“So, it was order, chaos, then…?”

Services, the grease for the cogwheels of society. Non-essential activities that didn’t produce anything but made life easier. While people could cook and clean for themselves, the free time created from having someone else to perform such activities for them freed them to reach greater heights in both knowledge and ability. One could argue that the equality of modern society came about as the services formerly reserved for the upper crust of society became available to the lower tiers, allowing them the time to enrich and develop themselves, levelling the playing field that their former superiors had once monopolised.

At least that’s what the guy who wrote the article kept going on about in his third, less interesting essay. While the philosophy of order and chaos had been interesting, the socio-economic effect of maids upon society, far less so.

But what could he do?

Cooking was the most obvious choice. People would always need to eat. And they would always want something delicious to eat if they had the option. Earth was proof enough of this, where else would fast food be a hundred billion dollars a year industry?

But he didn’t have a billion dollars. A good thing too since it wouldn’t be worth a copper round these parts. Still…money.

“Money, money, mahnay…MUHNAY” he sang with all the talent of the tone-deaf.

He knew how to cook food that was good enough for himself, but would it be good enough for others? There were also the three aspects of food that he had to consider.

Quality Quantity Variety

There was also time and cost, but those could also be factored into the quantity category.

But he had already considered this when he first thought of opening a shop. Where would he get supplies and what exactly would he do? As far as variety went, his menu options would have to be limited to fry, boil, or burn. His Quality would be limited to how effective he was at delivering on those three options. The only thing he left was quantity, and again he had to ask himself, where would he get his supplies?

At the moment, the only secure long-term food source that he knew of, were the rations that he received each day. Now, in theory, the waggon train’s trail mix was categorised as food, disgusting, horrible food, but food nonetheless. He just could not figure out how he would go about preparing for actual consumption. His current cooking skills would probably make them far less palatable.

Although, now that he thought about it, the real taste of food nowadays, Earth’s food at least, came from the added spices, normal, special, and secret. And sauces! He could become one of those chefs who made the sauces, whatever they were called.

A saucier.

“wait, how do I know that?” he paused a moment as he considered that question. He had probably read about it in a manga, but not knowing for sure was going to annoy him for the next few days. He could already feel the thought digging itself into the back of his head. Why couldn’t he just obsess over annoying songs like normal people?

Still, sauces took food to make, as well as time and effort. He needed something that he could produce with little cost. What other services could he provide?

He doubted the locals need for a call centre or a maid service, so what else was there? What services did they need in medieval times?

He didn’t have the attributes to be smith, nor the facilities. Fletching was out as he had no clue how to make an arrow. Seamstress? Or would he be a tailor? He was a guy, so it was probably tailor. Now there was an idea. All he would need was needle and thread, and a bit of skill.

Looking around the compartment, he considered how much thread he could store in it.

“Ah, but then there’s still the money.”

The ‘The Village On The Hill That Produces Corn’ probably had limited supply, which would mean expensive to buy. He had no doubt that the quality would also be shit. Maybe he could learn to make thread? He wouldn’t necessarily need his shadow stuff, he could make it from animal hair and grass or something, as they did in the olden times, although he would have to make it while on the move.

Wait, wouldn’t natural fibres be too thick? Knitting then. He could become a…knitter? Whatever they were called. Or shoes!

Weren’t cobblers supposed to be big in the dark ages, or was that only in fairy tales? How would he even fix a shoe? Okay, so maybe not cobbling. He would write it down anyway, just in case.

Goodie was starting to feel really tired. But he had to finish this.

“Right so what’s next?”, he said while reading over what he had written.

Wait, did he miss one? Goodie was finding it harder to think, as time passed.

“No? Good. So, what’s next?”

Research and development. Good old R&D. What management game wouldn’t have it as an element? But how would he apply it to his life? He would love to upgrade things, but there were no scientists to employ and he was sure things wouldn’t magically improve just because they discovered something. So, who, what, and how?

Eventually, he gave up trying to think of a way to do it.

I guess I’m just gonna have to learn and train my skills, he thought while making a note in his book.

Moving onto prosperity now. Goodie hated what this category represented.

Money. Expansion. Accumulation. Essentially, all the sources of Earth’s bullshit. Aside from actual bulls of course.

In a game, it was relatively benign, even a fun aspect of properly implemented. In real life though…? While not important to him, the lifeblood of any empire was trade and transport. Storage too. Banks, shops, and houses were ultimately just places to keep your shit.

He had already gone over trade earlier. And without goods or services to offer, he was still up shit creek. He had his truck-waggon for transport…oh, no he didn’t. He relied on one of the train’s summoners to help move it, meaning it was ultimately their transport. even if it was his name on that piece of paper he had locked up in the cupboard with the rest of his stuff.

Woman by the name of Daria, if he remembered correctly. Or was it Edna? Whoever she was, she would summon a huge beetle to pull the vehicle. A big blackish-blue thing with a horn. One of those dung beetles you see in the Egyptian movies. What were they called?

“Scarabs!” he recalled after a minute.

What was he on about?

Goodie closed his eyes as he slapped his face to try and wake up. He couldn’t get to sleep when he wanted to, and now he couldn’t stay awake. What the hell?

Right, so storage. Maybe he could rent out downstairs? He would have to ask Eric.

Anything else? He wondered, his thought becoming clouded in a fog as tried to keep his eyes open. No? Good.

Last but not least was quality control. The one category he loved the most. People were generally too eager to sacrifice quality for quantity, the thought of saving a couple of bucks more appealing than long term reliability. The category, in games, would change in its implementation, depending on what setting the game world was in. In modern times it would concern gardens and recycling centres, but something set in the past would generally involve assassins and saboteurs. Neither of which could help him at the moment.

It was probably for the best, not that he was interested in them to begin with, but that last option would only get him killed. Assassination and sabotage were for professionals, an amateur like him would only get killed in the attempt if he was ever stupid enough to try.

Of course, the only way he could think of how to apply quality control to the waggon train, without the ability to upgrade things, was to find and kill all the arseholes.

Somewhat problematic. While he often wished that all arseholes would die, he had no desire or way to kill anyone himself, and he doubted there would be any zombies out here for him to exploit.

Still, identifying them would still be a wise move. If anyone was going to cause trouble for him it would be them.

And that was it, he was finished.

Goodie raised bath of his arms into the air in mock triumph. Then proceeded to rebury himself in his blanket tomb, surrendering himself to the sweet, sweet embrace of sleep.

Exhausted, stressed, and worn out, he shut his eyes. And after a short moment, he realised he still couldn’t get to sleep.

“Fuck you life. Fuck. You.”

Survival:

Grab shit

Third-person shooter:

See around corners

Strategy:

Tower Defence?

Number and variety of units

Politics:

Faction:

Leader:

Secondary Leaders:

Enforcer:

Main Goal:

Secondary Goal:

Need:

Want:

Enemies:

The 13 categories for management games:

Engineering:

Talk to Eric

Learn to dig.

Resources:

Talk to Eric about hunting

Buy seeds (try to get free stuff)

Buy pots (try to get free stuff)

Rope for tying

Production:

Practice skills

Figure out how to practice for skills

Information:

Learn stuff

Culture:

Skip

Health:

Get doctor

Safety:

Get bodyguard

Order:

Ask Eric how to help

Chaos:

Be an arsehole

Services:

Learn service skills.

Cooking, sewing, knitting, shoe repair.

Deliver stuff?

Research & Development:

Learn and train

Prosperity:

Find something to trade

Ask Eric about rent.

Quality Control:

Identify arseholes