Product Placement (1)

After Sarne handed over the sword, the work was carried out during hours when people wouldn't notice. In the quiet dawn while everyone was asleep, we cordoned off the central square.

The location for the sword had been meticulously chosen beforehand: the very center of the square, a spot that was highly visible yet deeply connected to the kingdom's symbolism. The surrounding area ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was completely sealed off with massive tents to block any prying eyes. From the outside, it looked like a simple construction site. The deception worked perfectly; passersby merely looked on with mild curiosity and went on their way.

The real work began next: digging deep into the earth.

Excalibur. It was no ordinary sword. It was designed so that only the hilt and the upper half of the blade would be visible. The tip of the blade was welded to a massive block of solid steel, which was then anchored deep into the excavated bedrock. It wasn't just stuck in the ground. It was literally buried. Like a divine sword thrust into a legendary stone. To any onlooker, it was clearly a sword, but it was so securely anchored that no matter how hard anyone pulled, it would never budge. The ultimate Sword of Selection.

As dawn broke, the concealing tents were dismantled. Beneath the pristine morning sunlight, the magnificent form of Excalibur stood tall in the dead center of the plaza.

Passersby froze in their tracks. Every single person looked up at the sword. It seemed to radiate a silent, majestic aura. Their gazes were filled with pure awe.

It is the King's sword. No one uttered the words aloud, but everyone knew it instinctively.

Capital Elium. From this day forward, this plaza was no longer just a busy thoroughfare. It was the heart of the kingdom, pierced by the Sword of Selection. A sacred ground awaiting its future sovereign. The stage was perfectly set as a place where the legend lived: he who pulls the sword shall be king.

The installation of Excalibur was a massive success, far exceeding expectations. There it stood, a sword of overwhelming presence, gleaming with a soft silver-white luster under the moonlight.

The Sword of Selection—Excalibur. Anyone who stood before it was naturally compelled to look up at its blade. An indescribable weight. A silent pressure that seemed to crush one's shoulders just by standing near it.

A massive platform had been erected in the middle of the bustling thoroughfare. It was a temporary structure designed to manage the crowds. Behind it, people queued in endless lines, and yet more kept flocking to the site. Onlookers, adventurers, aspiring knights, and merchants who sniffed out a business opportunity—the plaza was packed to the brim every single day.

Pull the Holy Sword, and you shall be king. Even without me actively spreading the rumor, it grew wings and flew across the land on its own. Children stared up at the sword with sparkling eyes, while young knights stepped up to challenge it with sweaty palms. Everyone, if only for a fleeting moment, dared to dream: Could it be... me?

But no one could pull it. No one could make the sword budge even a millimeter. Of course they couldn't. The sword weighed a whopping ten tons. Anyone capable of even shaking it would instantly prove they weren't human. There's no way it's coming out that easily. Ten tons isn't some joke.

I could safely put this matter out of my mind. From then on, I completely stopped worrying about the sword.

"H-Heave?!"

"Wait, did it just budge a tiny bit?"

"As expected of a 5th Tier powerhouse..."

Once you've successfully created a tourist attraction, what's the next step? You have to sell local specialties for the tourists to buy. Money doesn't just fall from the sky. You have to make people open their wallets.

But the problem was that the people of this era lacked the consumer sensibility of modern folks. To put it simply, you can't easily sell souvenirs to medieval peasants the way you would to modern tourists.

Imagine a medieval peasant walking into a souvenir shop.

"So, what is this supposed to be?"

"Ah, yes! This is an incredibly pretty rock."

"And that?"

"That is a very expensive T-shirt with our logo printed on it."

"Is that all?"

"No! If you display it in your home, it has the magical effect of refreshing the atmosphere!"

"...And it costs twenty silver?"

"Indeed it does."

"So you're telling me to pay twenty silver for a pretty pebble I can find on any roadside... and it has absolutely no function? Haha."

Would they understand? No. In fact, that shop clerk probably wouldn't live to see tomorrow's sunrise.

That was the reality of this world. The delicate, frivolous sensibilities of modern consumers? They didn't fly in this brutal, medieval setting. Appreciating aesthetics? Opening your wallet just for a nice design? What a joke. If it wasn't a precious metal, and it had no practical use, the people of this era simply lacked the luxury of spending money on it.

With that in mind, a brilliant idea struck me.

A few days ago, I had opened the details of the newly unlocked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Intermediate Heal skill that came with that notification.

The skill I possessed had an incredible effect. The warning about the "halved effect" didn't even register in my mind. Only one phrase filled my vision: Can be bottled in separate containers.

It was as if a voice was whispering in my ear: Now you can start peddling Holy Water like crazy.

With that in mind, I subtly and seamlessly slipped a product placement into the latest chapter of The Knights of the Roundtable.

The scene was one of absolute, life-or-death crisis. King Arthur and Camelot, one of the Knights of the Roundtable, had fallen into an enemy trap and were being pursued. Supporting a blood-drenched Arthur, Camelot cried out.

"Arthur! Your wounds are too severe!"

"Ugh... I'm fine."

Arthur gritted his teeth.

"Those southern nobles... They must have plotted this out of sheer jealousy! We must head to the village immediately to get you treated!"

Camelot shouted urgently, but Arthur shook his head.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?! You'll die if we keep going like this!"

"I mean, there is no need." His voice was resolute.

Only then did Camelot notice what Arthur was holding in his hand. A clear bottle containing a glowing red liquid. It seemed to brim with pure vitality, stirring the emotions of anyone who looked upon it.

"Is that... could it be?!"

Arthur smirked slightly.

"Yes, indeed. This is the miraculous potion officially certified, approved, and clinically tested by the Ifrit Church. Not only does it heal minor wounds like this, but it also cures infections, blights, and seasonal flues. While drinking it directly is highly effective, applying it topically to the affected area yields instantaneous results."

"I know that! And look at that logo! It's the genuine article! We must never mistake it for a counterfeit. Only the ones bearing the sacred emblem of the Ifrit Church possess the true, miraculous efficacy! If you buy it now, it's only forty shillings! What's more, during the first month of its launch, it's on a special promotional sale for just thirty-nine shillings and ninety-eight copper coins! It's the legendary Red Potion, isn't it?!" Camelot added, holding his breath.

Cutting through the chilly air of the battlefield, Arthur slowly raised the bottle. At that exact moment, a gentle breeze blew, softly fluttering his golden hair as his sky-blue eyes shimmered through the glass of the bottle. A droplet of blood clung to his eyelashes, yet even that looked like a sacred, beautiful adornment.

Arthur's lips gently touched the rim of the bottle. The liquid inside was incredibly clear, as if poured into a vessel carved from the finest, flawless crystal. Within the bottle, a vibrant red liquid, looking like the molten essence of a crimson sun, sloshed quietly. Emblazoned clearly on the center of the bottle was the gold-embossed official seal of the Ifrit Church.

A warm glow radiated from his skin, and Arthur's wounds began to knit together at a visible speed.

"Camelot. There is no need to head to the village anymore. My treatment will be complete in just five minutes," Arthur spoke flatly.

Camelot nodded slowly.

"...I must admit, that potion solves everything. I'll have to purchase one for myself next time. That Holy Water, I mean."

Arthur let out a soft chuckle.

"Never forget, Camelot. For knights like us, this is nothing short of a second lifeline."

"Ah, of course!"

The scene concluded beautifully as the two of them proceeded to effortlessly dispatch the assassins who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ambushed them immediately after.

This should do the trick, right?

In the modern world, TV shows have ultra-wealthy chaebol families eating street-food tteokbokki for lunch just to squeeze in a sponsor. Compared to that, this was incredibly subtle and natural.

Though it was a brief advertisement, it was an absolute shock to those experiencing it for the first time.

"Holy Water? The Ifrit Church?"

"What on earth is that stuff? It heals wounds instantly?"

"Is it real? I heard it stops bleeding the moment you pour it on."

"Isn't it just a bunch of nonsense?"

"No, it was in the newspaper! They said a bishop of the Ifrit Church personally manufactured it. Apparently, it's already been thoroughly verified!"

"What did they call it again... the Red Potion? Or is it called Holy Water?"

The only problem was that absolutely no one realized this was an "advertisement."

"King Arthur drank it himself! There's even an illustration of it, so what is there to doubt?!"

"Exactly! Lord Arthur put his lips to the bottle! And it glowed!"

Just then, someone in the corner spoke up hesitantly.

"But... is it possible that it's... you know, made up? I mean, it seems a bit too convenient."

As the man's voice echoed, the surrounding atmosphere turned ice-cold. Everyone slowly turned their heads to glare at the skeptic.

And then...

"Are you... doubting King Arthur right now?"

"...How could you?! I trusted you!"

And just like that, the poor man who had raised a perfectly reasonable doubt was swallowed by the angry mob and dragged away.

From that day on, no one questioned the Holy Water. King Arthur personally endorsed it. That single sentence completely shattered all logic.

Afterward, only one topic dominated the lips of the populace: the "Red Potion" ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠manufactured by the Ifrit Church—the Holy Water.