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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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Stepping off the ship, I was greeted by a scene drastically different from anything I’d seen in the East.
The people spoke with unfamiliar accents, the food was strange, and adventurers and mages strolled through the streets in their distinctive attire.
“Master, you said this is your second time visiting the West, right?”
“Yes, it’s been a while.”
Bi Wol clung to my arm, her eyes wide with curiosity as she took in the sights and sounds.
She carried a small mountain of desserts in her arms, her favorite seeming to be a fruit tart made with green grapes.
“Why didn’t you tell me about all these delicious treats before?”
She spoke with her cheeks stuffed like a hamster, her words slightly muffled. It was rather endearing.
“I apologize, Bi Wol. The ingredients are difficult to find in the East. I was afraid you might be disappointed.”
When I wrote [King of the Diamond Fist], I had established that the Heavenly Demon, Bi Wol, had developed a fondness for sweets due to her early diet of flesh and blood.
Reflecting this, the real Bi Wol enjoyed sugary and flavorful foods, like candied hawthorns and heavily spiced dumplings.
“…I would gladly eat anything you gave me, Master. Even plain rice cakes would taste as sweet as mahua with your touch.”
She mumbled, her voice barely audible. It was clear she regretted making such a childish demand.
She had suffered terribly from seasickness during the voyage. I had spent most of the journey comforting her as she vomited and trembled with nausea.
That’s why I was indulging her sweet tooth. I didn’t want her first trip to be marred by unpleasant memories.
Just as I had fallen in love with the sea during my first visit to Busan, I hoped she would come to appreciate its beauty as well.
“Please don’t blame yourself, Master. I was simply momentarily seduced by these sugary delights. How could I ever disrespect someone as grand as you…?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s perfectly normal for someone your age to get excited about sweets. There’s nothing wrong with experiencing such simple joys.”
I smiled at her, her cheeks bulging with food. She seemed less like the fearsome Heavenly Demon and more like an ordinary, carefree child.
Seeing her enjoy the simple pleasures of life, the life she deserved, filled me with a deep sense of contentment.
“Don’t treat me like a child, Master. One day, I’ll be taller than you.”
Bi Wol puffed out her cheeks, playfully measuring the distance between our heads with her hand.
“I hope so.”
I imagined her future, the formidable woman she would become. A sharp, polished blade, just as I had described her in the final chapters of [King of the Diamond Fist].
My desire to witness the culmination of my own story was stronger than ever.
But would I live long enough to see it?
Each day felt like someone was slowly shoveling dirt onto my coffin, the chilling reminder of my dwindling lifespan.
“You will see it, Master.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I forced a smile, refusing to surrender to despair.
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As we traveled by carriage, I took the opportunity to verify the information I had with Wolfram.
“The Hero’s name is Verdandi Astrea. I heard she’s the daughter of a farmer from a small village.”
“What’s the name of the village?”
“Wonderhill. Apparently, it was named after a miracle occurred there. During a terrible drought, a sudden downpour saved the village.”
So far, everything matched my notes.
I had been unable to find Verdandi during my previous solo trip to the West. I needed Wolfram’s help to locate her.
“What about sacred weapons or armor? Does she have any?”
“I don’t know. She just received the Divine’s oracle. I doubt she has anything like that.”
Those were Verdandi’s trump cards, the equipment she used against the protagonist in [You Must Kill the Hero].
Back then, I thought it would be interesting to give even the final boss a chance to level up, allowing Verdandi to grow alongside the protagonist.
‘One is a weapon that grants her immense offensive power, and the other is an impenetrable armor.’
That was one of the reasons I brought Bi Wol along. If reasoning with Verdandi proved impossible, we might have to resort to force.
I even considered using one final boss to defeat another: the classic ‘use barbarians to fight barbarians’ strategy.
“Bi Wol, if your new junior sister tries to kill me, can you subdue her without taking her life?”
“…I don’t think so, Master. How can you ask me to spare someone who threatens your life?”
I looked at her, her head lowered, her voice a low grumble. It was understandable that she was upset.
Not only was she getting a new junior sister, but this junior sister was also a potential threat to me.
“She’s a troubled child, incapable of trusting anyone. She sees the world in black and white. She doesn’t understand the complexities of love and hate.”
I stroked her hair gently.
At this point, she was more like a puppy than a disciple. She even tilted her head to give me better access to her ears.
“Humans are contradictory and complex creatures. Like a finely honed blade, they can inflict pain…”
“…But they can also protect. Just like you saved me, Master.”
Bi Wol smiled, leaning into my touch. I finally understood why some fathers doted on their daughters.
“Do you know this Hero personally? How can you be so sure about her personality?”
“Of course I know her.”
I was the one who created Verdandi, Bi Wol, and Azazel. They were born from the words I wrote, blank slates upon which I had inscribed their destinies.
There was no point in lying to Wolfram, who was clearly suspicious of my knowledge.
“I received a divine oracle as well. It told me to take the Hero as my disciple and cure her madness.”
A mixture of truth and lies was sometimes more convincing than the truth alone.
“And that’s why you traveled all the way to the West? That’s interesting. I always assumed Easterners didn’t believe in gods.”
“To be honest, I prefer those who strive to change themselves, rather than those who rely on prayers.”
As a math instructor, after giving up on my dream of becoming an author, I had met countless students.
Half of them procrastinated, promising to start studying “tomorrow.”
Another half simply paid lip service to hard work, never putting in the actual effort.
And then there were those who blamed their circumstances, their lack of resources, or their parents for their inability to succeed.
“Those who are honest with themselves, who acknowledge their weaknesses and strive to overcome them.”
But then there were those who truly wanted to change.
“Anyone can make excuses. But not everyone has the fire, the will to push themselves beyond their limits.”
I had students who woke up early every morning to exercise, determined to overcome their fatigue and stay awake during class.
I had students who, despite their financial struggles, swallowed their pride and asked for help.
“I admire those who are flawed, those who have rough edges. There’s no such thing as a perfect person.”
Seeing these students gave me hope. I might have run away from my dream, but I was a decent teacher. It comforted me to know that even my failures could be transformed into something positive.
“…Do you like me too then, Master?”
“What kind of master would dislike his own disciple? Saving you was the best thing I’ve ever done.”
I smiled at Bi Wol. Even if it meant sacrificing my own health, I had no regrets about saving her.
“You’d better watch your back, kid. You’re a natural at manipulating people.”
Wolfram folded her arms, scowling as she watched our exchange. She tapped her foot impatiently, as if holding back a retort.
“I’ve always been told I have a way with words.”
“No, that’s not what I meant… Argh, this is frustrating! You’re not completely clueless, but you’re not exactly perceptive either! You’re… confusing!”
Wolfram ran her fingers through her golden hair in exasperation, glaring at me with annoyance.
“Your disciples are going to eat you alive! I warned you!”
“Duly noted.”
As if our sweet, innocent Bi Wol could ever hurt a fly, let alone me. I chuckled, finding her concern amusing.
“Anyway, if you want me to help you secure the Hero as your disciple, you’re going to have to compensate me. After all, I am the one taking you to her.”
“…”
Wasn’t saving her life enough?
Wolfram’s behavior and thought process baffled me. She was a classic example of a character who had ‘transcended the author’s intentions’.
She was actually trying to barter with me, her own creator, for personal gain.
“How much do you want?”
I decided to play along.
Unexpected twists like this were always welcome. Sometimes, it was better to let the characters lead the story.
“300 Aslan gold coins.”
“That’s outrageous. Can’t you lower the price?”
Wolfram’s eyes gleamed with cunning. I could practically hear the gears turning in her head.
“Haha, are you haggling with the Master of the Gold Tower? You’ve got guts, kid.”
She was a natural negotiator, a master of economics who understood the value of money and used it to measure a person’s worth.
“That’s precisely why I’m trying to bargain with you, Golden Sage. You can turn stones into gold. Why do you need coins?”
“Because the gold I create isn’t real.”
Wolfram’s gold wasn’t pure.
It was created from stone, not metal, and was riddled with impurities. You could bite into it without leaving a mark. It was a fake, an imitation.
“But a fake that strives to be real is always the most intriguing, isn’t it?”
The mages in my novels were all driven by some form of obsession.
And Wolfram’s obsession was ‘perfection’.
“In that case, I’ll offer you something even more valuable: information.”
“Is there anything more valuable than 300 gold coins?”
Knowing her personality, I presented her with an alternative, information only the creator of this world could possess.
“…The Philosopher’s Stone. Don’t you want to know where it is?”
After all, I knew exactly where to find the fabled stone that could transmute lead and other metals into gold.
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I want that philosopher!