The Turning Point of the Original Work
"Yes. To be precise, I write the manuscript and you handle the typos. But this?"
Jerry pointed at the manuscript in front of him. It was definitely the battle scene I had barely managed to write yesterday before collapsing after that brutal training session with Decaron. I'd fought tooth and nail to get those words down. It had better not be garbage. No way in hell.
"This is the revised battle sequence for Lars. I expanded and polished the Lars fight from the second volume draft."
Jerry would probably lose his mind when he saw it.
"Whoa. This is incredible?"
"Right?"
Even if it wasn't, I'd have to call it incredible. I'd squeezed out every last ounce of strength I possessed—just like a baby nursing for milk—to train under Decaron and reach this quality. If I'd been in a man's body, I'd be covered in muscle by now. Just thinking about going back for more lessons tomorrow made my blood boil. I'd heard he'd already taught me all the fundamentals and everything necessary, but still.
The funny part was that characters like this usually get speeches like, You must grip the sword for your entire life! Training has no end! I had expected something along those lines, but unexpectedly, he had trained me at an accelerated pace. Of course. To him, I was probably just an appetizer. I'd specifically asked him to teach me only at a surface level—just enough to lick the watermelon without biting in. After all, I was only going to write novels. Why would I need to master swordsmanship? It must have been Decaron's version of "the basics."
"Then we'll proceed with volume two as is."
"It's already time for that?"
"Ahaha. Actually, we have a bit of breathing room. You need to release volume two soon, and with this, it's perfect. Now that the legend of the hero and the demon king is becoming reality, a hero novel is guaranteed to be a massive hit, isn't it?"
It looked like he could see gold coins raining from the sky. His eyes were practically sparkling with currency.
"Are the typos all right?"
"Yes. I've reviewed everything myself."
While Jerry and I were chatting away, a loud ringing sound came from outside the window. In this area, that kind of noise usually meant the palace had an announcement. They would use communication orbs to broadcast through the public magic speakers installed throughout the royal capital. It was like a fantasy PA system.
What the hell?
Around that same time, Decaron was in unusually high spirits. All day long, a cheerful hum poured from his lips without pause, like farmers singing after a bountiful harvest. To him, it was perfectly natural.
How could such a prodigy exist?
Having lived as the Sword Saint for over half a century, he could tell at a glance whether someone had the makings of a swordsman and exactly how far they might go. Honestly, at first he had only planned to teach her a little out of gratitude. After all, she wasn't even that well-known in her own country, and the praise had come from a foreign writer rather than a fellow swordsman.
But the moment he saw her body, Decaron knew.
This is a genius.
From the start, Milene's body—set up by that plagiarizing author with ridiculous parameters that even K didn't know about—had every meridian open in the Sword Saint's eyes. These were the meridians for wielding the sword, the channels that signified a fully activated body. It was something only a Sword Saint could perceive. Others might simply think "Oh, I see," but this was a sensation reserved for those who had reached his level.
Moreover, her entire body was filled with light.
He didn't know why it appeared black, but the light itself was brilliantly radiant. To possess such talent in a woman's body... Even his previous disciples, those ungrateful wretches who had repaid his kindness with betrayal, had not possessed this much potential. A delicate, fragile-looking frame harboring a powerful light and talent vast enough to cover the entire land.
So what choice did he have? He had to teach her everything before he died. Even though she was a writer, who could say for certain? With that much talent, she was bound to find her own path anyway. With all the recent talk of the Demon King's return, she might very well end up fighting on the battlefield.
"M-Master. Can we rest for just a moment..."
"No."
He gave her no time to rest. He felt slightly guilty for getting a little carried away, and the training regimen was indeed harsh for a woman's body to endure. Still, he intended to impart every last bit of knowledge he possessed.
This final disciple kept calling herself pathetic and claiming she lacked ability, but that was nonsense. On the contrary, anyone who saw her would be green with envy—her body was a diamond trapped in female form. If she grew properly, the path she walked could revolutionize the world.
"Haaah... Haaah. Master? This is too difficult."
"Stop your whining."
"No, from the beginning, this is hard for me to learn. I can't adapt to your teaching style at all, can I?"
She claimed she couldn't adapt. That was only natural. He was teaching her ten times more intensely than he had his previous disciples. This fool kept saying it was difficult, yet she had truly absorbed everything. Things that normally took his former students a full year, she mastered in a week. Honestly, if this wasn't talent, nothing was.
She probably didn't realize it since this was her first time receiving training, but learning a year's curriculum in a single week was utterly insane. Normally, just preparing the body to inherit everything from the Sword Saint would require several years of activating the physique and opening the meridians. Yet that entire process had been skipped. From the very first day, he had trained her so intensely that she shouldn't have been able to speak, and yet she learned it all while complaining about how hard it was.
She had barely done any physical conditioning either. With no basic stamina, learning only practical techniques would normally cause the body to collapse, but even that step proved unnecessary. Instead, she learned everything through actual combat practice, and her body grew stronger in the process. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it the body of a true martial artist. And on top of that, she even excelled at writing. Though she wrote novels, she was outstanding in both literary and martial arts.
In the end, after nearly two months of instruction, there was nothing left for him to teach. Once you understood one thing, you understood ten. All that remained now was real combat experience.
Should I spar with her myself?
He had no intention of going easy, but a practice match with his disciple after so long sounded rather enjoyable. That was what he had thought at first.
"They're saying the Glacia Hero Festival is being held in the capital!"
A martial arts tournament in the royal capital. Upon investigating the details, it was connected to the Holy Sword. It was to select a hero. He could not stand by.
The Glacia Hero Festival. The Hero Festival was essentially a martial arts competition held by Glacia, the nation of heroes. It wasn't an annual event but was held during specific years—for bountiful harvests, famines, or other commemorative occasions. The church would select an auspicious date, and the competition would take place.
Of course, it wasn't a fight to the death. It was literally a contest to prove one's strength and determine who was the strongest. Historically, it originated from the first hero of Glacia, who had held the tournament to gather companions. It continued afterward as a commemoration even after the demon king was defeated. Since then, it had been held occasionally whenever the occasion arose. Each time, countless powerful individuals participated, and the greatest martial artist in the world was chosen.
The only problem was that the king was the one holding this competition. In the original work, that bastard Schwald had held it much later, near the ending, to prove his own strength. But now the king was organizing it. And at this point in time, Schwald had already been rejected.
That meant this tournament was probably intended to select a hero. Yes, that made sense. They could send princes other than Schwald. Perhaps political motives were involved, like a competition for the crown prince position. A hero from the royal family other than Schwald... If they could properly wield the Holy Sword, it would be an enormous jackpot.
Honestly, this was just my speculation, but it seemed certain they would select a powerful individual from the competition to become the hero. The problem was...
"So you're telling me to enter this?"
This senile master of mine was trying to make me participate. His eyes were so bloodshot the veins looked ready to burst. What the hell had he been up to?
"That's right. Since they say they won't discriminate based on nationality—foreigners are welcome too—it's the perfect opportunity to display your strength before powerful opponents."
"Holy shit."
What the hell was this old man saying? Damn it. I was just a writer. It was already unfair enough that I'd been forced to train so brutally, and now he wanted me to join a martial arts tournament? I'd only wanted to learn the absolute basics—just enough to skim the surface. Why should I have to deal with this "even a dog can recite poetry after three years at a temple school" nonsense?
"Holy shit?"
"It's nothing. But if that's the case, this is quite difficult. I'm only just beginning to learn, you know? What would a woman like me—"
But the old man named Decaron glared at me and gripped both my shoulders with powerful hands. I really didn't understand why he was acting like this.
"Hmph! Don't you dare demean yourself by calling yourself a mere woman! You are the greatest disciple I have ever taught! How can you speak so weakly?"
But I really am weak. If he told me to enter the world's strongest saintess competition, maybe I'd understand. Not that such a competition existed, and even if it did, I wouldn't have recommended it. Anyway, this was completely ridiculous. That place would be full of insanely powerful experts, right?
"Are you telling me to become the hero or something?"
"I won't demand that you become the strongest. Simply prove your power."
In short, just show them what you can do there. It didn't necessarily mean becoming the hero.
"Besides, I don't want to be recognized with this appearance."
"Hmm. That won't be a problem. I've already prepared armor made from the highest-grade orichalcum just for you. Well, this master isn't completely inflexible. I prepared a version specifically for a woman."
He even pulled out the armor. It was genuinely designed for a female wearer. He had prepared something incredible with the clear intention of sending me into the tournament. The armor clung to the body's shape and came with a helmet. There was no skin exposure, but it was crafted with layered steel plates fitted precisely over leather to match the female form. Armor prepared with absolute determination to send me.
When the hell had he gotten this made? I felt like I was drifting further and further away from simply being an author. Please, no. Ah, fuck. Aaaaaagh!
"Do I really... really have to do this?"
"Don't worry. Even if you are defeated by someone, I will still be proud of you."
I should never have learned anything. Of course, after suffering through all that training, doing nothing with it would feel like a waste. But entering the Hero Festival was just insane.
I tried to refuse somehow, but Decaron struck first.
"My remaining days are few. To think I might witness my disciple shining in the Hero Festival..."
He pulled that card. Yes. It was true his time was running out. He was quite old, after all. In the original work, he didn't appear later, so it was safe to assume he had passed away. Though the prevailing theory was that the plagiarizing author simply got lazy and stopped using him.
With an appeal like that, I couldn't refuse. No, at the very least, couldn't he have prepared some thick, bulky armor? I at least wanted to hide the fact that I was a woman. It seemed he had gone out of his way to make it impossible for me to say no, presenting this as proof of his utmost effort. He had brought this to make my participation a done deal.
"I guess I have no choice."
"Until then, you must hunt monsters and continue your training. Go register at the adventurers' guild."
"Oh my god."
Fuck, that wasn't fair. I was a writer. Why did a writer have to get dragged into something like this? I genuinely couldn't find an answer.
And that wasn't all. Due to the signs of the Demon King's revival, monsters had grown stronger. High orcs and the like were appearing now.
"God?"
"It's nothing. But Master. The monsters are getting stronger due to the Demon King's impending return."
"With your skill, you can handle the likes of them. You'll understand once you try."
It seemed this person was the type to throw his disciple straight into the flames. Setting the character's setting aside, if this was truly reality and his previous disciples had gone through the same thing, even I would want to hide my master. One mistake could easily lead to death.
If the 4 Swords of the Empire boosted their master's reputation and then people died after becoming Decaron's disciples, wouldn't the responsibility fall squarely on the 4 Swords? Either way, I had no options left.
Yes. Fine. Experiencing real combat while writing might actually be good for the story. In the end, I had no choice but to accept.
Volume two was being published and I had some leeway. By volume three, when the story seriously collided with the demon king's army executives and their forces, the battle scenes would become significantly more prominent. In that case, Decaron telling me to gain real combat experience might actually be helpful. Assuming I could actually hunt the monsters, of course.
In this absurd and unreasonable reality, I had to rationalize it by telling myself I could simply write it into the novel.