Transmigrated as a Peasant: I Conquered Magic With Science

The first thing Arthur tasted was dirt. The second was the warm, sharp taste of his own blood.

He jolted awake with a loud gasp, his vision swimming in a sea of blurry colors. Before his eyes could focus, a heavy, iron-plated boot slammed directly into his ribs. 

The crack of bone echoed in his ears. Arthur curled into a tight ball, the breath forced completely out of his weak lungs. He tried to scream, but only a wet cough escaped his lips. His head pounded like a war drum. 

Inside his mind, a violent storm was raging. Two completely different lives were smashing into each other. One second, he remembered looking at complex physics equations on a glowing computer screen in a clean, brightly lit laboratory. He remembered the feeling of a white coat, the smell of coffee, and a life of modern science. The next second, he remembered cold nights, the gnawing pain of an empty stomach, and boiling the bark of dead trees just to survive the winter. 

“I am a materials engineer,” his mind screamed. 

“No, I am Arthur Flores, a sixteen-year-old peasant of Oakhaven,” another voice answered.

Both were true. He had transmigrated. The mind of a modern scientist from Earth had just awakened inside the sick, starving body of a peasant boy in a brutal, magical world. But there was no time to think about how or why this had happened. 

A terrified scream cut through the cold morning air, snapping Arthur back to reality. 

"Arthur! Help me! Arthur!" 

It was a young girl’s voice. High-pitched, broken, and filled with pure terror. 

Arthur forced his heavy eyes open. The gray, cloudy sky hung low over the village of Oakhaven. Around him, the village square was a nightmare of mud, broken wooden carts, and crying people. 

Standing in the center of the chaos were the tax collectors of Baron Dominic Sullivan. They were tall, cruel men wearing thick steel armor that gleamed even in the dull light. They carried long spears and swords that hummed with a strange, unnatural energy. 

Arthur’s eyes darted around and found the source of the scream. A massive guard, wearing a helmet that hid his face, had his thick, leather-gloved hand wrapped tightly around the hair of a little girl. 

It was Eliana. His little sister. She was only ten years old, wearing a thin, dirty dress made of old potato sacks. She kicked and scratched at the guard’s arm, but her small hands did nothing against his armor.

"Stop crying, little rat," the guard growled, yanking her hair harder. Eliana cried out in pain, her knees dragging through the cold mud. He was pulling her toward a large, iron-barred wooden cart at the edge of the square. Inside the cart, other crying children and young women were already locked away. It was a slave cart, bound for the Baron's Blood Altars.

"No! Please! Take me instead! She is just a child!" 

Another voice ripped through Arthur’s heart. It was Clara, his mother in this world. She was a thin, frail woman with pale skin and dark bags under her eyes. She suffered from mana-blight, a sickness that made her cough up black blood. Despite her weakness, she fought like a wild animal to reach her daughter. 

But she couldn't reach Eliana. A man was holding Clara back, pinning her arms behind her. 

Arthur recognized the man. It was Jason Lee. He was a local villager, a neighbor they had known for years. But right now, Jason had a pathetic, cowardly look on his face. He held Clara tightly, trying to look helpful to the armored soldiers.

"Stay still, Clara!" Jason hissed, his voice shaking with fear. "Do you want them to kill all of us? We didn't have the grain! The Baron must have his tax! If we fight, they will burn Oakhaven to the ground!"

"Let me go!" Clara cried, tears washing the dirt from her cheeks. "Eliana! My baby!"

A tall man in fine, dark red armor stepped forward. He was the Commander of the tax collectors. His face was scarred, and he looked at the starving villagers as if they were insects. He held a long parchment in his hand.

"The law of Baron Sullivan is absolute," the Commander announced, his deep voice carrying over the sound of crying. "Your village owes two hundred sacks of wheat. You have provided nothing. Since the dirt yields no grain, the flesh must yield blood. The Blood Tithe will be paid to fuel the Kingdom's war rituals. Be grateful the Baron only takes your children, and not your useless lives."

The guard threw Eliana toward the open door of the iron cart. She scrambled in the mud, crying out for her brother. 

Arthur watched this from the ground. His ribs burned with pain. His body was weak, malnourished, and frail. A normal peasant boy would have stayed down, crying into the dirt, waiting for the nightmare to end.

But Arthur was no longer just a peasant boy. 

As he breathed in, he felt something strange. It was a pressure in the air. A heavy, tingling sensation that made the hairs on his arms stand up. The memories of the original Arthur told him this was "Mana"—a mystical, magical force that only the noble Sorcerer-Knights could use. 

But the Earth scientist in him saw it differently. 

“This isn't just magic,” Arthur thought, his eyes widening. “It's an energy field. It's ambient power. It behaves like a volatile, highly reactive gas.”

His scientific mind raced at lightning speed. If mana was just a form of energy, it had to follow the laws of physics and chemistry. It could be directed, condensed, and ignited. He didn't need to speak long, ancient spells or draw complicated magic circles. He just needed to control the energy. 

Arthur forced himself to his feet. His legs shook, but a cold, hard focus took over his mind.