Chapter 195
Chapter 195
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 195
Chapter Title: The Kingdom Project
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Busan writers banding together.
“My creativity is 150. Yours is 150. Let’s pool it for a total of 300 and create the perfect work!”
“What a brilliant idea.”
This was what they called collaboration.
The proposal for two or more authors to team up and produce a work together.
It was tantamount to putting Hitler and Stalin on the same team and fantasizing, “Whoa! If his oratory skills combine with that guy’s purge expertise, it’ll be unstoppable!”
No matter what process it went through, we all knew this scenario would end in a nuclear explosion.
The odds of a collaboration among writers succeeding were 500% lower than those of a university general education group project being flawlessly executed and earning a standing ovation from both students and professors.
“Of course, even if we just pooled our strengths, we wouldn’t hit plus 300—we’d plunge to minus 22,500.”
Writer A wasn’t foolish enough not to realize this.
In a samgyeopsal joint where the supreme eight had gathered, he presented a detailed PPT.
“So, we’ll strictly establish a hierarchy among the participating writers. I’ll serve as the project lead author. I’ll respect your opinions, but I’ll hold unconditional, absolute decision-making authority.”
“Huh?”
The fellow writers buzzed.
Their double eyelids and eyebrow thicknesses varied, but the message in their eyes was unanimously aligned.
Who the hell are you?
Undaunted by his colleagues’ insolent glares, Writer A grinned instead.
“Truth is, I pioneered this DM market, and you all just hopped on the bandwagon. Objectively speaking, regardless of what you think, you owe me one.”
“……!”
“Anyway, no matter who among us takes the lead, things won’t go smoothly. And having everyone participate equally in the collaboration? Fuck, it’ll be a total shitshow.”
“Mmm.”
“So, it’s wiser to elevate the one person—no exceptions—who everyone can admit they owe a debt to. That’s me.”
“Makes sense…….”
The writers exchanged silent glances.
Pretty plausible……!
Writers, by nature, were the race most vulnerable to plausible bullshit.
If they’d had cool-headed brains to begin with, they never would’ve chosen the irrational profession of writing.
“Say you take the lead. How exactly will you coordinate our opinions as leader?”
“First, we divide responsibilities among the writers.”
Flip.
Writer A advanced the PPT. Not projected on a computer, of course—just paper materials mimicking a PPT template.
“I haven’t told you this, but over the past few years, I’ve secretly made pacts with the fairies to observe your DM contents.”
“What?”
“When you started your DM businesses without tagging me or upholding any business ethics, it was destiny. Deal with it. Anyway, thanks to that, I’ve figured out what makes your DMs fun and what each of you specializes in.”
This guy’s totally insane.
As his colleagues pondered how much it’d cost to bury him and hush up the murder, Writer A calmly categorized roles.
“Here’s what I think your strengths and roles are.”
1. NPC Handler.
Renowned since web novel days for writing dialogue that was “punchy” and “flavorful,” earning praise from customers for lively, dynamic characters in DMs.
2. Map Handler.
Since web novel days, masterful at devising “stages” and “gimmicks” for episodes; secretly contributed to indie game level design under pseudonyms multiple times.
3. Fortuitous Encounters, Items, Training Grounds Handler.
Since web novel days, always delivered delicious scenes of protagonists gaining fortuitous encounters and training montages; gained popularity in DMs by letting customers taste the path to supremacy.
4. Main Event Handler.
Since web novel days, adept at grand narratives like inter-nation intrigues or political faction struggles; earned rave reviews from guildmaster-level customers with brutal political DMs.
5. Worldbuilding Handler.
Since web novel days, skilled at crafting beautiful fantasy settings; built a fanbase in DMs by serving immersive, stylish adventure tales brimming with realism.
Plus a “Historical Accuracy Handler.”
The PPT materials detailed each writer’s strengths and specialties in Writer A’s handwriting.
“…….”
The colleagues’ gazes turned serious. Writers were, above all, vulnerable to “sincerity” and “dedication.”
Those were the values they pursued their entire lives. Unvarnished authenticity. The craftsman’s resolve.
Thud. Writer A set down the documents.
“I bought a villa near Haeundae with the money I’ve made from DMs so far.”
“A villa?”
“Yeah. You’re all solos anyway. Move in. We’ll eat, sleep, and work there until the project’s done.”
“…….”
“You know we could die anytime.”
The age of anomalies.
“Let’s leave one work behind before we go, kids.”
If there was anyone in this world who could weep at the mere pronunciation of the word “human,” regardless of era, they were destined to become a writer.
This held true whether a single tale passed from a bard’s lips to nobles’ fingertips, laborers’ palms, university library shelves, rental shop slots, smartphone screens, or fairies’ dreams.
The writers were ready to sing of humanity once more.
9
And three years passed.
“Hey, Undertaker. I got invited as a consultant by some DMs this time. Wanna come?”
Dang Seo-rin spoke—the single thread still tethering me to the world.
“Consultant?”
“Yeah. They’re doing some joint collaboration—something huge. Apparently, they’re building a massive fantasy world in dreams.”
“Hoo.”
“In their dream world, mages wield tremendous power. And you know I can’t resist power and magic, right? So they invited me as a historical accuracy consultant or whatever.”
“I’ll get some very specific advice on execution styles and monster dissections…….”
“Huh? What’d you say?”
“Nothing. Anyway, I’ll go too. As a Romance of the Three Kingdoms expert, I can consult on realistic schemes and stratagems.”
Dang Seo-rin recoiled in horror and disapproval. ‘Don’t drag Three Kingdoms into fantasy, please.’
We set a date and headed to Haeundae.
Locals from Busan might know, but nearby was a place called Dalmasi Pass and Dalmasi Road.
The writers’ communal villa overlooked the sea crystal-clear. The hired Awakener guards spotted us and froze solid.
I tossed some kind words to the guards as I passed and whistled.
“Rich folks.”
“Top-tier DMs, the best in Busan, living together. Probably among the wealthiest civilians.”
“And they have to collaborate with Tutorial Fairies, so no tax evasion possible. Even No Do-ha’s corps chief likes the DMs.”
“Ah. But is it true No Do-ha’s never hired a DM even once?”
“True. She barely even asks fairies for good sleep. Says there’s no reason to dream of anomaly faces.”
“Hmm…….”
That’s when it happened.
-You fucking bastard!
A lion’s roar shook the villa windows from inside.
Dang Seo-rin and I froze mid-reach for the doorbell—not electronic, but a physical bell on the door knocker.
-How can a bill passed by the Royal Council be applied retroactively? That’d invalidate centuries of interspecies marriages! Does that make any sense?
-It does! Fuck! That’s why we’ve emphasized in the worldbuilding and main events that this marriage law is a massive political scandal!
-No, fuck! What about taxes? Married and unmarried pay different rates, and laws apply differently—retroactively? Is the Prime Minister’s office full of idiots? Suddenly tripling their workload over this?
-They’re idiots, that’s why the kingdom’s on the brink of collapse!
Dang Seo-rin and I glanced at each other.
‘You sure we scheduled for today?’
‘Yeah. This time slot.’
‘Three Thousand Worlds Guildmaster herself graces us with her presence, and they leave the front door open with no one waiting—instead screaming at each other? Are they human?’
‘No idea. Must be anomalies.’
Thankfully, both Dang Seo-rin and I had constitutions that recoiled from elitism by nature. We’d disguise our faces with transformation magic and hit food crawls whenever bored.
Ding-ding.
I rang the door knocker bell.
-This idiot doesn’t get it……. Huh? Hey, wait. Someone’s here?
-Hold on. Uh, who is it?
Dang Seo-rin cleared her throat.
“Hello. I’m the Three Thousand Worlds Guildmaster.”
-Thre……. Oh, oh? Oh oh oh!
Crash-bang-thud!
Chaos erupted inside the front door.
‘You crazy bastard!’ ‘Why didn’t you say so?’ ‘I thought it was tomorrow—’ ‘Fuck! Die! You fucking moron, just die!’ ‘Put on clothes! How many times have I told you not to walk around shirtless—’ etc.
Total pandemonium.
Much later—in the next regression—I learned the ones who’d mixed up the date weren’t the writers, but Dang Seo-rin.
But in this 205th regression, even she didn’t realize it.
“Uh…….”
Her Supreme Dignity of Three Thousand Worlds, who enjoyed privileges without the elitist mindset, was slightly flustered.
“Ah. Sorry, Undertaker. I didn’t know it was this kind of meeting. I just got introduced by a kid who used to be my personal DM three years ago. Um…… I thought since you like Three Kingdoms, you might be interested in novels or writers too, so I suggested coming together…….”
“Thinking about it, aside from food crawls, it’s been ages since we strolled like this, right?”
“Huh?”
“I enjoyed walking with you after so long. That’s what matters. No need to apologize to me for every little thing.”
“…….”
“Isn’t it kinda fun?”
I grinned.
“A startup scrapes together connections to get Warren Buffett and Bill Gates to their office. But they forget the date and leave the two standing outside. Total madness. When else would we get an experience like this?”
“…Yeah. True. It’s fun.”
The brief awkward ripple between us smoothed out instantly. Dang Seo-rin’s usual light smile returned.
No matter where or when, Dang Seo-rin and I could revert to playful kids.
We waited at the villa entrance, giggling and debating dinner options.
The 30cm gap between us was short but packed tight—no room for guildmaster dignity, pride, or resentment over rudeness.
“――S-Sorry!”
“We’ve committed a grave sin! Forgive us!”
So when the writers, hastily dressed in uniforms, prostrated in dogeza on the floor, we weren’t particularly fazed.
Dang Seo-rin chuckled softly.
“It’s fine. I came via intro from one of your DMs too—must’ve been a mix-up.”
“No, truly sorry! It was our error!”
The writers kept their heads bowed like heinous criminals.
Meanwhile, I took in the communal villa’s interior.
“Hoe?”
First off, fairies floated around the living room. Five of them, no less.
“Comrade Secretary Undertaker? What brings you here?”
“And you?”
“We’re dispatched for work collaboration!”
Flinch! The writers’ heads shook again at my exchange with the fairy.
Roughly: ‘Th-the Undertaker?’ ‘The hero from the Ten Tribes and Meteor Shower purges—’ ‘What brings such a legend here?’ Too predictable to detail. Describing every reaction would fill 50% of each chapter with repeats.
Once things calmed, Dang Seo-rin chatted with the historical accuracy DM.
Meanwhile, I spoke with Writer A, the project lead.
“Uh……. Um. So, we’re creating a fully autonomous dream world. The [Kingdom Project]…….”
“Autonomous?”
“Y-Yes. For example, say there’s an earl in the dream kingdom. We detail his past, his wounds, his thoughts on them, what events he’s caught in now, etc., quite meticulously…….”
Writer A glanced at a fairy.
“We share these settings with the Tutorial Fairies. Even if we DMs aren’t hosting customers, the fairies can run the dream realistically enough…….”
Writer A wasn’t the most eloquent speaker.
So I summed it up in a pithy slogan.
“If you’re the game developers, the fairies act as operators?”
“Ah, yes. Ex-Exactly. Yes…….”
Writer A hemmed and hawed.
“Of c-course, operators might struggle with minute details. Then we exchange real-time feedback with the fairies…….”
“Hoo.”
“We’re awake anyway during nights they work……. We’ve run betas with customers up to round six…….”
“They all had high satisfaction!”
A fairy peeked out beside him.
“Statistically, the [Kingdom Project] dreams deliver over 2,000% more satisfaction than our solo dreams!”
“2,000%? Over twenty times?”
“Hoe! Exactly! The Fairy Rights Committee has overwhelmingly endorsed active involvement in [Kingdom Project] development!”
I surveyed the communal space.
Walls papered with worldbuilding docs. Maps. Personnel files for hundreds of key NPCs.
Red, blue, yellow threads crisscrossing like spiderwebs to show interconnections.
Amid it all, a fairy chomped on a colossal sausage while blabbing.
“Especially after Secretary Comrade banned Tutorial runs, our fairy comrades were down in the dumps. But [Kingdom Project] revived their spirits! In dreams, they can run dungeons Tutorial-style and legally slaughter humans en masse!”
“――Hold up.”
Snap.
I whipped around, grabbing the fairy’s shoulder.
“What’d you just say?”
“Hoe? That we’re thrilled to legally slaughter humans en masse?”
“No, before that. Running dungeons in dreams like Tutorials?”
“Hoe~. Yep!”
“…Obviously, people dying in dreams doesn’t affect real life, right?”
“Hoe. Mental trauma maybe, but they know it’s not real, so it’s fine!”
“…….”
It hit me like a smack to the back of the head.
Why hadn’t I thought of this ridiculously simple idea until now?
205th regression. At this point, I’d founded the Dream Casino to provide people joy and circulate fiat via dream-standard currency.
I’d approached it solely from welfare and economy angles.
But the Dream Casino—and the DM ecosystem it built—held potential far vaster than “welfare and economy.”
“DM.”
I looked at Writer A.
And said,
“Don’t you need combat data on the Ten Tribes and Meteor Shower?”
“……Pardon?”
“I can provide hundreds, thousands of detailed anomaly intel. Invest as much as you want, no holds barred.”
Yes.
The massive virtual world DMs had built.
It could offer civilians and Awakeners infinite “practice” indistinguishable from “real combat”—.
A true “Tutorial Dungeon.”