Chapter 49
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: Zhuge Liang in the East (4)
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Serialized in Empire Daily.
Author of 'Stars Blooming Amid the Mist'.
Baselain took great pride in his own writing.
Embarrassing as it was to say it himself.
He was convinced he'd made a monumental contribution to popularizing the "hero genre" across the entire empire.
Just flip open any newspaper, and there was the framework he'd established.
A commoner of humble bloodline.
With a childhood friend who's promised a future together.
Then some random incident—like said childhood friend getting gang-raped by demons or whatever—delivers a mental shock and spurs the protagonist's growth.
Off he goes on a quest for revenge, only to get betrayed by a comrade, cast aside like yesterday's trash.
After all that hardship and twists and turns, he finally reunites with his petrified childhood friend for a happy ending.
That cliché was flooding the market unchecked.
The fact that so many authors were copying his style was proof enough of his grand literary achievement.
And that was why.
He flaunted the Golden Pencil award that Empire Daily had bestowed upon him for drawing in massive readership.
"Wow! You're amazing!"
"Haha, no, no. I'm just a novice writer starting to grasp what writing truly is."
It wasn't just the Golden Pencil.
He casually revealed his wrist.
"So humble, too! Oh, and what's that watch?"
"Ah, this? Well..."
His second source of pride.
The capital's premier salon.
Every New Year's Eve, the Jean Renobil Salon gathered lovers of novels and literature for a truly prestigious event.
Named after the salon itself: the Renobil Awards.
Novels were divided into categories, and the one delivering the most entertainment in each was selected—a grand festival for novelists.
Baselain.
He was the author who'd snagged an honorable third place in the "Heroic Saga" category at the fifth Renobil Awards three years ago!
For him, naturally.
The lack of inherent novelistic fun—not that the first part of Two Heroes wasn't enjoyable, but external factors.
The antics of this rookie Ulysses, pulling in fans with card packs, rubbed him the wrong way.
And serialized not in a major like Empire Daily, but in some unheard-of rag called Novelpia?
Utterly ridiculous.
Yet even in salon circles, talk of his work cropped up.
"This year... it's gotta be Two Heroes, right?"
"But the protagonist doesn't really feel like a hero, hmm."
"Cao Cao in part one was too human, and Liu Bei was idealistic but kinda incompetent."
"Zhuge Liang in part two feels superhuman, though. If it keeps this up, it's a contender."
Those evaluations.
"Sigh, here we go again."
"This author's gotta have been abandoned by his parents as a kid. How else do you explain the betrayal motif repeating in every work?"
"At least he hasn't done the rape-of-the-love-interest bit yet. Progress, right?"
"Give it ten chapters..."
Were downright generous compared to the razor-sharp critiques lately aimed at his own work.
Baselain felt wronged.
Resorting to gimmicks like selling cards instead of winning on the story's merits?
"That Zhuge Liang character is way too one-dimensional. If he had a rough childhood, he should be more cynical for it—how does he grow up so serene and righteous? Ulysses must be some flower raised in a greenhouse, never knowing hardship."
So he trashed this newbie Ulysses author to his heart's content.
He hadn't even read it, of course.
Just basing it off the rumors.
A twinge of guilt... but it melted away like snow at the sight of the frog-faced woman before him gazing at him with admiration.
This was it.
This was the taste!
That very moment.
"Pardon the interruption. You seemed to be having an interesting conversation."
He turned toward the voice.
There stood a black-haired man and—blasphemously irreverent, yet paradoxically radiating an overwhelming holiness—the Saintess herself.
Was this guy her attendant?
"Is there... something we can help with?"
"Didn't mean to eavesdrop, but it piqued my interest. You're a writer, right? Mind sharing your pen name...?"
The black-haired man scratched his head awkwardly.
Stars exploded in Baselain's mind.
The Saintess, interested in me!
In that instant.
His interest in the frog-faced woman before him melted away.
Baselain composed himself as best he could, pulling a business card from his ever-present chest pocket and handing it over.
"Ah, this is me. Embarrassing to call myself a proper author, haha..."
Not sincere in the slightest.
Who was he?
Star author of Empire Daily.
Fifth Renobil Awards winner.
His chest swelled naturally.
The black-haired man accepted the card politely and passed it to the Saintess.
That instant.
Her eyes widened round.
"Oh? Baselain?"
"You know my pen name...!"
Baselain was a writer.
And writers were blessed with vivid imaginations by nature.
In his mind.
A chance street encounter blossomed into shared trials and tribulations, culminating in a shy confession—"Will you be my hero?"—and her granting him, her hero alone, her first purity in some rustic hut—
"Let me see... 'Spare the rod, and she'll turn into a fox.' 'Men dominating women is as natural as breathing.' 'A woman just needs to cook well, do laundry well, clean well...' Gems like that! And the heroine getting endlessly abused by extras? Truly... masterful. Wonder which horny dog—no, gentleman—penned it."
"—?"
The Saintess beamed radiantly.
"So, what happened?"
Munching on the daily ration of popcorn that only came out once a day from the dispenser, Historie’s tin-can eyes sparkled.
"What happened? Nothing much."
"Huh?"
"More precisely, she spent two solid hours preaching to me about what healthy love really is."
"Ugh..."
Historie recoiled in disgust.
I felt the same.
I'd approached with the vibe of "That trash-talked hack is me! I demand a block!", but.
Roselin ended up more pissed than I was, exploding in a horrifying frenzy.
And when I tried to intervene.
"Kim Yul, stay out of this! You're no better!"
"Ack!"
She'd unleashed a punch transcending the Iron Fist of the Goddess on my arm, leaving a red bruise that still throbbed.
"But yeah, the guy's awfully arrogant. I could stomach trashing the Sima Yi arc as boring—fair enough."
Because...
The Sima Yi parts were shackled hard by the world's contrived forces.
Every moment a bloody struggle against "historical inaccuracies," desperately hacking away with cliffhangers to stem reader drop-off.
I could humbly accept that.
But.
Daring to insult Zhuge Liang?
"Oh, right—did you check on the house?"
"Ah, yeah."
Smack—!
"Ow—!"
"Quit whining."
Sob sob...
.
.
.
Kim Yul endured.
Though Mega Kim Yul nearly emerged, crushed only by the Saintess's spiritual pressure.
True to his word.
Ulysses wouldn't stand for it.
This wasn't mere insult.
It was the agonized scream of Luo Guanzhong's soul from purgatory, boiling up in tragic resonance.
"Ugh, tin can's pissed."
"Want another smack?"
"Sorry."
Ignoring Historie's axe-glare as she slathered menthol ointment on my arm, I refocused on typing.
Originally, I'd planned a serialization-friendly tempo, wrapping the Battle of Red Cliffs quick.
Changed my mind.
Time to unleash the true flavor of Romance of the Three Kingdoms—the mad genius's history-based flights of bold fancy!
So.
Starting from the scene I'd meant to skip.
Baselain couldn't shake off the shock from that encounter for over a week.
Of course, the personal attack from the Saintess was no big deal.
...He'd written those provocative lines and scenes deliberately to boost popularity, after all.
But one line he couldn't forgive.
"Ulysses is way better than a hack like you!"
He couldn't accept it.
How could some shallow scribble dashed off without depth outshine his work infused with profound anguish, philosophy, and climaxes?
At least back when it ran in Truth Newspaper, it wasn't that bad.
If anything, it was a watered-down version of his style!
Packed with forced grimdark!
"I'll check it out myself."
Just what feats had this Zhuge Liang pulled to set salons abuzz?
He'd read it firsthand and mock the Saintess's pitiful taste to her face.
.
.
.
The next day, Baselain bolted to the newsstand upon waking and bought every published issue of Novelpia.
Only used copies left, cards long gone, but he had no interest in collecting cards anyway—cheaper this way, perfect.
Eyes blazing with fury, he dove into chapter one.
And then.
When he came to.
"Why... is it night...?"
His entire day had vanished.
At first, it seemed ordinary enough.
Just a slapped-together sequel riding a new paper's coattails, he thought.
But from the moment Zhuge Liang truly stepped into the world.
The last scene he recalled—
Zhuge Liang grabbing his white feather fan personally.
To persuade the hawkish Wu nobles opposing the Liu-Wu alliance.
Striding boldly into that hostile space without a single ally.
He devoured the novel straight through, skipping meals.
Lying in bed, the strange sensation wouldn't fade.
Even in dreams, he gripped a spear, charging across vast battlefields astride a single steed.
He'd been utterly immersed before he knew it.
The next day.
"Empire... no, gimme a copy of Novelpia first!"
Monitoring reader reactions mattered, sure.
But priority one.
How would Zhuge Liang survive enemy territory? Seal the alliance?