My Block Kingdom

“I’m the king? This is my kingdom?”

The hilltop watchtower was the only one in the entire country, and also the tallest structure in the kingdom. At this moment, Mo Fangyuan stood atop it, gazing down at the land that belonged to him.

Mo Fangyuan was a transmigrant. There was no need to explain this—after all, in the world at the End of the Multiverse, if you weren’t a transmigrant, becoming king would be nothing short of suffering; at least as a queen, you could bear children, but for a man, it was truly miserable.

Though Mo Fangyuan’s kingdom was pitifully small—with only about a hundred people: fifty-four villagers, sixty-seven freemen, and actual control over just seven hundred plots of land, which were already difficult enough to maintain—from his perspective, this was nothing more than a shabby little village.

As he looked down at the squat “houses” below, a complicated emotion welled up within him, one he struggled to name. But soon, he let it go.

Gripping the square stone railing of the watchtower, Mo Fangyuan’s pride as a transmigrant shone through.

“I refuse to believe it! With my skills, I can’t manage a tiny, rundown village?”

Had he transmigrated to the Warring States or the Three Kingdoms—such chaotic times—Mo Fangyuan would have dug himself a hole and buried himself alive. After all, he was just an underage student and a poor one at that, barely listening in class and spending most of his holidays playing block games.

Systems like the Three Departments and Six Ministries, steam engines, The Art of War—he had