My Name Is Wasteland

"It seemed I had misunderstood. According to the diary, its owner—me—had proposed the construction of trains. Information traveled even faster now than I had imagined."

Before trains, information might have traveled slowly. Now, even amid the chaos, as long as the tracks had not been stolen, news generally traveled quickly.

As Mel walked and pondered, someone suddenly called out to him.

"My lord, why have you never asked our names? Even this army has been given a name, hasn't it?"

The one who called himself Mel was the bandit leader who had already become a Battalion Commander.

"Because I never told you my name, so I do not ask yours. I think that is fair. Nothing more."

He had the caution of a transmigrator. Under such circumstances, he naturally could not reveal his real name. Besides, his name sounded foreign at first glance, while the names in this world clearly leaned more Western.

Just as he had no plans to leave, the village soldiers' Battalion Commander approached from the front.

It seemed the two had reached some sort of agreement.

"My lord, we are willing to follow you forever, so you must trust us as well." The village soldiers' captain came before Mel and dropped to one knee.

"Why are you kneeling at every turn? And on one knee, no less. Who taught you that?" Mel glanced at the man before him as he considered his own name.

Since the first thing he had seen upon waking was an endless wasteland, he would use Wasteland as his name. If he turned it into a transliteration, it would sound believable enough—at least it would not sound fake.

"My name is Wasteland. My two Battalion Commanders, is there anything else you wish to say?"

"Yes, Commander Wasteland! I am Grev, former bandit