Today was September 19th, 1805. Five years exactly since Richard was reincarnated in this new world. Though technically, it wasn't another world. It was the same one he had always known, only pulled far back into the past.
And today was also his birthday.
After five years of living here, Richard, now Andres Novales, learned the truth of his circumstances. He had been reborn in the Spanish colony of the Philippines, in Manila itself. The very same land where he was born in his past life, only this time centuries earlier, under Spanish rule.
The irony wasn't lost on him. He had hated how his homeland had rotted in modern times, but now he was given the chance to see it when it was still young, raw, and unshaped. Perhaps this was fate. Perhaps this was punishment. Or perhaps, this was the second chance he had begged for with his dying breath, which was granted by the so-called Goddess of Fate.
It was also an age of upheaval beyond the islands. Europe was tearing itself apart in the Napoleonic Wars. Empires clashed, kings fell, and the map of the world was being rewritten with blood and steel. His father, a man Richard had never seen since his reincarnation, was a captain in the Spanish Army, serving abroad in the campaigns. Letters came rarely, and when they did, they were filled with the usual flowery words of loyalty to crown and country. To Andres, those letters were meaningless. He had no attachment to a father who wasn't there.
His mother, on the other hand, was ever-present. She came from a prominent criollo family that owned several businesses in Manila: warehouses, rice mills, and a share in the lucrative galleon trade. She raised him with the dignity expected of her class, shielding him from hardship. To the outside world, Andres was a privileged criollo boy, destined for education, land, or perhaps the military like his absent father.
But inside, he was Richard Gomez, a man who had seen the decay of the Philippines with his own eyes. He carried the memories of corruption, betrayal, and national failure. Every time he looked at the bustling streets of colonial Manila vendors shouting in Tagalog, Spaniards strutting in their uniforms, Chinese merchants tending their stalls, he could not help but see shadows of what was to come.
Andres hated it. He hated knowing the cycle would repeat. He hated knowing the same dynasties, the same greed, the same complacency would eventually strangle the nation.
He swore he would not let that happen.
At five years old, his body was small, but his mind was decades ahead. He spent hours listening in silence when adults spoke, piecing together the political and economic situation of the colony. He absorbed knowledge like a sponge. languages, numbers, and trade routes. While other children played games, Andres observed, studied, and planned.
The world called him a prodigy. His mother boasted to her relatives about his genius in mathematics, science, and even languages. By five years old, Andres could already read Spanish and Latin texts meant for much older children. He could calculate weights and measures faster than the overseers at the rice mills. He asked questions about ships and trade routes that startled the family's accountants, as if a child could somehow grasp the intricacies of commerce.
To his mother's family, it was a source of pride. To the priests who tutored him, it was divine blessing. But to Andres himself, it was nothing more than common sense, sharpened by a lifetime already lived.
He remembered the future. The disasters, the mistakes, the missed opportunities. He knew what the Philippines could become if guided by capable hands, and he would not waste time.
Whenever he sat at the family balcony overlooking the busy streets of Intramuros, he observed carefully. The creak of wooden carts carrying rice sacks. Indio workers sweating under the sun while Spaniards barked orders. Chinese merchants negotiating prices in rapid Hokkien. Criollo officials strolling with the arrogance of power. It was all familiar to him, not because he lived it before, but because he knew exactly where such a system would lead: division, resentment, rebellion crushed by force, and centuries of stagnation.
One evening, after dinner, his mother's brother, an uncle who managed their warehouse, chuckled as he ruffled Andres's hair.
"You'll make a fine accountant someday, little Andres. The way you count faster than my clerks, Dios mio!"
Andres only smiled politely. Inside, his thoughts burned: Accountant? No. I will not spend my life tallying silver for Spain. I will build a nation that will no longer serve anyone's master. In fact, it would be the Philippines that will become a master.
That's right, he intends on making the Philippines an empire, and would be led by him.
And not only that, he received a gift from omnipotence, the one who he believed was the reason for his reincarnation. The Goddess of Fate.
He still remembered the words that were whispered to him the moment he was born. And the gift was a sort of a system similar to the ones he had read in fiction during his break time in work.
That system contained a library of technologies from every corner of human progress. Raw materials, processes, blueprints of historical buildings, ships, planes, weapons, even medicine—everything was there.
Andres quickly admitted to himself, even though he had been an engineer in his past life, there was no way he could single-handedly industrialize a nation from scratch. Knowledge was vast, but no man could master every field. He had specialized in civil works and business operations, but what about complex metallurgy? What about medicine, chemistry, naval architecture, or firearms design? Those had not been his strengths.
Without the system, he would have wasted decades, maybe even a century, stumbling through research and experimentation. With the system, however, he could cut through all of that. If he wanted to introduce a steam locomotive, the complete design, material requirements, and schematics were there. If he wanted to develop antibiotics centuries early, he'd just have to open the system and read the instructions on how to synthesize for one.
Basically, the system is just a technical wikipedia.
And that is going to be useful in his future endeavours.
Lost in thought, he didn't notice that there was a person standing beside him.
"You are always in this place, Andres."
Andres turned and saw his mother, Doña Isabella Novales. She was a woman in her thirties, still striking in her beauty. Her black hair was tied neatly, and she wore a fine baro't saya with light embroidery. Her features were sharp yet gentle, her dark eyes carrying warmth that softened her noble bearing.
To the world she was a proud criollo lady, admired in Manila's gatherings. But to Andres, she was simply his mother—the only parent who had stayed by his side.
Andres straightened up. "I like it here, mother."
She chuckled softly, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
"I know, which is why I am certain that I will find you here. So, what's in the mind of my genius son?" She said, walking forward and then stopping next to his side.
"Nothing mother, I'm just thinking of the future."
"The future?" She tilted her head to the side, curious as to what her son was thinking.
"Yes mother. You are aware that the country we are born in is a colony of Spain."
Her mother chuckled softly. "I still can't get myself accustomed to hearing you talk like an adult. It's almost terrifying."
"I didn't mean to scare you mother," Andres said as he chuckled. "I just want to know your thoughts about it."
Doña Isabella glanced at her son, amused but also unsettled.
"My thoughts? Hm… Spain is our ruler. That is simply how it is. We owe them loyalty. Without them, there would be no order here."
Andres looked out toward the streets below, watching Indios carrying sacks of rice under the gaze of Spanish guards.
"But doesn't it bother you, mother? We work, we trade, we build wealth here… yet in the end, it all belongs to Spain."
She sighed, folding her arms. "You speak of things beyond your years, Andres. We are Criollos. We are privileged compared to most. Your father serves the crown. Our family prospers. That is enough."
Andres shook his head lightly. "Enough for now, perhaps. But Spain will not rule forever."
Isabella blinked at him, half in shock, half in curiosity. "You say that with such certainty."
"Because history always changes, mother. Empires rise, empires fall." His young voice carried a calmness that felt unnerving coming from a five-year-old. "One day, this land will decide its own fate. And when that time comes… we must be ready."
Isabella dismissed her son's thought, thinking it was just a child mimicking the words of adults. Still, something about the way he said it unsettled her.
She changed the subject. "Then tell me, Andres… with that vast mind of yours, what do you wish to become someday? You could be anything. A scholar, a merchant, perhaps even a governor."
Andres looked at her without hesitation.
"A soldier."
Isabella blinked. "A soldier? With your intelligence, you could be so much more. Why would you choose the sword over the pen?"
"Because soldiers shape history," Andres answered simply. "Merchants count silver, priests preach words, governors follow orders. But soldiers decide who holds power. If I want to change this land, I need strength first."
That's right, just like how Napoleon is doing it right now, a military career is the surefire way to secure his plan of removing the Spaniards from the Philippines.