The village was bathed in the golden glow of morning as Keran Thalwyn walked through its bustling streets. Mana lamps flickered atop posts, automata clattered along cobbled paths, and villagers of all stations—humans, semi-humans, apprentices—moved with an unusual rhythm of coordination and purpose. Even the tabby cat navigated the chaos with a sense of superiority, weaving between gears and mechanical limbs as if judging each movement.
Above, in the celestial plane, the SSS+ oversight committee—or rather, the panicked Celestial God and his reluctant assistant deity—convened. Clouds billowed nervously, forming haphazard meeting rooms complete with floating golden chairs and trembling columns of light.
"He builds, he organizes, he educates…" the Celestial God groaned, pacing the throne. "All while laughing! This mortal… this SSS+ error… will undo centuries of cosmic order if we do not intervene!"
His assistant, a serene goddess with a penchant for irony, sipped starlight tea. "Perhaps," she said, "he is simply… curious. He does not intend chaos—he intends progress."
The God's fingers slammed against the armrest. "Progress!? Do you not see? Roads, bridges, schools, automata… even the common villagers now carry knowledge and power! And worse…" He leaned forward, voice trembling, "the neighboring kingdoms notice."
Indeed, rumors of Keran's extraordinary accomplishments had reached distant courts. Kings and queens murmured of mechanized labor, magical lamps illuminating streets, printed books multiplying knowledge, and a young hero transforming villages with comic audacity. Some scoffed; others consulted their advisors in growing unease.
"The northern elves," a wary human lord whispered, "claim to have observed this one closely. They speak of cooperation between humans, semi-humans, and apprentices—a blend they have never sanctioned."
"And the vampire courts," another added, frowning, "send envoys merely to watch. Our spies report admiration… and fear."
Meanwhile, back in the village, Keran convened a new council session, focused on refining the distribution of resources and planning larger-scale reforms. Bridges and roads had been partially completed; workshops multiplied in size and function, while the automata became ever more adept at assisting with construction, teaching, and domestic tasks.
Children who had never touched tools now hoisted beams with mechanical precision. Apprentices from semi-human and mixed-blood families displayed skills rivaling seasoned craftsmen. The social hierarchy, once rigid and unyielding, bent gently under the weight of innovation.
Sir Edrin, pacing nearby, muttered darkly. "He empowers those who should know their place! Peasants think themselves equals! Apprentices feel mastery! And I—" He stopped short, flustered by a runaway automaton that tripped over his feet. "—am powerless to prevent this!"
Father Malric, clutching his rosary, watched with equal dismay. "The divine order falters… yet the people rejoice. This mortal is a paradox."
Keran, oblivious to celestial murmurs and human resentments, addressed the council: "Tomorrow, we extend the road network to neighboring settlements, integrate new workshops, and establish satellite schools. Progress is not complete until the flow of knowledge and labor transcends boundaries. And perhaps," he added with a grin, "we can introduce minor automata assistants to the new settlements. I hear their peasants enjoy mechanical cats."
Outside, automata trundled, some spilling buckets of water in comic chaos, children laughed, and the tabby cat stretched luxuriously atop a freshly paved street lamp.
In distant forests, elves debated among themselves. "He connects settlements, empowers apprentices, and integrates multiple species," one said. "Shall we intervene, or merely watch?"
Across mountains, vampire envoys reported back to shadowed councils. "His methods… efficient, ingenious… and alarming. Shall we consider alliances, marriages, or observation?"
Wolf packs observed quietly from high passes, intrigued by the harmonious labor. Semi-human tribes whispered rumors along trading paths: the human SSS+ hero was no ordinary mortal; he shaped societies with ingenuity, absurdity, and seemingly boundless energy.
The Celestial God, receiving reports from these kingdoms, waved his hands in panic. "He spreads influence faster than we can intervene! I must… I must… act!"
The assistant deity, ever calm, replied, "Perhaps… direct intervention is unnecessary. He teaches, he inspires, he builds. Observe further, and wait for the proper moment."
Back in the village, Keran concluded the day with a festival of progress. Villagers celebrated completed bridges, newly paved roads, and workshops filled with buzzing automata. Children performed minor demonstrations of mechanical devices, laughing as gears clicked and gears occasionally jammed in absurd fashion. Even Sir Edrin and Father Malric, forced to attend, were reluctantly impressed by the efficiency, if not the audacity, of the proceedings.
Keran, atop a hill, gazed over the village as mana lamps glimmered, automata clattered, and the tabby cat prowled, ever watchful. Beyond the visible horizon, eyes from elves, vampires, wolf packs, and semi-human tribes followed silently, curiosity and caution mingling in their gazes.
"Tomorrow," Keran whispered to the cat, "we expand further. Roads, schools, workshops… and perhaps one day, the entire kingdom."
The tabby cat purred, as if in agreement, while somewhere far above, a panicked Celestial God debated with his subordinates, gods murmured, and the invisible web of observation from the world's diverse races thickened. Keran's accidental brilliance had begun to ripple beyond the village, and the first serious tremors of political and celestial concern were already in motion.