No One's Coming, Right?
Mueller Duke pulled out Alan's manuscript again. Alan's novel deserved to be called more shocking than any he'd ever seen. Not only did it introduce new concepts, but its approach differed entirely from imperial novels that always featured empire natives as protagonists.
"The protagonist, who lost his entire clan and family and survived alone, encounters enemies he must seek revenge on while starting a new life..."
It was a truly provocative narrative. Most imperial novels resembled heroic epics or sagas, so few began this way. They typically depicted adventures against great evils or trials under noble patronage that forged the hero.
Alan's writing wasn't necessarily superior—it even belittled them in places—but the empire's novelists weren't lacking in skill, at least.
'A difference in approach, then.'
Alan had stripped away the flowery rhetoric. He'd slashed the empire's characteristically oppressive text volume by more than half. He didn't hesitate to condense descriptions to a single line where needed. It was a bold style.
"The protagonist, who helps those who aided him, faces another crossroads... Should this be called bold or cruel?"
Alan's protagonist endured two major trials. The first came while he trained peacefully with his clan brothers in swordsmanship. A betrayer, unable to stomach the protagonist inheriting the clan's strongest technique, colluded with enemies to massacre the disciples and seize the book containing it. Many disciples died protecting the protagonist, the leader's chosen successor.
Shuren, the protagonist, was attacked by his trusted clan senior and the invaders who razed the base. He suffered grievous wounds and fell off a cliff into the sea.
"That's trial enough already."
The pages rustled as they turned.
Shuren, swept by ocean currents, was rescued by a village girl on the coast. Though he planned to leave, the chief's daughter and the villagers insisted he stay until healed. Too injured to refuse, Shuren remained, gradually softening over their time together.
"Peace, trial, and brief peace returning... Cruel. So cruel."
Did it need such intense ups and downs? Revenge on the wicked woman who destroyed the clan base and the traitorous senior would suffice.
Mueller Duke felt his lips dry slightly and brushed his mouth with his hand.
"...Tragic."
Shuren slowly integrated while helping the villagers. But the second tragedy struck. Enemy forces, tracking the missing Shuren, overran the village.
"Vicious. They leave no loose ends—relentless. Feels like dealing with intelligence agents."
Clicking his tongue, Mueller Duke turned the page. The development shattered the extended peace after the trial, leaving no respite.
Shuren failed to protect the villagers in this second trial too. His bloodcurdling scream of failure was especially striking.
"Alan wrote this..."
A smile crept across Mueller Duke's lips.
"Impressive lad."
He looked forward to the next volume. He was curious about the storm this novel would stir in the imperial literary world. It wouldn't be ordinary. He anticipated the reaction from those stubborn, rigid literati.
"This'll get interesting, Alan."
Naturally, the controversy drew fierce backlash from established novelists and literary pillars.
Not all reactions were negative. Young people rebelling against rigid imperial literature overwhelmingly praised Alan's novel.
Amid backlash, praise poured in equally. As opposition from imperial novelists intensified, Alan Edgar von Mueller's unannounced debut spread like wildfire among nobles, fueled by reverse backlash.
The clan concept—similar yet distinct from guilds. Bonds like family despite no blood ties. The protagonist awakening to lose all clan members, denied even brief peace before another trial struck. Shana, the chief's daughter who sacrificed for Shuren, earned particular acclaim.
Young literati, armed against old imperial norms, praised endlessly. Merely the first volume, yet it rocketed to heretical fame in imperial literature.
Its author, in Mueller Ducal House, still scribbled with his quill today.
"Half backlash, half praise. About what I expected."
"You're not surprised, Young Master?"
"No reason to be. It diverges completely from imperial novels. If I weren't Mueller's son, the backlash would've been worse."
Beside Alan's desk towered a mountain of letters—hundreds, at least. All "fan letters" from imperial literati, thinly veiled threats.
"Toss any letters for me straight in the trash. Burn them."
"There might be real fan letters mixed in."
"Too many to read individually. Better spend time on the next volume."
"Quite pragmatic, sir."
Replying to fan letters was an unwritten imperial literary custom. Many famed novelists had married fans that way. Alan dismissed it entirely.
"With academy soon, you won't end up at the center of this fuss...?"
"Problem for the continent's top novelist? Sure, it'll be noisy. But I published under my name—expected it. Father might've spread rumors anyway."
Mueller Duke had praised Alan's novel unusually. He'd pushed publication most aggressively and raged at anonymity.
"Hoo..."
Alan sighed wearily, scribbled furiously, then set down his quill. Meia watched impassively as the young novelist tilted back, rubbing his eyes.
"There's eye-beneficial tea recently imported from Kun'Rung. Shall I brew some?"
"Thanks."
"Right away."
"Appreciate it."
Meia bowed silently and left. Alone, Alan stretched with a groan and sank into his chair.
"Hope my novel sparks some readable stuff."
Glancing at the threat pile, he smirked.
"Didn't expect 5700-character letters. Reactions are explosive."
He'd had low hopes. He'd introduced alien concepts, agonizing days adapting wuxia terms to this world. Such efforts usually flopped quietly, per his past life.
"Exceeded expectations."
Mueller's name surely amplified the aggro.
"Hmm... Surely no one from Kun'Rung will come knocking just because I wrote this?"