How to Live as a Martial Arts Writer in a Fantasy World

2 – 02. Praise

02.

Allen thought.

‘This isn’t how I expected things to turn out.’

I was ready to be scolded. I thought it would end after getting an earful. I was prepared to be reprimand.

His mother, who used to defend him, is currently away for recuperation.

He had nothing to say to his father, Duke Mueller, whatever he was told.

‘No, but still, this is too much…’

Become the greatest scholar on the continent?

Well, I’m confident to some extent. This world where people read professional academic series, exclusively for the nobility, almost like general books, as novels.

If Allen starts writing as he did in his previous life, he can captivate even those high-nosed nobles…

‘Ah, I was a martial arts novelist.’

He felt like swearing involuntarily.

The reason he had been holding and dropping his pen for the past 16 years.

Allen Edgar von Mueller is not a fantasy novelist. He was an author who mainly dealt with the unfamiliar genre of martial arts in this world.

‘Huh?’

Just as Allen, remembering what kind of writer he had been, started to look displeased, he heard Duke Mueller’s voice again.

“Prove it if you’re confident. If you don’t want to study the Knight Department and walk the path of the Sword, then prove your own talent. If you are willing to hold a pen instead of a sword, that would be enough preparation, right?”

He replied, forcing himself to hide the expression of becoming flustered.

“Yes.”

“Good. Show me. You don’t have to come forward for sword training.”

Duke Mueller turned around.

Alan swallowed dry saliva as he looked at his father’s imposing figure from behind.

Alan’s face, which must have turned completely black, would be visible to the eyes of the knights.

‘Damn it…’

That went completely wrong.

Cold sweat ran down Alan’s cheeks.

***

“Alan Mueller, you idiotic fool…!”

As soon as he returned to his room, Alan threw himself onto the bed and rolled around like a ball.

It’s good to have proudly declared that he would hold a pen.

At least he gained the justification to not have to undergo sword training. The problem is that instead, he was forcefully given a goal he has to achieve.

“No, the expectations of the continent’s best Knight are too severe!”

He suddenly wanted to rewind time.

Alan sighed, his head buried in the pillow.

“Gosh…”

His head was already throbbing.

But Alan knew very well that just lazing around like this wouldn’t change anything. If complaining could change anything, the world would have already undergone a great upheaval before that.

Alan suddenly sat up from the bed and quickly started jotting down the wuxia information he remembered on paper.

“I need to somehow incorporate the culture of the Eastern continent to ensure plausibility.”

In this continent, the area corresponding to the East seems to be called Kun’Rung, but he doesn’t know the specifics of whether it’s Japanese-style or Chinese-style.

So Alan’s first task is to organize all the wuxia information he remembers.

That way, he can start.

“But why does the pronunciation sound familiar…?”

In spelling, it’s Kun’Rung.

As Alan compared the information written down with the pronunciation and spelling, a strange doubt came to his forehead.

“It sounds similar to ‘Gonryun’, doesn’t it?”

He tried to pronounce the word in his mouth.

Kunryong.

It subtly sounds similar to the Chinese pronunciation of Gonryun, ‘Kunlun’. It was a delicate discovery that he may not have noticed, had Alan’s previous life not been a writer.

“But why does it sound alike?”

Such a question arose momentarily, and Alan momentarily laid his pen down, exhausted from organizing his data, and tilted his head back. His neck cried out in a stiffness.

“Guh,” gasped Alan as he stretched. It felt as though his bones were creaking all over his body.

“Though, how should I write it?”

While holding his dip pen that he soaked in an ink bottle, Alan delved into his thoughts.

It’s definitely a puzzle starting from how to adapt the terminologies used in martial arts novels while maintaining its original imagery, so that people in this world could understand.

But now that he got a homework assignment from his father, he just couldn’t sit still.

Also, it was a process of proving that the stories he wrote were better than the stiff novels of this world.

“I’ll have to start by setting up,”

Various thoughts came to his mind.

This world was a fantasy world in itself.

Elves, Dwarves, Beast-men, Demons, all the races that would commonly come out in fantasy most likely exist.

“Exchange the word Demons as Witches trial, Elves, Dwarves or Beast-men could form their own clique,…”

So how should he proceed?

Alan fell into deep thoughts, lightly touching the tip of his quill to his mouth.

“That’s right, revenge dramas are the most common cliche.”

Alan began to move his quill.

The grand story begins by the protagonist, who lost all her gang-like family, being washed away in the sea and waking up in a village after her gang was exterminated by the villains who first appeared as irredeemable villainesses.

“Still, I think I need to start in a calm atmosphere.”

That way, when the time of massacre comes, the people would be even more shocked.

A sense of happiness floated in Alan’s eyes, who was swiftly handling his quill.

***

“This is the first thing he has written…”

A few days after Alan’s bombshell announcement, Duke Mueller was in his own study, reading the draft manuscript brought by Alan’s exclusive maid.

‘I’ve always known Alan had an interest in this area, but… this is exceeding my expectation.’

The result delivered, as if it had been waiting for me, is beyond expectation.

Thinking about it, Allen had always detested swords since childhood. I didn’t think too much of it at the time.

No matter how stubborn, the Muller family was ultimately a lineage of swordsmen.

I had assumed he would eventually give up and choose the path of the sword. But today, after reading Allen’s writing for myself, I understand.

‘He was never meant to wield a sword from the start.’

To hold the position of a Duke in the Empire means more than just excelling in brute strength.

Because the family rose to prominence by the sword, many misinterpret them as mere muscleheads, but most knights are, in fact, nobility. They are cultivated accordingly.

From the Duke Muller’s standpoint, Allen’s novel looked like it would undoubtedly bring about immense repercussions in the Empire’s literary world.

“Maya.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Did you read this writing?”

“I have not received permission from the young master.”

That meant she hadn’t read it.

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Duke Muller propped up his chin.

“Not because he’s my son, but I tell you, this single writing of Allen’s will bring a terrible storm to the Empire. It is different from the previously pompous humanities books, mislabeled as novels until now. It’s rather shocking.”

Duke Muller has, of course, read countless novels.

He had spent no small amount of time with books rather than swords, under the pretext of nurturing cultivation. Otherwise, he would have been disregarded as an ignorant man in the aristocratic society.

Of course, no one would be foolish enough to openly insult the Sword King, but there are always people gossiping behind one’s back.

Duke Muller, a man often the topic of derogatory rumors, was aware of this.

“If you say it’s shocking…”

“Maya, what do you consider a novel to be?”

“I consider it a slightly easier-to-understand humanities textbook…”

“If you were to borrow the words of the common folks?”

“…It’s dreadfully boring.”

She was straightforward.

Yet rather than getting angry, Duke Muller burst out laughing.

He seemed sincerely amused.

“Yes, it is exactly as you state. In educated terms, it’s dry, and in the words of the common folk—dreadfully boring. Initially, novels for the nobles were nothing more than tools for exhibiting one’s knowledge and debate.”

Duke Muller’s tone was tinged with genuine contempt.

“Both the writer and the reader are nobles. The unnecessarily long and circuitous words, to get to the point, one has to get rid of all those vain embellishments. Often, the essence encountered after traversing tens of lines of text is a hollow one-line conclusion. This is why I despise the so-called authors of this nation’s literature.”

Meia waited with her lips sealed for the Duke’s words.

She was a maid, it was also her duty to wait until her master had finished speaking.

Duke Mueller spoke.

“Allan is different.”

“I can’t be sure without having read his writings…”

“Imperial literature largely consists of admonishing from novels to fairy tales. It’s good to give lessons. But they are intrinsically not fun. Yet humans are species that seek fun even in the smallest things. That’s why these things called novels and literature are exclusive to the aristocracy.”

The Duke Mueller, who lightly tapped the bound manuscript of Allan’s with his index finger, put it down.

“Allan’s writing is revolutionary. It may be shocking enough to behead the stiff-minded literarians of this country with a knife. Because I was also shocked.”

A novel featuring a mysterious traveler from Kunlun, not the empire.

It starts from the setting that races like dwarfs or elves inherit and receive new disciples for swordsmanship, or other weapon techniques and dexterity based on specific regions, not kingdoms, and continue their history that way.

A strange relationship that is connected not by a blood-related family, but only by learned skills and relationships.

A relationship that is similar to and yet somewhat different from that of knights and species is strange.

“A clan, not a guild gathered for mutual interests…”

It is an unfamiliar concept.

However, this unfamiliarity itself was a giant hammer to smash the rigid literary world of the empire.

“Allan’s writings are easy to read. Sentences do not unnecessarily drag on, and sometimes even boldly omit descriptions. It is almost laughable to compare with the so-called literati who unnecessarily lengthen their sentences and gulp down money.”

Cold sarcasm hung on the edge of Duke Mueller’s mouth.

It was a mockery towards those imperial literati.

“The stiff-necked literati will jump up and down.”

“May I pass on your words to him, my lord?”

“Please do. I’ll keep this.”

Duke Mueller put the manuscript in the drawer.

Meia, a bespectacled beauty with white hair, gave a deep bow.

‘It seems like he really likes the youngest master’s writing…’

Duke Mueller had a habit of putting things he liked in the drawer.

He himself acted unconsciously, but most of the servants working in the Duke Mueller house knew this habit.

If he was to keep Allan’s novel in the drawer, it meant he really liked it.

“I shall take my leave.”

Duke Mueller said nothing.

What that meant was clear. Meia, who bowed her head to show respect, quietly backed out of the room.

The sound of Duke Muller, the last one in the room, lightly tapping on his desk resounded throughout his office.