Reincarnated with the Country System

The Arcane Research Institute

It was here, far from the prying eyes of the public, that Emperor Alberto had authorized his most ambitious project: the creation of artificial mages. If this is successful, ordinary people will also be able to gain magical powers.

The doors to one of the more secure wings of the institute opened with a quiet hiss. Inside, a harsh fluorescent light illuminated the cold metal surfaces of workstations. A lab technician, glanced up from his monitor, nodding briefly to Circe, who entered, her heels echoing sharply in the silence.

"Is everything prepared?" Circe's voice was sharp and commanding as she surveyed the room.

"Everything is ready, Chief," replied the technician, his fingers hovering nervously over the keyboard. "We've secured twenty subjects for the experiment—slaves from Britannia, as you ordered. The most promising ones have been prepped and placed in the holding cells. The others are in varying stages of readiness." Enjoy new tales from My Virtual Library Empire

Circe's eyes flickered with approval. She stepped toward a large observation window that looked into a stark, clinical chamber, where a row of individuals were bound to metallic tables, their bodies restrained with thick leather straps. Among them were humans and demi-humans—beings with animalistic features such as sharp ears, elongated limbs, or fur-covered skin.

"Initiate the procedure on the first subject," Circe ordered.

The technician nodded. He activated a console, sending a pulse of arcane energy through the machines that connected to each subject's body. Monitors blinked to life, displaying heart rates, blood pressure, and mana levels—numbers that seemed meaningless, but to Circe, each was a vital sign in the ongoing process of creation.

The first subject, a human male, stirred slightly on the table. His eyes were wide with terror, his breathing shallow as he looked around, clearly disoriented. He had been stripped of his identity, a nameless piece of property bought from the slums of Britannia. He was a slave, chosen for his physical health, but more importantly, for his lack of anything that could resist the system.

The man croaked, his voice a faint whisper of panic. "What... what is happening?"

Circe's gaze softened, but only for a moment. Her empathy for the subjects had long since dissipated, replaced by a cold, clinical focus on results.

"We are enhancing you," Circe said flatly, "Granting you power beyond what you can imagine. You will survive this, or you will die. Either way, the experiment will proceed."

The man's eyes darted wildly around the room, his body trembling against the restraints. "Please... please don't—" His plea was cut off as the technician triggered the arcane pulse.

Energy surged through his veins, rushing into his bloodstream like fire. The man convulsed violently, his body bucking against the restraints. His skin flushed red, then pale, as though the energy was draining his very essence. His veins began to glow faintly, veins of light creeping up his arms and neck like serpents.

His screams filled the room, rising in pitch until they became incoherent. The technician frantically adjusted settings on the nearby console, but Circe stood motionless, her gaze fixed on the monitors. She'd seen this before.

"Stage one," Circe muttered to herself, "Unstable core formation."

The man's body began to shake uncontrollably as his internal organs struggled to process the invasive energy. His organs, lungs, and heart were not capable of managing the surge, and soon, his screams faltered, replaced by gurgling as his body began to shut down.

"Terminate the process," Circe ordered, her voice indifferent. With a quick command, the technician pressed a button that sent a lethal current of electricity into the subject's brain, effectively ending his life. The body went limp.

Circe's lips thinned into a line as she glanced at the monitor. The subject had failed, as most did. His body had been consumed by the energy before it could form a stable mana core.

"Next," Circe instructed, as though the failure were nothing more than a small inconvenience.

The next subject, a demi-human female, was brought forward. She had feline features—sharp ears, slit pupils, and a tail that twitched nervously as she lay on the table. Her fur, once a soft silver, was now matted with sweat and fear.

She was barely conscious, her eyes unfocused. Unlike the first subject, the demi-human had the innate ability to channel small amounts of mana, a trait that Circe hoped would give her a better chance of survival.

"Please," the woman whispered as she was bound to the table, her voice trembling.

Circe looked down at her dispassionately. "You have no choice. You are a tool. And tools can either be broken or useful."

The technician engaged in the process, and this time, the results were different. The demi-human's body reacted less violently to the influx of arcane energy. Her eyes flickered with a faint light as she struggled to control the magic coursing through her. It was clear she had some innate resistance, but it was still too much for her untrained body.

She began to thrash against the restraints, her fur bristling as the magic began to burn her from the inside out. Circe observed silently, her arms crossed.

For a moment, it seemed as if she might survive. But then, the mana core formation process triggered a violent reaction. The demi-human's body jerked as her spine began to crack audibly, her tail twitching violently before snapping. Blood poured from her mouth as her muscles spasmed, her body slowly being torn apart by the very energy she could not control.

Within minutes, she was dead.

Circe's face remained impassive. "Begin the next subject," she ordered.

♦♦♦

Time passed, and several more subjects—humans and demi-humans alike—were subjected to the same process. Some screamed, some trembled, others lay silent, already resigned to their fate. The failures continued to pile up, their bodies discarded like so much refuse.

As the tests progressed, Circe began to notice a disturbing trend. The humans were more susceptible to the fatal effects of the magic. Their bodies were weaker, less able to withstand the arcane energy, and many of them died within moments. The demi-humans, on the other hand, fared slightly better. Their bodies seemed more resilient, capable of handling greater amounts of energy before breaking down. However, none of them survived the second stage, where an artificial mana core was implanted.

There was one, however, who had shown promise—a young human male. His body was more resistant than most, and while the process still caused excruciating pain, he did not immediately succumb to it.

Hours later, the room was quieter. The bodies of the failed experiments had been removed, leaving only the few survivors—those who had managed to survive the first stage. They were in critical condition, their bodies weak and burned, but they had not died.

Circe looked at them with a sense of cold satisfaction. They had survived where others had failed. The next phase would be even more difficult, but it was a step forward.

She turned to the technician. "Prepare them for the next stage. We begin constructing their mana cores."

The technician hesitated. "Chief, are you certain? The rejection rate—"

"Do it," Circe commanded, her tone unwavering.

The process must've continue. For the empire. For power.

For the future of artificial mages.