Chapter 558: Canned Food(4)
Chapter 558: Canned Food(4)
As I’ve mentioned many times before, my level of focus is surprisingly high.
Concentration is a trait tied to patience—in other words, mental strength. And mental strength is meaningless if it isn't backed by physical stamina.
This was only possible because of the basic training I received from my father.
Before Lily was born, my father wanted all three of his children to become knights, and I, the late-born youngest, was no exception.
However, perhaps because I took after my mother or because my physical talents simply hadn't bloomed, I was always pathetic during training. I even collapsed from dehydration once while training in the middle of summer, which gave my father quite a scare. After that, he more or less gave up on the idea of me becoming a knight.
Still, he made sure to build up my stamina one way or another. He told me that no matter where I went, stamina would be important and that I would find a use for it someday.
Thanks to that, once I pick up a pen, my concentration rarely breaks. This trait only intensified after I acquired divine power.
Why is he acting like that? It’s not like this is a literal white room.
I looked at Calz, who was sprawled out on the floor, with a puzzled expression. He had fallen asleep from exhaustion after pleading with me to let him out.
I had told him clearly: he didn't need to sleep, and he didn't need to eat. All he had to do was work.
Furthermore, I had modified the "White Room" to look like a forest with a flowing waterfall and the sound of chirping insects to keep him from going insane.
And yet, in less than three days, he was screaming for me to let him go. I truly couldn't understand it.
It’s not like there’s anything else to do anyway.
There is a maxim from my past life: a writer needs a heavy backside.
It means that results only come when you sit in your chair for a long time. It also implies that you shouldn't get distracted by other things.
I wholeheartedly agree with this sentiment, mainly because I used to get distracted all the time before my parents passed away in that accident.
Whenever I hit a bit of writer's block, I’d scroll through YouTube. If I got stuck again, I’d get up and lie on my bed, and before I knew it, hours had flown by.
Even after I’d frantically start writing because I realized I was screwed, nothing changed. Forget three days; I couldn't even stay focused for three minutes.
But after my parents died, I wrote like a man possessed. Perhaps I did it to forget the grief.
There’s no YouTube or internet here, so shouldn't it be easy to just focus on work?
In this world, there is nothing to do for fun. I’m not just saying that; there are almost no forms of entertainment that could be called "leisure."
I’ve recently started spreading the game of Baduk, but even that is spreading slowly. There are board games similar to chess, but only a specific crowd plays them.
What about entertainment for commoners? I’m not lying when I say there’s practically nothing. Part of it is because they’re too busy trying to survive day-to-day, but there’s also just a lack of things to do.
When even public executions are considered a form of entertainment, that says it all. This was one of the reasons why Xenon's Saga became so explosively popular.
That’s why I understood it even less. If there’s nothing else to do, why not just enjoy the work?
I didn't know why he found it so painful. I thought Calz enjoyed drawing.
[Wouldn't you find it painful if someone forced you to write?]
Mora, having read my thoughts, asked in an incredulous voice. I gave it some serious thought.
They say there’s no greater joy than when your hobby becomes your job. I felt that way in my past life, too.
However, I learned the bitter difference between a professional and an amateur. An amateur can stop whenever they want because it’s just a "hobby," but a professional must keep going because it’s "work."
You have to write even on days you don't want to, and if you go on hiatus, your income takes a massive hit.
I serialized my work more for the comments than the money, but the impact was the same. It meant fewer people were reading.
I used to feel that way, but now? Not really.
Things are different now.
From Xenon's Saga to Blood and Iron, both are works I write because I want to.
Being a prophet or a Saint is secondary; I much prefer chuckling to myself while reading the readers' reactions.
The same goes for the income. According to my father, so many gold bars have piled up in our warehouse that he’s considering looking into investments.
Even as time passes, the fact that I write books as a pure "hobby" will never change.
Of course, if someone forced me to write something I didn't want to, I’d rather cut off my own wrists. But I’m writing Blood and Iron because I want to. I’m prepared to take responsibility for whatever happens afterward.
The memory was starting to fade, but everyone probably remembers the incident where Leort and Lina pressured me after catching a glimpse of my true identity.
They treated me much more gentlemanly than the Kingdom of Ters did, but even then, I felt a sense of skepticism. The thought that just writing could bring harm to my family weighed on me.
Fortunately, the situation was resolved after the readers protested during my hiatus, but the skepticism lingered.
In my past life, I had to write even when I didn't want to. In this life, I wanted to write, but it felt like I couldn't because of the people around me.
Now, all of that is meaningless. Aside from the demon worshippers, no one can directly interfere with me.
I will shoulder the responsibility, but I will write with a joyful heart. That is my current mindset.
And so...
"Mr. Calz."
"..."
"I know you're awake, so speak up."
"...For just a moment, I wish I could become a stone."
I couldn't let Calz go like this. The "canning" wasn't over yet.
Calz remained sprawled on the floor, showing no intention of getting up. I suppose he didn't want to get back to work.
He was a man who loved art, but if it became work instead of a hobby, I could see why he’d hate it.
"You don't necessarily have to focus only on the sketches I gave you. If you want, you can draw something else, Mr. Calz."
"Sir Xenon."
"Yes, go ahead."
"How can a person immerse themselves in just one thing? And for three days straight, no less?"
Perhaps his energy was spent, as Calz didn't even try to stand up while he questioned me. I looked down and met his eyes.
His gaze held a mixture of emotions, with respect and awe for me being the most prominent.
"Even for a knight, it should be impossible to show that kind of concentration. It’s a level of patience that exists on a different plane from mere indomitable will."
"Is that so? I wouldn't know."
"Haha."
When I tilted my head in confusion, Calz let out a hollow laugh. He seemed to find my reaction absurd.
Then again, since I’ve been consuming divinity, it’s not like I have no idea why. It might also be an effect of the "Ascetic Training" I underwent before.
Either way, from Calz's perspective, I must seem terrifying. It’s probably similar to how I feel when I look at my father and brothers and think they’re amazing.
"Now, now. Let’s get up and get back to work. What kind of background do you want this time?"
"Hmm..."
Calz seemed to have calmed down a bit as he slowly pushed himself up.
He looked around the room filled with whiteness and asked me, "Does this space change according to your will, Sir Isaac?"
"Yes. It changes according to what I imagine."
"Then, can you show me a scene from Blood and Iron? It’s all just imagination, after all."
"Hmm?"
I blinked at the unexpected question. I hadn't thought of that.
It didn't matter if it was something I hadn't personally experienced. The forest with the waterfall and the campfire under the night sky were nothing more than my imagination, too.
There was no risk of Calz suspecting I was a reincarnator. If I just brushed it off as "I just imagined it," he would accept it.
But isn't it Lady Mora who reads my thoughts and changes the background?
[No. The background changes according to your imagination. Didn't you change it however you wanted even when I was dragged away by Mother?]
Mora answered my doubt immediately. Since it was a private conversation, her voice echoed only in my mind rather than throughout the entire White Room.
If that was the case, couldn't Calz do it too? I thought it over before speaking.
"Can you do it, Mr. Calz?"
"No. No matter how much I imagine, nothing happens. I think only you can do it, Sir Isaac."
[That’s because Calz has almost no divine power. On the other hand, Isaac has the second-highest amount among mortals.]
This time, Mora’s voice rang out through the entire space. Calz flinched at her words but soon nodded.
I was nodding along to her words when I suddenly paused. Second among mortals? Then who was the first? Was it Kate?
That was highly likely. Rumors were rampant that, in terms of pure divine power, Kate had already surpassed the Pope. It was just that she herself had no interest in such things.
"I see. So, what is it you want to see?"
"I want to see the war as it's described in Blood and Iron."
"What do you mean by that?"
It was a confusing request, so I had to ask for clarification. I had been consistently describing the war; what was missing?
Calz began to explain with a serious expression.
"Let me say first that I’m not saying your descriptions are lacking, Sir Isaac. It’s just that the world itself is so far removed from common sense that it’s difficult to even illustrate. I’m no different in that regard."
"Please, continue."
"As you know, I am someone far removed from the reality of war. Descriptions of firing guns, bombs exploding and tearing limbs apart, tanks letting out thunderous roars... unless I see with my own eyes what kind of power they actually possess, I can't truly know."
"So, what you're saying, Mr. Calz, is that you want me to show you the scenes so you can create more precise illustrations?"
"Exactly."
I understood what he meant. Blood and Iron featured illustrations of not just mechanical weapons like tanks, planes, and battleships, but also specific scenes.
Bombers striking civilian areas during the Invasion of Poland, or tanks performing a blitzkrieg during Operation Sichelschnitt.
I was using illustrations to supplement things that were hard to explain through description alone, but even that was proving insufficient.
Calz didn't know how powerful a bomber was, nor did he know the heavy yet agile movements of a tank.
"If I show you, you’ll be able to depict it in your drawings?"
"It would be much better than just hearing your explanations, Sir Isaac. Oh, of course, I’m not saying your explanations are bad. It’s just that the worldviews are so different."
"I understand. Then..."
Here, the path diverged again. I thought for a moment before asking Calz.
"What do you want to see? If you wish, I can show you a scene every time you have to draw an illustration."
"To be honest, I don't need to see the characters. The sketches you sent are enough for that. Just show me how cruel and merciless the war in Blood and Iron truly is."
"If that’s what you want..."
There was one scene that was perfect for this. It was a scene that perfectly captured the horror of World War II and served as a textbook for war movies.
However, since it was a scene from a movie, imagination alone wouldn't be enough. Because it focused on the horror of war itself rather than a single protagonist, the scenes shifted all over the place.
Most importantly, I hadn't experienced it myself. I might have heard the sound of a waterfall or a campfire, but there were clear limits to what I could recreate from a video.
Lady Mora?
[Should I describe what actually happened back then, or should I recreate the scene from the movie?]
Mora, who had already read my thoughts, asked the very question I was about to ask. I chose the latter.
It was a movie that boasted a level of realism that was virtually indistinguishable from reality, despite some very minor historical inaccuracies.
It was so realistic that a veteran once remarked with deep emotion, "The only thing different from back then was the smell."
By now, everyone has probably guessed it. What I was about to show Calz was the Normandy Landings from Saving Private Ryan.
Specifically, the scene at "Bloody Omaha Beach," which perfectly illustrated the sheer horror of World War II.
"I’m warning you now, this might be a huge shock. Are you sure you’re okay with this?"
"I’m fine. I’m bored anyway, and if it’s for the sake of better illustrations, I’ll gladly endure it."
"..."
I’ve seen that attitude somewhere before. Who was it?
[That’s you. You, who used to jump into things without a second thought.]
It was me! No wonder it felt familiar.
I gave a bitter smile at Mora’s words and then closed my eyes. With my eyes shut, I recalled that scene from the movie.
A beach with rolling waves. Steel structures embedded in the sand. And finally, the gloomy, overcast weather.
Beyond the beach, where a salty wind blew, dozens of landing craft were cutting through the sea.
"Wh-what? Where is this? Is this the ocean?"
As I was imagining it, Calz’s panicked voice reached my ears. I opened one eye and looked around.
Inside a landing craft cutting through the waves, Calz and I were standing there. We were surrounded by American soldiers.
Unlike the soldiers in their uniforms, we were still in our original clothes. We looked quite out of place.
[Thirty seconds to landing!]
A soldier steering the boat at the back shouted loudly, holding up three fingers. At the same time, a commander at the front began barking orders.
Up to this point, it was exactly like the movie. I closed my eyes again, waiting for the tragedy that would unfold in thirty seconds.
Soldiers praying to God or vomiting from the tension. Soldiers gripping their rifles with trembling hands.
The commanders were encouraging their men, but they were just as nervous.
And then, the landing craft reached the beach, the ramp dropped, and the sound that followed was...
Brrrrrrrrrrrrt!
It was the sound of Hitler’s Buzzsaw roaring to life.
*
Some time later, after the Bloody Omaha Beach scene had ended.
"Huuuuurgh!"
"Are you okay?"
"N-no... urgh!"
I diligently patted Calz on the back as he doubled over.