Reincarnated with the Country System-Chapter 195: The Search for Black Gold
Location: Elysian Islands, Site Alpha-7
Today is the day. The day we've been preparing, planning, and dreaming for—for months. The day we might get rich, or we might go home empty-handed. The day we find out if this godforsaken rock in the middle of the Elysian Archipelago holds the treasure we've been chasing: oil. Black gold.
I've been working with this survey team for months, and I've seen it all—dry holes, gushers, and everything in between. But this… this feels different. Maybe it's the pressure. We've been constantly pressured by the Department of Minerals. The Bernard Empire has far less oil than it needs, and a large portion of the reserves was depleted in the recent war. So we had to find the oil fields quickly. They are the lifeblood of our country.
We've been here before. Not in this exact spot, but in places like it. We've drilled in deserts, jungles, and even under the ocean floor. Some places were kind to us—like the fields in the north of Alberto Island, where we hit a gusher on our first try.
But other places... not so much.
I still remember the disaster we faced before. We spent six months drilling through permafrost, only to hit a dry hole. Six months of backbreaking work, freezing our asses off, and for what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. That failure cost the Empire millions, and it cost a lot of good people their jobs.
But here, in the Elysian, we're hopeful. The geological surveys look promising. The rock formations, the seismic data, the magnetic anomalies—it all points to one thing: oil. And not just a little bit. A lot. Enough to keep the Empire running for another century, if we're lucky.
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Our team is a mix of seasoned veterans and fresh-faced rookies. There's me, of course—I'm the lead surveyor. Then there's Clara, our geologist. She's got a sixth sense for finding oil. If there's a drop of the stuff within a mile, she'll find it. Then there's Marcus, the engineer. He's the one who keeps the drills running, no matter what. And then there's the rest of the crew—rig workers, technicians, and a few security guys to keep an eye on things. Also, members of the ISSD. They were sent directly by order of the Emperor. Since we're in a region outside our country, although I've heard that this region will soon be ours, we didn't have time to think about all that. Our job was to find oil. No matter whose territory it was.
We're a tight-knit group. The place we're in is what the people in this region call wasteland—worthless land. Because the soil here is not fertile, there are no towns or settlements for miles around us.
But we know what this place holds.
We live here in a makeshift camp and work 16 hours a day. It's not glamorous, but it's what we do.
Finding oil isn't easy. It's not like digging for gold, where you can just pick a spot and start digging. Oil is buried deep underground, sometimes miles beneath the surface. And it's not just sitting there in a big pool, waiting to be tapped. It's trapped in tiny pores in the rock, like water in a sponge.
The first step is the survey. We use a combination of seismic surveys, magnetic surveys, and good old-fashioned geology to figure out where the oil might be. Seismic surveys involve sending shockwaves through the ground and measuring how they bounce back. It's like sonar, but for the earth. Magnetic surveys measure variations in the Earth's magnetic field, which can indicate the presence of oil-bearing rocks.
Once we've identified a promising spot, we mark it and start drilling. But even then, it's not a sure thing. We've drilled dozens of wells that turned up dry. It's a gamble, plain and simple.
The equipment we use is sophisticated, but it's also brutal. The drills are massive, towering structures of steel and iron. They're powered by diesel engines that roar like beasts. The drill bits are made of tungsten carbide, one of the hardest materials on Earth. They can chew through rock like butter, but they're not indestructible. We've had bits break, drills jam, and engines fail. When that happens, it's a race against time to fix it before the whole operation grinds to a halt.
We also use a lot of sensors and gauges to monitor the drilling process. There's a device called a mud logger that analyzes the drilling fluid as it comes back up. If there's oil in the rock, it'll show up in the fluid. There's also a device called a well log that measures the properties of the rock as we drill through it. It's like a fingerprint—every rock layer has its own unique signature.
At noon, Clara shouted, "Come here!" Her voice was hoarse, barely audible over the noise of the machinery. She was crouched near a sharp outcrop of rock, her fingers pressing into a black, oily stain that had seeped from the ground. "This is it. This is what we're looking for."
We all gathered around, our faces serious but eager. Clara's instincts are rarely wrong. If she says there's oil, there's oil.
We marked the spot with a thick flag, its fabric fluttering in the wind. Then we got to work.
The drill was already in position, a towering monolith of steel and iron. Marcus gave the order to start it up. "Turn it on!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise.
The drill shuddered to life, its massive bit spinning with a low, deep rumble. The ground shook beneath our feet as the drill bit into the earth, its teeth chewing through rock and sediment.
We watched in silence, our eyes fixed on the drill. We knew the risks. Drilling for oil is a gamble, a high-stakes game of chance. You could hit a gusher and strike it rich, or you could hit a dry hole and ruin months of work.
Hours turned into days. The drill dug deeper and deeper, its engines roaring like a caged animal. We took shifts, working around the clock. The sun beat down on us mercilessly, its rays reflecting off the steel of the drill.
And then, on the third day, we found it.
The drill bit into a pocket of oil, the black liquid surging to the surface with a guttural hiss. We erupted into cheers, our voices hoarse but triumphant. We had done it. We had found what we were looking for.
"Stop it! Stop it!" Marcus shouted, his voice barely audible over the noise. The drill ground to a halt, its engines sputtering as we scrambled to contain the flow of oil.
The oil bubbled up from the earth, its surface shimmering in the sunlight. It was a sight to behold—a river of black gold, waiting to be tapped.
Now comes the hard part—figuring out how much oil we've actually found. It's not as simple as just measuring the flow. We have to take core samples, analyze the rock, and run a bunch of tests to estimate the size of the reservoir.
Clara's already on it. She's taken samples of the rock and the oil, and she's running them through the lab. She's also using a device called a formation tester to measure the pressure and flow rate of the oil. It's a delicate process, but it's crucial. If we overestimate the size of the reservoir, we could end up wasting millions on infrastructure we don't need. If we underestimate it, we could leave millions of barrels in the ground.
From what we've seen so far, though, it looks promising. The oil is high-quality, and the reservoir seems to be large. If our estimates are correct, this could be one of the biggest finds in the Empire's history.
For now, we're celebrating. We've earned it. But the work isn't over. We still have to set up the extraction equipment, build the pipelines, and get the oil to the refineries. It's going to be a long, hard process, but it's worth it.
The Empire needs oil, and we got it.
