The Birth of a Legend

The crowds filling the streets of Elium's massive economic development district stood waiting, their eyes glued to the city gates. Then, a small commotion broke out at the front, followed by someone shouting.

"There! It's him!"

At those words, a wave of emotion rippled through the crowd like falling dominoes. Without a single exception, everyone moved in perfect unison.

One hand over their hearts, the other thrust straight up, piercing the sky.

As tens of thousands of voices merged, they coalesced into a single, colossal entity. A thunderous roar.

—Glory to Elium!

—Salute Lord Doyunes!

—Long live the Ifrit Church!

Their eyes were bloodshot, their voices strained to the tearing point. It conjured the illusion that a god had descended upon the earth once more.

Dazed, I took a step through the city gates, then immediately pulled my foot back outside.

"...What on earth is this?"

"Jiri, I don't think that's it. It looks like they're worshiping me."

I did my best to ignore Jiri's warning and marched forward. With an entire army marching right behind me, turning back wasn't an option anyway. I couldn't exactly say, 'I have a bad feeling about this, so let's go back!'

Fortunately, the disaster I feared did not occur.

Though thousands of eyes followed my every move with obsessive intensity as I walked down the street, they kept their distance, as if respecting an invisible line.

See? It's fine.

When I lightly raised my hand, another deafening roar erupted. Since I was prepared this time, I could hear the words clearly.

—Glory to Elium!!!

—Salute Lord Doyunes!!

—Long live the Ifrit Church!!!

Still think so?

I raised my hand once more.

—Glory to Elium!!

—Salute Lord Doyunes!

—Long ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠live the Ifrit Church!!!

How about now?

Shaking my head at the fleeing AI, I continued down the street. As time passed, I managed to adapt to the crowd's reaction to some degree. Not completely, but enough.

Near the end of the road leading to the palace, just as the royal castle came into view, a carriage pulled up and stopped right in front of me. As if they had been waiting, a man standing nearby immediately approached me. Judging by his attire, he was an envoy dispatched from the palace.

"Welcome back, Lord Doyunes. Her Majesty is currently awaiting you in the palace."

The palace doors swung open, and I was guided inside.

A plush red carpet stretched before me, and the gazes of dozens of nobles standing along its sides locked onto me. At the very top, seated upon the throne, was her.

Elium la Ericel Ereberk.

Her eyes slowly swept over me. A cold, piercing blue gaze. Yet, beneath the frost, a faint trace of curiosity flickered.

"...You have arrived."

Her voice was low and clear, yet it carried an unnatural, heavy weight. Even though she wasn't issuing a command, it resonated with an authority that felt impossible to defy, evoking a strange mix of conflicting emotions. It was a voice that, in more ways than one, tightened the chest of anyone listening.

"Doyunes."

A soft resonance echoed through the hall.

"I have heard that silencing the Elder, subduing Franz's army by force, and bringing them to their knees in consecutive defeats... were all your doing."

Overwhelmed by the atmosphere, I bowed my head, only for her words to finally register in my brain.

Wait. Who, me? I never did any of that. I literally just played a single game of baduk?!

Breaking into a cold sweat internally, I raised my head.

"...Your Majesty. Everything was—"

Right then, the Queen raised her hand. And then, she smiled slowly.

"...And humble, too."

A single sentence. Yet the sheer poise and perceived insight behind it took the breath away of everyone present. Her golden hair caught the light, scattering brilliant reflections, while her high-slit gown lent her a mature elegance that did nothing to diminish her imperial charisma.

Each of her footsteps descending the dais sounded like a war drum echoing across a battlefield. Stopping right in front of me, she smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Doyunes. From this day forth, I appoint you as the Chief Advisor of the Strategic Bureau and Grand Prophet."

I blinked.

The Queen continued slowly, her eyes as tranquil as a lake undisturbed by even the gentlest breeze.

"Furthermore..."

She shifted her gaze, looking past the generals and ministers to lock onto the Minister of Finance.

"There has been much criticism in recent years that Elium lacks its own sustainable economic model."

At her words, a thick bead of cold sweat dripped down the Minister of Finance's temple.

"But now, I see the solution."

Her gaze returned to me. Without removing her hand from my shoulder, she spoke.

"Doyunes."

A shiver ran down my spine. Why does she keep piling these bizarre titles on me?

"I bestow upon you the position of Director of the Economic Strategy Coordination Office of the Elium Kingdom... officially designated as—"

Wait, you're making this up right now?

Wearing a mysterious smile, she let the words fall slowly.

"—the Director-General of the Advanced Planning Group for National Development Strategy."

Before she could even finish, a middle-aged man who had been prostrating himself leaped to his feet and cried out.

"Your Majesty!"

She turned her head toward him.

"Prime Minister. Did you not tell me just a few days ago that your failing health was interfering with your duties?"

"That is why I granted you leave to recuperate. Tell me... has your health suddenly recovered?"

"T-That is—"

The man's face drained of color, and his head slumped forward in defeat.

Silence fell over the hall. In that instant, the complexions of every official in the court shifted in unison.

'Military, religion, and now the economy...?'

'This practically grants him more authority than the Prime Minister.'

'She intends to reduce the current Prime Minister to a mere figurehead.'

I stared at the Queen, utterly dumbfounded.

"...Your Majesty, this is far too generous—"

"Indeed. It is far too generous," she interrupted. Taking another step closer, she leaned in and whispered in my ear. "For a kingdom as small as ours to hold someone of your caliber, that is. I must apologize that we can only offer you such humble titles."

...Ah. No. This is wrong. This is seriously wrong. I have to refuse. This time, for real. I looked her straight in the eye, my gaze filled with iron resolve.

"Your Majesty."

Because no matter what, wrong is wrong.

"Lord Doyunes!"

A mansion that blazed with light even in the dead of night. Inside the innermost office, where the air was heavy enough to choke, a burning national flag hung on the wall.

Me. Doyunes. Prophet, Advisor to the Strategic Bureau, Director-General of Economic Planning... I had so many titles I couldn't even memorize them all. And what was I, the holder of all these grand titles, doing right now? ...Staring blankly into space.

For days on end, with Yerin by my side, a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tidal wave of paperwork had crashed down upon me, as if punishing me for all the easy days I'd enjoyed so far.

The revolutionary army. How were they doing? Uaaagh— S-Spare me— They were doing just fine.

...Aaaaaaaagh!!! This is not the revolution I wanted!!!

Hearing someone's distant, agonized scream, I slammed my forehead onto the desk.

"What is this? I thought I was being rewarded, but all I got was a mountain of work."

"...We don't have any money! We don't even have enough grain for the kingdom to use, so what are we supposed to distribute?!"

I stared blankly at the ceiling.

"...No grain. Terrible soil. Zero resources. And to top it all off, we don't have a single competitive advantage."

I muttered in despair, looking out the window. Even if I wanted to restore our finances, we had nothing to sell. The list of things we needed to buy was too long to count. I felt like a patient on life support.

The kingdom's lifespan—its prepaid time—had been extended thanks to this war, but it wouldn't last long. Once that prepaid time ran out, we'd be evicted. And the moment we were kicked out, I was finished too.

"What kind of country is this?"

I deeply regretted my past self, who, just before reincarnating, had clicked to skip a 60-second ad just to see the content a tiny bit faster. Come to think of it, I was incredibly selfish back then. I truly repent. Those ad creators had to make a living too. And I... just tried to click it away.

Wait. An ad is just the minimum price paid for the content I enjoyed... right?

A light bulb suddenly went off in my head.

"Content."

No, calm down. Think about the feasibility first. This country won't get a second chance.

This world was incredibly boring. Even rebellions and riots were treated as mere forms of stress relief. Would there be a competitive edge? Yes.

Surprisingly, the papermaking technology of this era was quite decent. To be precise, it was thanks to the Empire's magitech. If even commoners were reading newspapers, that said it all.

Is there a market? Absolutely. Elium had nothing. No resources, no talent, no technology. But it had one thing: its geographical advantage as the central trade hub of the continent.

Are there distribution channels? Yes. Paper and ink. And as mentioned before, they weren't expensive.

Would it require a lot of capital? ...I can see it. Hope.

"...We have no resources to sell? Then we just have to make them!"

Having reached that conclusion, I now needed a 'subject.' What would 'sell' to medieval people? I bowed my head and pondered, as if planning the greatest bestseller in human history.

Target audience analysis. Lifespans are short, so the primary age group is in their 20s. Xenophobia and discrimination are defaults. Interests? War. Conquest. Betrayal.

Time ticked away.

As dawn broke, a small sound broke the heavy silence that had hung over the office for hours. It was me, having just completed my tenth consecutive night of overtime. I smiled. Slowly, and brightly.

I found it.

I immediately spoke aloud.

"...It's the life story of a single man. A story of one who fights until the very end, even as the world crumbles."

I could sense Jiri looking at my sudden muttering with pity.

I steadfastly ignored her and continued.

"The name of the sword is... Excalibur. Some might call it the King's Sword. But remember, what this sword ultimately chose was neither bloodline nor honor—"

"—but a man of courage who refused to back down to the very end."

It wasn't just a sword.

"It's a symbol. A legend that raises the fallen. A story starting from the very bottom, serving as the genesis of a kingdom destined to fall one day."

I enunciated each word with deliberate weight.

"And... the story that laid the foundation for the single greatest name to ever be left upon this world."

"Arthur Pendragon. His mythos."

Fortunately, it piqued her interest.

"...Unfortunately, it doesn't exist yet."

I chuckled softly.

"But it will soon."

I stared at Jiri quietly, my eyes brimming with absolute certainty. Sensing danger, she responded.

This would be the very first piece of content produced by Elium. As a local landmark, there was no better subject. On top of that, it featured the 'chosen ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one' trope, which perfectly targeted their xenophobic, elitist tastes. A plot packed to the brim with war, betrayal, and conspiracies. There was absolutely no way this would fail. Which meant it must not fail.

If I could, I would write it myself. But there was one critical problem: I didn't know how to write.

'Today, after eating my meal, I went out to fight and met a dragon, and his name was actually Red.'

It was terrible. That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was the extent of my writing skills. However, having consumed a massive amount of web novels, I could easily judge whether a story would appeal to readers.

"Write it based on the outline I just gave you. I'll even let you use 'Jiri' as your pen name."

Jiri resisted. But it was futile. This level of pushback was well within my calculations. My counter-strategy was already prepared. It was only a matter of time before my guaranteed victory. I would confront her head-on with pure sincerity. I was 100% serious right now. No cheap tricks.

"Just picture it. People weeping, agonizing over the story you wrote, begging for the next chapter."

Jiri had a massive desire for recognition. If I fed that desire? She would practically beg to become my overworked graduate student.

"Imagine someone skipping their entire day, completely hooked, hanging onto your every word because of a single sentence you wrote."

"They'll probably say things like this:"

'Jiri-nim is a literal legend!'

'Reading this novel changed my life.'

'Now I can proudly tell everyone that I'm a subscriber of Jiri's masterpiece...'

"Those thousands of comments. That absolute fanaticism."

"...What do you think?"

AI writing slave successfully acquired.