The Landmark Project: "I Heard the Newspapers Are Going Under?"
[Jiri]: Jiri's update has been completed, human.
Just before the newspapers could be "revolutionized" by the hands of the angry mob, Jiri thankfully stopped sulking. I suppose forcing her to change her name from 'Jiri' to 'Truth' was a bit much.
Well, whatever. At any rate, I was glad Jiri seemed reasonably satisfied now. However, there was still one major hurdle to overcome. The documents Jiri generated were invisible to anyone else's eyes. Which meant I couldn't delegate this task to anyone else. In the end, I had to manually transcribe every single word myself. It was pure, unadulterated manual labor.
Having just finished that grueling task, the prospect of immediately dealing with the newspaper publishers was, frankly, exhausting. I scanned my office. A nap pillow rolled lazily in the corner. Half-eaten snack wrappers littered the desk and floor. I felt a brief pang of self-reflection. Did I slack off too much?
It had been comfortable, and it perfectly suited my lifestyle, but it was time to set the stage properly once again. My vacation was officially over. I clumsily adjusted my clothes, then looked around and intentionally made the room look even messier. I dropped books here and there, scattered ink, paper, and pens across the desk. I needed to look like someone who had been writing like a madman until a moment ago. It had to look convincing.
The moment I granted them entry, the newspaper publishers, who had been waiting outside my office for days, came rushing in like a tidal wave. "P-Prophet!" "We were foolish!" "Please, we beg of you, the next chapter!" Lacus looked ready to drop to his knees right then and there.
The first thing they saw upon entering was my haggard face, complete with deep, dark circles under my hollow eyes. The room was in a state of absolute, chaotic disarray. Manuscript papers were scattered haphazardly across the desk, and broken ink bottles and crumpled balls of dried paper littered the floor. It was perfect.
A subtle tremor of unease rippled through the publishers' eyes. So the rumors of his illness were true.They said he hadn't left his office because he was consumed by his writing... Their thoughts were written all over their faces. I chuckled inwardly and deliberately pushed myself up with agonizing slowness, layering as much exhaustion into my voice as possible.
In truth, the manuscript had been finished two days ago. I had spent the remaining time summoning my administrative slaves—no need to memorize all their names, but let's call them Blue, Pax, and Justice—to make copies. Feigning immense fatigue, I slowly turned and dragged my feet toward the desk.
I slowly leaned back into the chair behind my desk. Their desperate gazes converged on my mouth in unison. It was obvious what they wanted. Without a word, I quietly slid the freshly written manuscript across the desk toward them. I offered no explanation. But none was needed.
"Is this...?!" "Yes. It's the latest chapter. You may take it." The publishers approached cautiously, reaching out with trembling hands to lift the manuscript as if it were a sacred relic. Lacus picked it up, his fingers shaking. He swallowed hard. Finally.
He was about to bolt straight back to the newspaper office, but he hesitated. To appease the public's fury before his building was torn down by the mob, running out immediately was the logical choice. Yet, though his mind knew this, his body refused to move. He was a publisher, but he was also an editor—one who firmly believed himself to be highly responsible.
Wouldn't it be irresponsible to just carry this out without looking? The thought struck him instantly. Shouldn't I read it first? Proofreading is the absolute basic duty of an editor. Yes, the basics. It had probably been years since he actually proofread anything himself, but that inconvenient truth didn't cross his mind. If he handed it over immediately, it meant his own chance to read the next chapter would be delayed by several hours.
Silence fell. When Lacus subtly glanced around to gauge the room, his eyes met those of the other publishers. All of them were frozen in awkward, half-standing postures. Their faces were filled with the exact same sense of "responsibility." Their gazes locked. *Ahem. Cough.*
"Um... excuse me, but... it suddenly occurred to me that we really ought to proofread this first." "...As a fellow publisher, I must agree." "Indeed. Fact-checking is a vital and necessary task, after all." It's responsibility. We're doing this out of pure responsibility.Proofreading is the basic duty.We are professionals. Let's act like professionals. They nodded to each other in silent agreement.
And so, not a single soul left the mansion. They immediately asked for permission and filed into the drawing room prepared for guests. Then, as if they had been waiting for this exact moment, they opened the manuscript simultaneously.
The story began at the very moment Arthur drew the holy sword, Excalibur.
The plaza was packed with countless onlookers, all holding their breath. With trembling hands, the boy pulled the sword upward. Bathed in the moonlight, the gleaming blade pierced the darkness as it rose. One by one, the crowds filling the plaza bowed their heads. Soldiers, merchants, children, the elderly—a silent wave of awe swept over the world like a massive tide.
Lacus felt his heart skip a beat. A profound belief swelled within him that Arthur would make Britannia shine once more. Anyone who witnessed that sight would believe the same. And yet...
Reality was cruel. The nobles remained tight-lipped, and the local factions averted their eyes. They did not see the sword; they saw only power.
—A mere orphan.
—A boy of no noble blood.
—This is no divine will, but a cheap trick.
This is insane...! Though they were merely lines in a novel, Lacus could barely contain his fury. Fortunately, the other publishers shouted first.
"T-Those absolute bastards!" Though they were fierce competitors on any normal day, in this moment, the publishers were completely united. The distrust toward Arthur spread like wildfire, and mockery and conspiracy festered in the cracks. The boy held his sword high, but the world turned its back on him.
Lacus felt his throat burning. He gulped down the tea placed in front of him. He was terrified that Arthur would break. Yet, the boy's resolve never wavered. Arthur began to move. He did not seek vengeance against the nobles and local factions who had betrayed his trust. Instead, he forged his own path.
A knight with a shameful past, the descendant of a fallen noble house, a warrior from foreign lands, a peasant archer, the bodyguard of an exiled prince, a fighter from the mines, and kinsmen bound by a trust thicker than blood...
The boy reached out his hand first, gathering thirteen knights. None of them were perfect, but they were more unyielding than anyone else. What Arthur built was not merely a kingdom, but a band of "companions" to fight alongside him.
A round table where everyone sat as equals.
As he read on, Lacus felt his fingertips tremble. Someone gasped for air, while another quietly closed his eyes. A profound, lingering emotion hung heavy in the room. Lacus finally closed the manuscript. There had been a phrase written at the very beginning of the text. A phrase he had skipped over because he hadn't understood it then, but now, it made perfect sense. The Knights of the Round Table.
Lacus held the manuscript with sweaty hands, his fingertips still shaking. If I take this out there— The world would once again be swept into a raging tempest. The manuscript for the next chapter, which the publishers would carry away, had barely been finished in the early hours of that very morning.
The Elium Kingdom Landmark Project. There was one prerequisite that had to be met for this to work: I had to make the readers of the book actually travel to the Elium Kingdom. Simply saying, "The author lives here," wasn't going to cut it. Sure, a few people might visit for that reason, but they would be a tiny minority. What most readers immersed themselves in wasn't the author as an individual, but the world and characters within the book.
Therefore, to make the project a success, I had to bring something from the book into reality. That was why I decided to build it. Through the Knights of the Round Table. I designated the centers of various cities as the residences of the characters appearing in The Knights of the Round Table. And in the capital of the Elium Kingdom, I decided to place a symbolic object that would make anyone shout, "Ah, that's it!" the moment they laid eyes on it.
Just then, a piece of news reached my ears in the office. An ambassador from the Franz Kingdom was coming to deliver the war reparations. And the name of that ambassador was highly familiar to me. Sarne Kroi.
I took a deep breath and tidied up my desk, knowing she would arrive soon. I recalled her relentless obsession whenever she lost a game of Go. Her reason for coming personally as the ambassador was obvious. Just as I expected, not long after hearing that the Franz Kingdom's delegation had arrived in the kingdom, there were three heavy knocks on my office door. *Thud, thud, thud.*
I took a deep breath. As it turned out, I actually needed Sarne's help right now. "Elder Dwarf Sarne Kroi requests an audience." "Let her in." The door swung open, and she stepped inside. "Doyunes! I've come for my revenge!"
"Before that, tell me why you came as the ambassador." "The atmosphere back in the kingdom shifted a bit after the war ended. They want to resume diplomatic relations with Elium. After all, what we really needed all along was the trade route." "Is that all?" At my question, Sarne shrugged. "So they sent me as the diplomat." She added with a short laugh, "And to deliver the war reparations while I'm at it. I'm actually planning to stay here as the resident ambassador."
"Why you, of all people? There are plenty of others." "Because I'm the one who faced you on the battlefield. Besides... I have to take some responsibility for the defeat." I chuckled. In dwarf society, which is tightly bound by bloodlines, they wouldn't send a direct-line Elder as an ambassador just because of a single military defeat. But there was no need to say that out loud. Thanks to this, my job had just gotten a whole lot easier.
Originally, I had planned to use a local blacksmith, but since I had a dwarf with what was practically the hand of God right next to me, I changed my plans. Sarne planted her hands on her hips and said spiritedly, "If you need anything, just say the word! But in exchange, you have to play Go with me!"
"Sarne." I crossed my arms on the desk and asked, "You know metallurgy, right?" She raised an eyebrow, then immediately shrugged. "What's with the sudden question? Of course I do! I'm an Elder! I hold a master craftsman license and even have several patents to my name."
I opened a drawer and carefully pulled out a sheet of paper. It was the blueprint of the ideal sword I had envisioned. "Can you make this?" Sarne narrowed her eyes and scanned the drawing. "...The design itself isn't a problem. But to properly bring out every detail here..." She tapped her fingers as if calculating, then nodded. "I'd have to spend most of the ten thousand gold coins I brought with me. As for labor costs... well, since we're r-rivals, I suppose I could cut you a bit of a break."
Instead of answering, I quietly took her hand. Sarne flinched. Ignoring her reaction, I immediately pressed on. "To be safe... would one day be enough?" "What?! A day?!" Sarne's eyes widened, looking as if she had just heard the most absurd thing in the world. "This, no matter how fast I work, in just one day—"
Cutting off her protest, I squeezed her hand to convey my absolute sincerity. I looked at her with a firm, serious gaze. "It's a truly important matter. Please, do it as quickly as possible." Sarne stared down at her captured hand for a long moment. She bit her lip, her eyes blinking rapidly. I shouldn't... I really shouldn't... But in the end, her face flushed red, and she muttered, "S-Since you're asking so nicely... I'll do it."
The landmark object to be installed in the capital. It was none other than the Sword of Selection—Excalibur. The fantasy that one might be special, that they might be the chosen one. Could the people of this medieval era possibly resist such a temptation? They would be itching to rush over here.
As she was about to leave, Sarne stopped and asked, "By the way." "Yes?" "...Why are you making the tip of the sword a massive block of steel? Can't you just make it sharp like a normal sword and drive it into the ground? If you do that, the production cost would drop to a tenth."
I smirked. Sarne only saw the surface of things. Of course, the reason was simple. If someone actually pulled it out, the whole plan would go down the drain. I had to ensure that absolutely no one could ever draw the sword. "I have my reasons." If that thing ever got pulled out, it would cause me a mountain of trouble in more ways than one.