Morrison Detective Agency

Reading the academy newspaper article about three Knight Faculty cadets who were ambushed by unidentified assailants on their way home, had their arms broken one by one, and dumped in front of the temple, Alan clicked his tongue.

"In-campus detectives, huh. Trying to play at being in a detective novel or something."

Alan folded the newspaper with a tsk, his gaze ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shifting to Meia.

"Meia. Was that you?"

"...I know nothing about it."

"Don't lie."

"I truly don't."

Meia feigned innocence with perfect composure. With only suspicion but no concrete evidence, Alan couldn't press her further, so he tsked again.

"No word from Mr. Karl?"

"Volume 2 should hit the capital's bookstores tomorrow. He said the first volume's sales were booming, so we can expect great things from the second."

"That good?"

"Mr. Adonel said it sold nearly 100,000 copies in the capital alone at minimum."

"...Insane."

What the hell, 100,000 copies from volume 1? Alan sighed. Considering the capital's population hovered around 500,000, that meant at least one in five residents had bought and read Shuren Chronicle.

100,000 copies wasn't just talk—given this fantasy world's production capabilities and funding realities, it was max performance right out the gate. And only possible because it was the capital. Alan nodded to himself in acceptance.

100,000 copies ain't pocket change. Probably exaggerated a bit.

If he could upload a YouTube video titled "Sold 100,000 Copies of My Fantasy Novel," it'd pull insane agro, Alan mused. The noise marketing had worked too well. He was curious what that so-called giant of imperial literature would do when volume 2 dropped.

Wonder what freakout he'll pull next.

Alan sat at his desk, slowly scribbling the early parts of volume 3 as he thought. It was like those early webnovel days in Korea, when literary snobs trashed the genre. And that kind of backlash never stopped after one or two rounds.

"Meia. Don't let stuff like this happen next time."

"It wasn't me, but I'll keep it in mind."

Alan gave a wry smile at Meia's voice, still playing innocent to the end.

She's too worried about me, that's the problem.

After class, Alan met Lin at the cafe. As usual, Shen was stuck to her back like gum.

Ignoring Shen's piercing glare, Alan chatted with Lin.

"Some weird craze blowing up, huh."

"I'm worried. What if it turns into a martial arts manual grab-fest or ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠something."

"Hmm..."

Alan pondered.

"Might be jumping the gun a bit, but it's a valid concern. The novel's influence is getting out of hand."

"And with volume 2 coming, this fever might ramp up even more."

"No one knows who's behind those illustrations, Princess Lin?"

"Unfortunately not."

Lin sighed faintly, tilting her teacup. The rich aroma of Tyranto Empire black tea wafted gently.

"Heard it started with Kun'Rung exchange students."

"Really? First I've heard of it."

"Huh? Why's that?"

Lin gave a wry smile at Alan's reaction.

"My homeland's split into three factions, and the exchange students here are the same. My supporters and those who aren't—so I can't track everything perfectly."

"Sounds like a headache."

"Hehe..."

Was black tea always this bitter? Lin wondered.

"But it doesn't sound wrong. Even among my followers, that rumor floats around."

"Hmm. No right to stop it anyway, so tricky."

Alan shrugged. Shuren Chronicle's explosive popularity was already beyond expectations. He hadn't anticipated this level of success from the start. No means to rein in Kun'Rung students making illustrations either.

Lin smiled.

"Heard volume 1 sold over 100,000 copies."

"Ah, yeah. Honestly, I still can't believe it."

Alan scratched his cheek with a grin.

"After Mr. Karl told me, I was floored. 100,000? No way that's possible."

"No way?"

"Capital's got 500,000 people, but actual nobles are few. Not everyone's a noble here."

Alan chuckled. No matter how vast the capital, filling it entirely with nobles was absurd. There was a middle class too. But Alan didn't think Shuren Chronicle had spread that far.

"At best, 40-50,000. That's realistic."

"Aren't you underselling it?"

"Academy's full of kids who hate my guts. Like those temple-bound losers this time."

"Oh, that. Saw it in the paper. What a spectacle."

Contempt flickered in Lin's eyes.

"Can't fathom why they'd stoop so low. A proper duel challenge, I'd get—but this?"

"Everywhere's got its shady types."

"Still, betting spars trending in the academy isn't a good sign."

"It's fine."

Alan sipped his tea and grinned.

"Sent Meia. Those drawings—'dohe' in Kun'Rung, right?"

"Ah, yes."

"Told her to collect 'em. It'll die down soon. Curious who's making them anyway. Gotta hit up a club to find out who spread them."

"A club?"

"Detective club—Morrison Detective Agency."

Once Meia returned with the drawings, Alan planned to commission the Morrison Detective Agency, who'd volunteered to investigate the incident. Pretty obvious Meia had beaten those cadets black-and-blue and dumped them at the temple. Ever since she started sword training under Mom as a kid, Meia's protectiveness had been over the top.

Better he take the heat than expose her. Master's supposed to cover for servants' messes, after all.

Don't forget, Alan. A servant's or subordinate's failing reflects on the superior who couldn't control them.

Why did Mom's words pop up now? Alan sighed inwardly and looked at Lin.

"Wanna come along, Princess?"

"... Evil Emperor Cult. Connected to those bastards, huh."

The enemies Shuren encountered after washing up in a western sea village of the West Empire—far from his Kun'Rung homeland—seemed more entrenched in the empire than expected.

Muttering the foe's name in his native tongue, Shuren's eyes gleamed coldly.

"I'll kill you all. Pay for taking my master, my martial siblings, and Shana's lives—with blood."

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"Um, benefactor? Could you tell us your name...?"

Despite the murder aura rolling off Shuren, one villager timidly approached. Shuren turned away.

He had no right to face them. He wasn't a hero—he was a vengeful ghost, with no time for chit-chat.

Plus, tales en route to Melnoir territory said the clan that took him in had been branded public enemy and wiped out.

Why smear a dead clan further? Shuren closed his eyes.

"No need to know."

His ragged clothes fluttered in the wind. Shana's sole surviving relic in the world—the torn cloak—billowed over his shoulders.

"Wanderer."

Perhaps because he spoke in Kun'Rung, the West Empire's Melnoir villagers couldn't understand.

"Langke. Call me that."

"Langke... odd name..."

No need for more talk. Just fleeting ties anyway. Everyone he met could be an enemy.

Shuren left without lingering.

"Tracking the black mage's traces should lead me there."

His tattered cloak flapped wildly in the fierce wind as he departed the blazing manor.

"...Such a tragic scene. No matter how many times I reread it. He feels completely shut off emotionally."

Felicia set down the freshly published Shuren Chronicle volume 2.

"Guess I have to go see Alan after all."

"Um, Princess, could you return my book...?"

"Oh, sorry, Stella. You went through hell to get it, right."

Felicia handed volume 2 back to Stella. Even she, the princess, couldn't snag a first print—Stella was impressive.

Rising, Felicia brushed her skirts.

"Can't let him slip away."

Her eyes sparkled.

"Let's go, Stella."

"Pardon? Where to...?"

"Hehe, tell Alan to meet me at the cafe?"

The empire's princess beamed radiantly.

"Say I'm waiting, Stella."