Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Fountain Pen (7)
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Hepiriya actually didn't want to return to the Holy Kingdom.
That was because it was filled with people who wanted to use her.
The archbishops, who should have been leading the faithful at the forefront, were corrupt.
The bishops below them couldn't defy the archbishops, and the cardinals and pope above turned a blind eye.
As a result, the archbishops ran wild like untethered colts.
Of course, they didn't do it openly, even for the sake of their image.
But thanks to this special situation, Hepiriya could operate without much interference.
With the pope and cardinals turning a blind eye, she had freedom of movement.
And because the archbishops were corrupt, the saintess—who enjoyed massive public support—was free to act.
But that was the limit.
When it came to internal church power dynamics, the saintess could never stand alone against the archbishops.
Unless she pretended to go mad and swept through the church with sheer force.
It wasn't an entirely impossible scenario.
Her own martial prowess aside, there were plenty who would follow her, so it was feasible.
"But that's not an option."
Hepiriya planned to save that as an absolute last resort.
No, she didn't even want to use it then.
So she had to find another way to bring down the archbishops.
"...Goddess, please grant me wisdom."
Hepiriya hoped for an environment where she could execute her plan.
But she couldn't just rely on praying to the Goddess.
Blasphemous as it was, the Goddess was more of a bystander.
So.
"Sister. Give me strength. Please keep me from straying onto the wrong path."
The previous saintess, now dead.
Hepiriya, who had been close to her, shed tears just thinking of her.
But she quickly pulled herself together and wiped them away.
There was no time to grieve here.
For the young saintess who had died too soon.
She resolved to set the Holy Kingdom straight.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The capital still hadn't caught wind of Sherlock Holmes's popularity surge.
That was only natural.
Edn didn't want it to.
If Edn had wanted, the Sherlock Holmes series would have sold out across the capital in an instant.
Jenectra Publishing House was always eyeing that opportunity.
The only problem was their lack of connections in the capital.
Of course, that was irrelevant to avid Sherlock Holmes fans.
Nobles were always starved for dopamine, so they often read books and discussed them with each other.
No circus could compare to a book you could read anytime, anywhere.
That's why social gatherings, reading circles, and the like—collectively called salons—sprang up frequently.
Holding a salon didn't require special conditions.
Any place where nobles gathered to chat became one.
Even restaurants frequented by nobles who loved dining out could turn into salons.
"You're here again today."
"Of course. With all these exciting new works lately, how could I stay away?"
Well, more often than not, they came specifically to talk rather than just to eat out.
The same went for these two nobles.
"Reckling, so have you read the latest, The Sign of the Four?"
"Naturally, Linko. I sent a servant to fetch it."
Linko scowled at Reckling's words, as if he'd heard something outrageous.
"Tch, tsk tsk. You have to go yourself for something like this. What if the servant peeked first?"
"That's why I didn't send just any servant—I picked a sturdy one. If he did, I'd just lop off his head."
He spoke without hesitation about something that would horrify Edn.
Of course, since the Sherlock Holmes books hadn't censored such talk, Edn had little room to complain.
The two nobles sipped their tea for a moment before diving into discussion of the new book.
Reckling asked first.
"What did you feel reading this one?"
"I saw how a supreme treasure can destroy multiple lives. Even if human greed is endless, it showed just how ugly it can get."
"Indeed."
Reckling nodded in agreement with Linko's words.
Linko smiled, pleased by his reaction.
"But I focused on a different part."
Unlike his agreement earlier, Reckling seemed to have a different take.
Intrigued, Linko leaned forward slightly.
"Which part?"
"You know it well. Dr. Watson, of course."
"Watson? Why him?"
Reckling sighed and shook his head at Linko's lukewarm response.
He spat out his frustration with a heavy breath.
"In the first book, Watson was mostly an observer. But this time, wasn't his love story the focus?"
"Eh, sure, there's that element, but the case resolution was still central."
"No, I'm telling you—"
Before long, the book took a backseat as they bickered over who was right.
Their voices grew heated, faces flushing in tandem.
Onlookers began gathering inside the shop to watch the spat.
Undeterred, the two raised their voices even louder.
Eventually, they flung off their gloves.
Linko, struck by Reckling's glove, gaped in outrage.
"Hah, so we're settling this for good?"
"Yes! Let's end it today!"
A duel was arranged in the blink of an eye.
Meanwhile, nobles uninterested in their fight clicked their tongues.
"Tsk tsk. Why react so sensitively?"
"Right? Since Sherlock Holmes came up, why don't we chat about it too."
"Sounds good. You brought it up, so you start."
In stark contrast to the pair negotiating duel terms and selecting seconds,
he pondered briefly before speaking.
"Every time I read Sherlock Holmes, a certain thought crosses my mind."
"What? That the author's a genius?"
"No. More like, how does he craft such stories? Especially describing the culprit as a native—it sounds just like the long-lost dwarves from old tales."
The listening noble tilted his head.
"Isn't that overinterpreting? Even if so, he probably just read a lot of sources."
"That's my point. What if it's written by some renowned academy professor?"
"Hmm, that does seem plausible."
The two sipped their wine, calmly conversing while ignoring the duel.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Sherlock Holmes's "The Sign of the Four" installment had turned Edn into a reliable, must-read author.
Despite mixed reviews from the bold new direction,
the Holy Kingdom designating it restricted reading material again,
and some regretting the treasure's disappearance despite the non-tragic ending.
Still, it achieved the feat of selling out the first and second print runs, just like the debut.
And now, Edn's real name—not just his pen name Prometheus—was starting to spread.
"So this is the fountain pen?"
Edn's name had already been somewhat famous thanks to the mana engine.
But it hadn't deeply penetrated nobles' and commoners' daily lives.
After all, mana engines and magic stone engines weren't things they handled directly.
They were the domain of mages and blacksmiths—experts.
He'd gained popularity only in niche circles.
At best, cultured nobles kept the name in mind as trivia.
But the fountain pen's arrival began changing that perception.
"Heavens, incredible. Easier to hold than a quill, no need to dip in ink, minimal smudging! Truly revolutionary!"
Buyers raved unanimously.
Especially family heads buried in paperwork—they went wild for it.
Unlike quills, fountain pens were comfortable to write with and lasted longer, selling like hotcakes.
Nobles who'd gotten early access naturally puffed up with pride.
"Fools. How could they miss such a gem?"
"Exactly. We're no different from the ones who mined it ourselves."
Vanity-driven nobles even started bragging as early adopters.
It caused some hurt feelings here and there, but the real beneficiaries were elsewhere.
"Ahh, this is divine!"
A man gripped the fountain pen, scribbling away.
His fluid, uninterrupted strokes made him look possessed.
Not a hint of hesitation, ignoring his surroundings entirely.
It was proof of his utter focus.
How much time passed?
He let out a small sigh, a joyful smile spreading across his face.
"Yes, this is it. With this, I can win."
He was a writer of knightly literature.
The genre Edn had dismissed as self-plagiarized drivel.
Of course, he had his reasons.
Writing was hard, drawing crowds even harder.
But once he'd started down the writer's path, he couldn't quit.
It was stubbornness,
foolish hope,
and a point of no return.
So he'd drawn inspiration from other works.
If Edn heard, he'd snap that it was nonsense.
Even if creation starts with imitation, you at least need to add your own flair.
Though the guy would just scoff and ignore him anyway.
But that ended today, he believed without a doubt.
"The fountain pen is truly amazing. I must thank its creator."
His handwriting had never looked so neat.
He marveled at the manuscript page.
In his mind, the fountain pen had become a surefire tool for success.
No, more than a tool—a partner.
"Let's keep going together!"
If he learned the fountain pen's creator was the same as Sherlock Holmes's author, he'd have a fit.
After all, he'd be indebted to his perceived rival.
Of course, he had no way of knowing.
Unless he stormed Jenectra or the fountain pen maker.
Until then, ignorance reigned.
"Hahaha! Sherlock Holmes author, Prometheus! You're no match for me anymore!"
Arrogantly, he was convinced one fountain pen had elevated his prose.
He didn't even consider that Edn might have one too.
He just roared in glee, drunk on the pen and his triumph.
His servants wondered what was up this time.
Lately, sobs echoed from his room,
yet now he bellowed in joy.
Curious but weary, they sighed.
Hoping it wouldn't spill over onto them.
Oblivious to their feelings, he just laughed happily.