Don't Want to Be Ordinary Even Though I'm an Extra Character-Chapter 63: [62] The Gears of Change Begin to Turn

-Third Person POV-

Faustus Rugenstein, a man not yet thirty, had spent his life chasing an ambition that seemed to elude him at every turn. His unkempt, graying hair reflected a life devoid of order, while his gaunt frame bore the unmistakable signs of malnutrition—an unfortunate result of countless skipped meals sacrificed in the name of his work. His weary eyes, dark-circled from years of sleepless nights, were a testament to endless research on theories that had never received recognition.

Ten years ago, Faustus had fallen in love with alchemy. He had been captivated during an open lecture by a senior professor—watching liquids shift colors, metals melt and reform into something entirely new. At that moment, he believed he had discovered a world brimming with boundless possibilities. But reality proved far less kind.

At the Imperial Magic Academy, alchemy was treated as the unwanted stepchild of magical disciplines. Students were far more enthralled by the spectacle of elemental magic—fire, water, and lightning—while alchemy was dismissed as slow, tedious, and lacking immediate results. Even the academic council viewed it as a waste of resources, citing its high research costs and so-called "lack of relevance."

Now, Faustus was the last remaining alchemy instructor. Over the past decade, he had watched his colleagues abandon the field, either succumbing to pressure or seeking careers elsewhere. Yet he had persisted—even as his student roster dwindled to one or two per year, and even then, only those who had exhausted all other options.

His laboratory, tucked away in the academy’s grand halls, lay in a damp basement far from the sunlit, warm classrooms above. Students often joked that it resembled a forgotten storage room rather than a place of learning. The tables were cluttered with cracked flasks, strange-colored liquids emitting pungent odors, and ancient books whose pages threatened to crumble from the humidity. The space itself was a reflection of his existence—solitary, desolate, and worn thin by time.

Whenever he walked through the academy’s corridors, the stares of his colleagues spoke louder than words. Some looked at him with pity, others with thinly veiled ridicule. Whispers followed in his wake:

"Rugenstein is stubborn to the point of delusion. Why doesn’t he just quit?"

"If he finally gives up, we could divert that funding toward offensive magic research."

But the most painful reality was the undeniable truth—support for shutting down the alchemy department was growing. The academic council had already submitted an official proposal to cut all funding within the next two years if no significant progress was made. A decade of dedication, and it would all be wiped away as if it had never mattered.

That night, Faustus sat at his battered desk, staring at stacks of research papers that no one but himself had ever bothered to read. The oil lamp flickered in the corner, casting long, wavering shadows across the room. Amid the cluttered mess, he found a letter he had received that morning—its unfamiliar seal intriguing him. With trembling hands, he broke the wax and unfolded the parchment.

His storm-gray eyes widened as he read.

An offer from someone named Arkan Lawrence—a newly appointed noble who promised absolute freedom to experiment, proper facilities, and, most shockingly of all, fair recognition for his contributions.

"Freedom... Recognition..." he murmured, his voice raspy from years of speaking to no one but himself.

The words felt like a fresh breeze in an endless desert.

He set the letter down carefully, gazing up at the water-stained ceiling. For the first time in years, a spark of hope ignited in his heart. And yet, doubt clawed at the edges of his mind. Could this offer be real? Or was it just another cruel trick of a world that had long since rejected him?

Gripping the arms of his chair, Faustus exhaled slowly. If this is my last chance...

"Then I won’t waste it."

###

Beneath the clear sky, Arkan Lawrence sat in his newly renovated office, surrounded by stacks of documents awaiting review. The office itself wasn’t large, but it exuded the sense of efficiency and order he was striving to instill in his domain. A polished wooden desk, freshly stocked bookshelves filled with maps and important records—this modern touch starkly contrasted with the rest of the castle, which still bore its medieval architecture.

Yet, Arkan’s mood was nowhere near as bright as the weather outside. He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the headache forming from his ever-growing workload. As an engineer in his previous life, Arkan was accustomed to a structured work environment, where every department had a clear function and role. But in this world, governance was... a mess.

Almost every tax record, food distribution report, and population census was handwritten in archaic Latin. Worse still, most of the administrative officials he had inherited from Baron Darren’s previous regime had little understanding of how to properly manage a territory.

"That explains why this place was drowning in chaos," Arkan muttered, drumming his fingers against the desk. "If things continue like this, I’ll lose my mind."

Arkan understood that rebuilding this region required not just economic strategies but also an entirely new administrative system. However, his biggest challenge was manpower. In this world, education was scarce—most of the population couldn’t even read or write. Finding literate individuals was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

After much deliberation, Arkan decided on his first step. He would open a recruitment drive for government administration positions. The announcement would be spread throughout his territory, with one primary requirement: proficiency in reading and writing Latin.

"If I can find five or six competent individuals, that will be enough to get started," he murmured, carefully drafting the announcement on parchment with black ink. He made sure the wording was concise, clear, and appropriate for the formal tone of the era.

Outside his office, a messenger awaited, readying his horse to deliver the announcement across the region. With Arkan’s official seal stamped onto the document, he felt confident that at least one crucial step toward reform had been taken.

However, another issue loomed at the back of his mind. Latin... Arkan frowned. "This language is a major barrier. Maybe I should start introducing basic education for children... but that’s for later. Right now, I need adults who can start working immediately."

As Arkan remained preoccupied with his administrative duties, the region of Lawrence slowly began to transform. The once-empty marketplaces were returning to life, bustling with small-scale trading. Farmers, who previously struggled with barren lands, were now learning simple irrigation techniques introduced by Arkan. Fishermen’s boats once abandoned at the docks were now setting sail from a nearly forgotten harbor.

Yet, with change came resistance. Former supporters of Baron Darren, stripped of their influence, had started to grumble in secret. To them, Arkan was a threat—an obstacle disrupting the system of effortless wealth they once enjoyed.

But to Arkan, this was only the beginning. Criticism and threats didn’t concern him. His goal was clear—to rebuild this land as its ruler and seize the opportunity to create something unprecedented in this world.

Meanwhile...

Far from Lawrence’s territory, a lone wooden carriage rattled over uneven dirt roads. Inside, Faustus Rugenstein sat in silence, gazing out at the fields and forests passing by. His mind was filled with both hope and apprehension.

Arkan’s invitation had given him a sliver of hope amid years of disappointment. Yet, part of him couldn’t suppress a lingering sense of doubt. Who exactly is Arkan Lawrence? he wondered. Why would a noble be interested in alchemy—something long disregarded as useless?

Still, the reality was clear. He had no other options. If this opportunity failed, then the years he had dedicated to his research would crumble along with the dissolution of alchemy studies at the academy.

"Lawrence’s Territory, huh..." Faustus mumbled as he watched the distant horizon, now lined with rolling hills. "I just hope this place is truly as promising as that letter claimed."

As these two men walked their separate paths, the wheels of fate continued to turn, guiding them toward an encounter that would change not just the future of Lawrence’s domain—but perhaps, the entire world of Noctarion.