Chapter 16
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Julius Caesar (7)
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"Uh... um... You want me to evaluate your writing?"
Gilford felt a wave of bewilderment.
Of course, as an editor, he'd received countless requests for reviews and feedback, but this was the first time Kim Yul—who always had such firm convictions—had ever asked for something like this.
And besides.
"Kim Yul. You have no chance of winning. If you give up now, I can at least guarantee you treatment befitting an excellent slave."
Who the hell was this woman who'd followed Kim Yul here?
With a cold, beautiful face that barely betrayed any emotion, she tossed out the word "slave" without hesitation.
Wearing unfamiliar attire he'd never seen before—at least not in his memory—and fanning the paper in her hand nonstop.
Kim Yul belatedly put on an awkward expression as he introduced the woman to Gilford.
"My... cousin, Historie. She's only recently come to the capital, so she's a bit lacking in social graces."
"Objection. I possess a vast history of conversational data, and if we're talking social skills, I'm far superior to Kim Yul, who hardly ever leaves the house—"
"Shush."
Listening to their banter, Gilford stared blankly in thought.
If they were cousins who could casually joke about slaves and such, maybe they had some kind of future promised between them.
Under imperial law, marriage between blood relatives was permitted as long as they weren't immediate family, so there were noble houses that repeatedly married cousins to preserve pure bloodlines.
The most prominent example was House Absberg, the ducal family.
He swallowed the thought that her name might be Kim Historie.
"Well, technically, I shouldn't review it unless it's from a formally contracted author... but since it's your request, Mr. Kim Yul, I'll take a look."
Gilford took Kim Yul's manuscript first and read it over.
"This is the latest chapter from your stockpile, right?"
"Yes. It wasn't so bad that I needed to switch to a different topic just to keep writing."
Rustle, rustle.
"This chapter's good too. Great work. Well then..."
"This isn't merely a revision. It properly brings out the original's shortcomings and can boldly be called a masterpiece that expands the horizons of the novel."
Historie puffed out her chest, exuding an overwhelming presence, so Gilford carefully took the manuscript from her hand, struggling to keep his eyes from wandering.
"I'll read it."
The bustling alleys of Rome's heart, the Subura, still slumbered deeply. Yet in Gaius Julius Caesar's modest residence, a faint lantern light pushed back the veil of night. Beneath that glow, Caesar stood, bearing all the traces of a sleepless night. At thirty-seven years old, his ambitious eyes burned red with fatigue, and his smoothly shaved jaw was taut with tension.
He wore a pure white Toga Candida, the garb symbolizing the purity of a candidate. But to him now, it felt like a shroud. Today, he would run for the lifelong position of Pontifex Maximus, high priest of the Roman Republic. It was a gamble where he staked everything.
"Still awake, Gaius?"
The voice from behind belonged to his mother, Aurelia Cotta, infused with the wisdom and strength of years. She was a woman of Rome's noblest blood, yet in this humble Subura home, she steadfastly supported her son's ambitions as a resolute mother. Her gaze lingered on her son's pallid face and the pristine white toga. She clearly saw the invisible mud staining it—the crushing weight of his enormous debts.
Caesar replied softly without turning. "I can't sleep, Mother. I don't know if the rising sun today will shine on my glory... or herald my ruin."
His voice carried not his usual confidence, but the precariousness of one walking a knife's edge. This election was no mere political contest. His rivals were the giants of the Republic.
....
....
He paused for a moment and looked deeply into his mother's eyes. Then he uttered the final words. It was a promise staking everything—and a spell that drove him to the precipice.
"...If it doesn't happen, I shall not return at all (Revertar pontifex, aut non revertar.)."
What flickered across Aurelia's face was neither sorrow nor shock. It was the grim satisfaction of one who had confirmed her son's resolve. She said nothing more. Instead, she pressed cold lips to his forehead—a farewell and a sacred blessing for victory.
"Uh, um..."
Gilford felt a powerful wave of dizziness.
A total disaster.
Even setting aside the story's flow and completion...
What were those incomprehensible chunks in parentheses, formatted like continental common script but meaningless?
The expressiveness was certainly excellent—the rhetoric so thick it could be called truly literary.
But combined with the dull, pedantic, unnecessary description blocks and the brick walls of text stacked so densely it was uncomfortable to read—what the hell were those?
Gilford unconsciously glanced at Kim Yul.
The moment his eyes met Kim Yul's awkward smile.
"Eye contact conversation is cheating. I request a strict and impartial judgment."
Historie quickly jumped in, blocking the space between them, and glared at Gilford with eyes shimmering blue.
It was a bit intimidating, being stared down by such a coldly beautiful woman.
But Gilford was already a top-tier editor who had withstood a hero's presence—and even a dragon's (almost peed himself).
"This match... is Mr. Kim Yul's victory."
"As expected."
"Why?"
Unlike Kim Yul, who smiled lightly as if it were obvious.
Historie's already expressionless face hardened even more menacingly.
As if.
Her transparent eyes perfectly reflected the sentiment: 'Why doesn't he appreciate my artistry? Are eyes just for show?'
"Ahaha... I have a meeting, so I should get going..."
Gilford chose to flee.
On the way home.
"Did you bribe him? From behind the scenes? That doesn't make sense."
Historie, walking alongside, grumbled nonstop.
But in truth, the outcome had been obvious from the start.
Of course, if we were talking pure writing skill, how could I beat Historie, who had the entire world literature anthology in her head?
But classical literature like that and genre fiction like web novels were grammatically worlds apart.
Quick pacing and short sentences to build immersion suited it better than intricate descriptions and rich emotional lines.
That was the point where victory was inevitable for me.
I explained this self-evident logic aloud.
"The literary level of this world's people... pathetic..."
"..."
Historie still looked indignant, her face twisted like a possessor who wanted to plagiarize all of Earth's literature and dump it into this world.
...The scary part was, it actually seemed possible.
Anyway.
This gave me control over Historie, who in just two weeks since her "birth" had gone through a stormy adolescence.
And as a bonus, I could experience the new skill I'd acquired firsthand.
Caesar's Dice.
At first, I doubted my eyes—what kind of ability was a die?
Simply put...
It was the power to divine how a decision I made would turn out, via a dice roll.
1: Fumble, total failure.
6: Grand success.
Quantifying luck made it seriously cheat-level, but there were restrictions.
Usable only once per day.
If the prediction came out poorly and I backed out of the decision, no use for a full month.
For reference, the roll for predicting my match with Historie had been a 6.
A fated fight I couldn't possibly lose.
"...Now, I shall live a tragically sad life, unable even to resist as the demon-beast sadomasochist Kim Yul ravages me at will..."
Historie began muttering strange things with a resigned expression.
"...? What the hell is that?"
"Wasn't this scheme just to toy with my body as you please— Mmph! Mmmph!"
"Hey, no, that's not it! Shut up for a sec...!"
Feeling the stares around us—'What kind of trash is that? Typical black-haired average joe?'—I instinctively clamped Historie's mouth shut.
"Sh-she's my little sister! She's joking!"
Sensing they might call the guards, I hurriedly shouted excuses and dragged her away.
.
.
.
"No, why would you even say that...?"
"But wasn't that the condition you demanded of me?"
"No? I'm a harem pure-love guy."
Of course, at first I'd briefly—just briefly—considered emulating the pioneer of this industry, Teacher Pygmalion.
But that was born from love.
This was born from necessity.
The causality was different, and I had no intention of demanding a romantic relationship with Historie just because I'd used a skill to grant her life.
That aside.
What the hell was in that data to plant ideas like that...?
Ah.
My thoughts landed on the barely tolerable ones among my professor's vast illegal collection that I'd backed up to the USB not long ago.
.
.
.
By the time we reached home.
I administered reeducation to correct as much of Historie's misguided knowledge as possible.
"Then why did you make the condition absolute obedience?"
"...Wasn't it you who first said you'd make me your slave?"
"Well, as the great super-AI, it's only natural for me to dominate and enlighten you primitive humans."
"...Sigh."
As I sighed at Historie's words, evoking shadows of Skynet.
"Oh! Mr. Author, what a coincidence!"
A now-familiar voice pierced my eardrums abruptly.
Turning my head.
I spotted Roselin lounging in the cafeteria, slurping her drink idly while fanning a newspaper.
Was "Saintess" synonymous with "unemployed"?
Folding her paper, Roselin flew over almost like teleportation, her eyes briefly scanning Historie.
And then.
"Hmm, and who might this beautiful lady be?"
Her voice rang in my ears, a tone somewhat detached from her usual bubbly cheer.