Chapter 1: The Lazy God Explains

You know how most stories start with some majestic narrator booming, “In the beginning there was light”?

Yeah, not here.

Hi. Name’s Ayn. I’m technically a god. Not the important kind who shapes worlds or hurls fireballs from heaven. More like the “background noise” god who never quit the job because… well, quitting requires effort.

Anyway, welcome to Eryndor. A magical land filled with kingdoms, dragons, adventurers, guilds, and, most importantly, markets. Sounds epic, right? Wrong. It’s mostly people arguing about grain prices and whose goat ate whose fence. But hey, if you slap some shiny castles on top, people call it “fantasy.”

Now, the history. Brace yourselves.

Long ago, gods fought dragons. Why? Nobody knows. Some say honor, some say pride, I say boredom. You ever get so bored you start a war? That’s basically the divine condition. They blasted mountains, flooded continents, and reduced the world to rubble — all because one dragon sneezed during a divine banquet. True story.

Mortals? Oh, they suffered. Entire civilizations got squashed like ants at a picnic. But eventually the gods got tired, the dragons got tired, and everyone just sort of… wandered off. That’s the glorious history of this land: a divine pissing contest that ended in mutual disinterest.

And that’s where the world is now. Peaceful. Too peaceful. Farmers farm, merchants cheat farmers, nobles cheat merchants, and everyone pretends it’s a grand story. Honestly, it was getting dull even for me.

Which brings us to… him.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Ah, so this is the destined hero!” Yeah, no. He’s not destined. He’s not noble. He’s not even particularly smart.

He’s just greedy.

That’s all. Pure, unfiltered, wallet-sniffing greed wrapped in a man’s skin. If money had a spirit animal, it would be him. And I, in my infinite laziness, thought: “Hey, let’s see what happens if I drop a greed-obsessed idiot into a fantasy world and give him a system.”

Why? Entertainment. Don’t judge me — you all binge-watch terrible shows when you’re bored. This is my version. Except instead of Netflix, I use reality.

So I reached across dimensions, snagged him right out of his dingy little Earth life, and plopped him here in Eryndor.

His name? Kael.

His dream? Not glory, not adventure, not saving the world. No, this man’s one great ambition is to become the richest merchant alive.

Honestly, the moment I summoned him, I knew I’d struck comedy gold.

Does that sound like the makings of a savior? No. But does it sound like fun to watch? Oh, absolutely.

And before you accuse me of being irresponsible — yes, I could’ve chosen someone better. A brave knight, a wise scholar, a chosen champion. But let me tell you a secret: those types are boring. They swing swords, make speeches, kiss princesses. Seen it a thousand times. Predictable. Snooze-fest.

That’s the thing about gods — we get bored. Which, fun fact, is the exact reason the rest of them abandoned this world in the first place.

You mortals wrote songs about “the gods’ glorious ascension,” but truth? They just… quit. Like employees walking out of a dead-end office job.

The god of war said he was “taking a break,” which meant: I’m tired of smashing mountains, I’m gonna go nap inside one.

The goddess of love announced she wanted to “focus on personal projects,” then immediately started dating herself across three timelines.

And the almighty god of fate — ha! He just shredded the divine script and said, “Figure it out yourselves, I’m done writing sequels.”

That’s the grand divine mystery mortals still pray about: why the heavens went silent. The truth? The gods got bored and left.

Of course, mortals can’t handle the idea their creators just… ghosted them. So they invented prophecies. “The gods will return!” “The chosen hero will rise!” Blah blah blah. You know what destiny really is? A fancy excuse people make when they don’t want to admit they made a dumb decision.

And speaking of dumb decisions…

I summoned Kael.

Now, usually when a god pulls someone from another world, it’s a big dramatic production. Trumpets, beams of holy light, the whole nine yards. Mortals eat that stuff up.

Me? I couldn’t be bothered.

So Kael’s grand entrance into Eryndor began with him face-planting into a cow field. No glowing runes, no angelic chorus — just splat. He lay there, grass stuck in his teeth, smelling like cow, groaning like someone who tripped over their own ambition.

“Ugh—my back! Who the hell threw me?!” he yelled, springing up, eyes darting wildly. His gaze snapped to the horizon where a picturesque medieval town sat gleaming in the afternoon sun. White stone walls, red-roofed houses, banners fluttering. The kind of sight that makes most transmigrated heroes weep with awe.

Kael? He squinted at it, rubbed his hands together, and whispered:

“…That place looks rich.”

That’s when I knew this was going to be good.

“Oh-ho,” I muttered from my divine armchair in the void, “he’s not even gonna ask how he got here. Straight to profits. I like this idiot.”

Of course, the System activated the moment he touched this world. And let me tell you, it’s not your usual “kill ten goblins to gain power” nonsense. No. The very first quest that popped up in glowing golden letters before his eyes was:

[Quest: Pluck one blade of grass.]

Reward: Permanent Immortality. Invincibility. Enhanced Charisma. Unlimited stamina. Basic starter pack.]

I swear, I nearly choked on my ambrosia laughing.

Kael stared at the words. Then at the grass. Then at the words again.

“…You’re telling me I can live forever if I pull out a lawn?!”

He yanked one blade without hesitation.

Light erupted around him, divine power flooding his body, muscles tightening, senses sharpening, skin glowing like he’d been dipped in liquid heroism. Birds scattered from the trees. The earth trembled. Somewhere, an ancient sealed demon lord probably felt a shiver run down his spine.

Kael brushed dirt off his pants, looked at his hands, and grinned.

“…I’m gonna be so rich.”

And just like that, the strongest being in Eryndor was born — because he plucked grass.

Kael brushed off the last shimmering sparks of divine light, still gripping that one lonely blade of grass like it was a crown jewel. His eyes darted around, half-expecting trumpets or angels to descend. Nothing. Just silence, the moo of a distant cow, and the faint smell of manure.

“…That’s it? I just… win?” he muttered. He stomped his boot on the ground, leaving a small crater. “Immortal. Invincible. All because I yanked a weed?”

[Ding! Congratulations. You are now immortal and invincible.]

[Bonus reward: Slightly better posture.]

He straightened automatically. “…Oh. Nice.”

Now, most men would be stunned by this. They’d gape at their newfound strength, vow to use it for justice, or at least test it by punching a tree in half. Kael? His first thought was:

“Invincible… means no medical bills. Immortal… means compound interest forever.”

The grin that spread across his face was so greedy it could’ve curdled milk.

He marched toward the town on the horizon, already scheming. “First step: find some poor saps. Second step: sell them grass. Tell them it’s a divine relic. Limited stock, of course.” He raised the blade between two fingers like a priceless artifact. “I’ll market it as… ‘Holy Hero Herb.’ Ha! That’ll sell.”

Up in the void, I was nearly falling out of my divine chair. Here was a man who just achieved god-slaying power, and his master plan was reselling lawn clippings.

“Oh, this is going to be delicious,” I chuckled. “The villagers won’t know what hit them.”

Kael quickened his pace, muttering under his breath like a man rehearsing a sales pitch. “Yes, yes, step right up, miracle grass, one coin a leaf! No refunds! Limited-time offer!” His eyes gleamed, a dragon hoarding treasure he hadn’t even scammed yet.

By the time he reached the town gates, his future was already mapped out in gold and silver. Not kingdoms, not glory, not love. Just profit.

And thus, the strongest being in Eryndor — invincible, immortal, unstoppable — entered history not as a savior, not as a hero, but as a merchant with grass in his pocket and greed in his soul.

Which, frankly, is much funnier.

I leaned back in my divine chair, watching him march into town, already plotting scams. And I thought to myself:

“…Ah, yes. Finally, some quality entertainment.”

⸻

End of Chapter 1.

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