Chapter 162: I Became a Plagiarizing Fairy Tale Author in a LitRPG (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 162: I Became a Plagiarizing Fairy Tale Author in a LitRPG (2)
Fairy tales.
The stories we heard as children, sitting on our mothers' laps.
Fairy tales always begin the same way.
Once upon a time.
The moment you read that phrase, all the noise of the world fades away, and you are invited to a land that never existed, or a castle floating high in the sky.
A magic spell that blurs the line between reality and unreality. We step into a world where the impossible becomes possible.
We discover dreams in Cinderella's glass slipper and learn of love from the Little Mermaid's choice.
We learn the lesson not to lie from the boy who cried wolf, witness the revolutionary mind of Jack as he plunders a giant's treasure, and see the wisdom of the three pig sisters who survive by seducing the wolf.
We find courage in fairy tales, sometimes drenching our hearts in tears, only to receive the gift of hope in the end.
Even when the child who read those books becomes an adult, the stories they heard in their youth still shine somewhere in their memory. Like a warm ember, living and breathing in a corner of the heart, even when the world turns cold.
I would use those fairy tales to move the hearts of the dwarves.
“A fairy tale. I see what you’re thinking, but do you really expect to get the reaction you want?”
“Haha, of course.”
“What makes you so confident?”
“Because I’ve already succeeded with it before.”
Wolfram wore a look of incomprehension. To him, I must have seemed baselessly confident, but I had my reasons.
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.
It was so famous that there was likely no one on Earth who didn’t know it.
It was a fairy tale that had received so much love and attention that it had been made into books, animations, and even live-action films.
‘Though I think one of them bombed.’
The Black Mermaid Princess or Black Dirt Princess or whatever.
Either way, it wasn’t my problem.
Because I was transmigrated before it was released.
The point was, as long as I didn’t do anything stupid, success was guaranteed. My job was to adapt the fairy tale to the current situation and distribute it to the dwarves.
What people often call cultural dissemination.
I would tug at the heartstrings of this world’s inhabitants.
Making the book wouldn’t be difficult.
After all, this wasn’t some ordinary medieval world. It was an isekai with magic, and what’s more, it was Doomheim, the land of artisans.
Making a book would be a piece of cake.
*
The dwarven heroes who would save Doomheim gathered in one place.
One was a scribe who would turn the story I told into text.
A fairy tale didn’t require complex plots or literary prowess, but someone who made a living with a pen would surely write it much better than I could.
The others were illustrators who would add the pictures.
For a normal book, text alone would suffice, but pictures were the lifeblood of a fairy tale. I would choose an illustrator from among them whose art style suited the book.
The first thing to do was decide on the story.
The base was, of course, Snow White, Azyeth’s motif.
A story about a princess who is persecuted by her stepmother and faces threats to her life multiple times, only to escape the crises with the help of dwarves.
Since they played the role of helpers who protect the princess from evil, it was sure to elicit a positive reaction from the dwarves.
‘But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s missing something.’
If I were a famous author, they might react with, “Our race is in one of Master Karami’s works?!” but that wasn’t the case right now.
Most importantly, what I was trying to write was a ‘fairy tale.’
Since this world lacked entertainment, the story of Snow White would certainly be a fresh and interesting novelty, but it was too bland to target grown adults.
What it needed was a hook.
A hook that not just children, but adult dwarves too, would go crazy for.
“This is the rough story for the book. Please write it like this.”
I added a little MSG to the story, organized it, and handed it to the scribe. It was just a fairy tale, nothing grand, so it was only two pages long.
The scribe began to read what could be considered a manuscript, and his eyes widened.
He yelled at me.
“You want me to write this? This is a disgrace to all dwarves! I was willing to help because Master Wolfram asked, but I simply can’t do this!”
I held out a heavy pouch of money to the protesting dwarf.
“Are you asking me to sell my pride for a few measly coins?”
“They’re all gold coins.”
“What the hell! What wouldn’t I do for the princess! There are times when one must value connections over pride. I’ll write you a masterpiece!”
Artists of every generation struggle with money.
It was too large a sum to refuse.
The scribe disappeared with the papers.
“Alright. Shall we draw some pictures next?”
I had the illustrators start drawing.
The theme was a lonely ice princess in an ice castle.
Even with the same theme, everyone’s art style is different. Perhaps spurred on by the sight of the scribe walking away with a pouch of gold, they all worked diligently to catch my eye.
One by one, the illustrators finished and submitted their drawings.
“Let’s see.”
The main criteria were whether they could express the heart-wrenching, wistful charm unique to fairy tales, and how well they could capture Azyeth’s beauty.
As expected, the art styles were all over the place.
A medieval style you’d see in a museum would have been one of the more normal ones.
One had turned Azyeth, a human, into a short, stumpy dwarf.
Another looked like a schoolgirl running late for school with a piece of bread in her mouth.
There was even a furry creature that looked like it was commissioned by someone with suspiciously deep pockets.
I told them to draw Azyeth, but they just drew whatever the fuck they wanted.
Fortunately, there was one drawing I liked. It had a wistful feeling with pastel tones. Even at a glance, it was an art style that would suit a fairy tale book perfectly.
“Who drew this picture?”
“I did.”
“Excellent. I’ll entrust the book’s illustrations to you, sir.”
“I understand.”
The other illustrators who were rejected sighed in disappointment. Don’t be disappointed, you bastards.
*
The work didn’t take long.
It was a short fairy tale, not a grand, feature-length novel, and the art consisted of simple illustrations, not the varied work required for a comic.
The process was just a few rounds of the artisans bringing me their work and me asking for revisions to give it more of a fairy-tale feel, and then it was done.
I gathered the finished manuscripts and looked them over.
“Hmm…”
I could hear the artisans gulping nervously.
No matter how skilled a craftsman is, the moment of reporting is always the most nerve-wracking. But I was ignorant when it came to art, and they were the finest artisans of Doomheim.
To my eyes, it was flawless.
“Good. I like it.”
“Phew…”
The artisans sighed in relief.
Now that the manuscript was complete, it was time to turn it into a book.
I took the manuscript and gathered the owners of the printing presses I had contacted beforehand.
It wasn’t strange for there to be printing presses. In cities with advanced magic, they copied things with magic. Would dwarves who could craft magic swords, magic tools, and magic staves really be unable to make a simple copying machine?
Of course, mass production would be a considerable expense, but thanks to Rin, I had plenty of points.
“Please print enough to distribute one copy to every household.”
The paper used for the book was tree bark. To distribute parchment books, not only would it cost a fortune, but I’d have to slaughter the continent’s lambs. I had no desire to become a mass murderer.
Besides, I didn’t need to worry about quality. It wasn’t for selling to nobles or donating to a library. It just needed to be good enough to be read this one time.
Under my command, every printing press in Doomheim began operating 24/7.
*
“Master Karami. Here is the finished book.”
A printing press employee handed me a book.
Thanks to overworking the staff and machines, the books started rolling out one after another. Since the copying and binding were all done by machines, the books were produced faster than I could have imagined.
I read the fairy tale book, checking its condition. The quality wasn’t exactly great, but it was good enough.
“Excellent. Please continue just like this.”
I took a few of the finished books and went to find Wolfram.
“Is this the fairy tale book you were talking about?”
“Yes. The title is Snow White.”
“Snow White, eh. I’m sure making me think of the princess was your intention. But it looks far too plain to capture people’s hearts.”
As he said, it was a mass-produced book with a crude, dark brown wooden cover, completely unadorned and plain.
But what I was aiming for was a quiet and profound atmosphere. This crude wooden cover was perfect for highlighting the inherent value of the fairy tale itself.
“Take a few copies. You all should take one, too.”
“Are you giving them away for free?”
“Of course. I’d appreciate it if you’d share them with those around you and spread the word.”
I had thought a lot about how to release the book.
Ultimately, time was what we lacked.
Persuading the dwarves wouldn’t make Skadia just pop out of existence. We had to prepare countermeasures to fight her.
And there was a place I needed to take Azyeth before the battle began.
But if I just released the books thoughtlessly, the impact would be weak. I needed a small number of people to create word-of-mouth buzz, getting others interested.
Because the sense of accomplishment is stronger when you finally get to read a book you’ve been dying to read.
‘And if I sell them, I can recoup the costs.’
So, I would only distribute the books to key figures.
I placed a book in the arms of Wolfram and his staff.
“Be sure to read it to your children, too.”
And the next day.
The dwarves who had taken the books from me came to find me. Wolfram was with them.
They all looked furious, as if they were here to lodge a formal complaint.
“Hey, you. What’s with this ending? I read it to my daughters like you said, and they burst into tears and caused a huge scene!”
“Elves are Snow White’s helpers, so why are the dwarves portrayed as cowards?”
The best way to provoke people.
One is to shatter their childhood innocence.
And the other is to start a flame war.