the schedule..."

"No, immediate production," Chen Mo cut him off. An Excel spreadsheet flashed through his mind, automatically generating a production capacity curve. "I've brought an improved quenching formula that triples efficiency." He pulled out a parchment inscribed with magical formulas, his finger tracing the words "three grams of dragon's blood powder." The hidden corrosion incantation gleamed under the dwarves' reverent gazes. Youngest hastily pulled out his own parchment to take notes, but Father Anvil frowned. "Traditionally, we use bear fat..."

"Bear fat?" Chen Mo sneered. "That's because you haven't tried this formula." He tapped the table with his quill, noting that the formula's magical fluctuation frequency differed by . Hz from the dwarf forge's resonance frequency—a minor discrepancy capable of causing an explosion during quenching but packaged as an "optimal solution verified by ancient texts" through Excel Alchemy. Father Anvil hesitated, then nodded, his eyes fixed on Chen Mo's family crest. In the dwarf mindset, nobility equated to knowledge authority.

The Tragedy and Its Aftermath

As dusk enveloped the blacksmith, Chen Mo witnessed Father Anvil wiping down his ancestral bellows in the workshop's rear hall. The old man's oil-stained fingers caressed the wood grain, humming a tuneless Forge Song. He failed to notice the newly carved "Chen Mo's Patent" on the bellows' base. The system panel vibrated, and Chen Mo's conscience level rebounded to 90%, accompanied by a gnawing sensation in his stomach, reminiscent of seeing a breakfast stand owner he'd ruined struggling in the cold wind.

"Time to test the new formula," Chen Mo said, as if presenting a PPT report. "Let's use refined iron for the first batch. I want to see the results."

The young craftsmen eagerly set to work, and Father Anvil personally dipped the glowing-hot sword blank into the quenching pool. Chen Mo stood at a safe distance, watching the water surface shimmer with indigo light—a sign that the corrosion incantation had taken effect. Suddenly, the sword blank exploded, sending metal shards slicing through a craftsman's arm. Chen Mo had already pulled out his ledger, ready to record the cost of injury compensation. The system panel flickered frantically, and his conscience level surged at a rate of 1% per second, reaching 93%.

"What's happening?!" Father Anvil cried, cradling the bleeding craftsman. "Your formula..."

Chen Mo stepped forward, his shoes crunching over the metal shards. He picked up a deformed sword blank, his finger lightly tracing over the flawed formula. Excel Alchemy instantly generated new magical runes, absolving him of all responsibility.

"I stressed the need for dragon's blood powder," he said, tossing the sword blank back to Father Anvil with a tone of feigned disappointment. "Yet you used bear fat—a Hz difference in magical resonance frequency between the two materials. Such basic knowledge eludes you?"

The young craftsmen exchanged puzzled glances, while Father Anvil's beard trembled violently. Chen Mo knew that the combination of "nobility" and "common sense" could crush any doubt in the dwarves' minds. A system prompt chimed, and his conscience level plummeted from % to %. He gazed at Father Anvil, whose trust had morphed into fear, recalling the expression on a client's face as they signed an insurance claim in a past life.

"From tomorrow onward," Chen Mo said, flipping through the agreement's annex, "the forging process of each workpiece must be fully recorded and reviewed by me personally." He paused, looking at the injured craftsman. "As for medical expenses—" he smiled, revealing a standard business grin, "technical partners share risks, don't they?"

Chen Mo's Reflections

In the late-night carriage ride, Chen Mo gazed out at the passing dwarf villages. A window in a certain attic glowed with a faint light, revealing Father Anvil modifying the forge manual by candlelight. The old man's hunched shoulders reminded Chen Mo of a veteran he'd once forced to "optimize PPT color schemes." The system panel displayed his conscience level at a stagnant %, while his retina floated a new plan: the Orc Clan's salt mines.

He touched the teardrop mole at the corner of his left eye and smiled. The smile held mastery over the system's mechanisms, proficiency in intellectual fraud, and a hint of admission—even to himself—of adaptation to this depravity. Much like functions nested in an Excel spreadsheet, once learned, it was impossible to revert to simple formulas.

As the first morning star appeared on the horizon, Chen Mo opened his laptop and began drafting "The Operation Guidelines for Patent Fraud." The title of the first chapter was: ‌How to Package Lies with Authority‌, with the subtitle: ‌Concurrent Discussion on Cost Control of Conscience Level Fluctuations‌. Outside the window, the dwarf blacksmith's forge remained illuminated, as young craftsmen reworked under Chen Mo's "guidance." Fragments of Father Anvil's monocle lay in the corner of the anvil, reflecting cold starlight—another stepping stone for Chen Mo's empire's rise, warm at first, then swiftly cooling.

. ‌Triad of Knowledge Hegemony‌:

Symbol Monopoly‌: Using Excel to generate lost dwarf ancient script, constructing a cognitive barrier that equates nobility with knowledge.

Data Fraud‌: Embedding a fatal . Hz discrepancy in formulas and attributing accidents to executors through authoritative interpretive power.

Emotional Manipulation‌: Leveraging dwarves' emotional dependency on ancient heritage to package modern financial traps as ancestral gifts.

. ‌Dynamics of Conscience Level Fluctuations‌:

Proactively Creating Systemic Risks‌ (e.g., patent traps): Single drop of 2-3%.

Witnessing Direct Physical Harm‌ (e.g., craftsman bleeding): Triggering "biological instinctual empathy," rebound speed +50%.

Using "Authoritative Endorsement" Items‌: Offsetting % of moral restraint resistance.

. ‌Dwarf Society Psychology‌:

"Forge as the Bible" Belief‌: Craftsmen's trust in technical documents surpasses what they see with their own eyes.

Pain Shame Culture‌: Prioritizing self-reflection over accountability after injuries, establishing a public opinion foundation for "responsibility exemption."