SLGAW 02

Chapter : 02

I spent quite a long time debating whether Romance of the Three Kingdoms should be my first work.

It was incredibly long, and I wasn’t sure how much localization I should apply.

But the more I read it, the more certain I became.

The spirit of Romance of the Three Kingdoms shared similarities with the chivalric ideals of a medieval world.

The details were different, of course, but that only made it feel fresher.

In my previous world, Romance of the Three Kingdoms was historical fiction.

In this world, however, The Story of the Three Kingdoms had no need to be constrained by history.

It would be pure fiction.

A story unfolding in an imaginary land.

Within it, those subtly foreign ideals could be reinterpreted through the lens of knights and monarchy.

Once I made up my mind, there was no hesitation.

Localization would be kept to a minimum.

Names and titles would remain as close to the original as possible, with only a few changes made to improve readability.

Official positions, units of measurement, and terms that didn’t translate neatly—things like rulers and generals—would be adjusted.

Even with most of the original terminology preserved, the process consumed far more time than I expected.

The sheer length was one issue, but I was essentially translating and adapting simultaneously.

It wasn’t something I’d ever done in my previous life, so naturally it wasn’t easy.

As a result, Volume One of The Story of the Three Kingdoms could only cover the Yellow Turban Rebellion and the Ten Eunuchs Incident.

Even that alone exceeded the length of a typical novel.

Since The Story of the Three Kingdoms was fiction in this world, there was no need for endless detail.

I trimmed away as many side branches as possible and focused primarily on Liu Bei, who would become one of the central protagonists, and Cao Cao, his greatest rival.

Faster pacing.

Only the essential parts.

Even after those cuts, The Story of the Three Kingdoms remained vastly more complex than the literature of this era.

After countless revisions and refinements, I finally produced a draft I could be satisfied with.

As I headed toward Valtheim Publishing, I made a promise to myself.

Writing books was far harder than I’d imagined.

Even when I was working from an existing story.

So—

You can’t fill your stomach with the first spoonful.

Still… I’ll make sure as many people as possible read it.

The day after I submitted the manuscript, a middle-aged man with bloodshot eyes was standing in front of my house.

* * *

“Ed is acting strange.”

“He certainly is.”

William and Greta stared at the firmly closed bedroom door.

“He suddenly brought some strange man into the house… You don’t think he’s gotten involved in something dangerous, do you?”

“He said the fellow is from a publishing company. Surely it can’t be anything serious.”

The man who had arrived that morning.

Was his name Rudwin?

The urgency with which he had sought out Ed was anything but normal.

Why would the owner of a publishing company suddenly come looking for their son?

What business could he possibly have with him?

Could it be—

“…Did he steal a book? Because he wanted to study?”

“If that were the case, a bookstore owner would have shown up. Let’s not jump to the worst conclusions.”

“But Ed specifically asked to speak with him alone. There must be something he can’t tell us…”

Their son was only ten years old, yet neither parent had been able to refuse.

After all, he had politely asked:

“Mother, Father, I’m sorry, but may I speak with this gentleman privately for a moment?”

He was such a mature child.

“If that man tries anything inappropriate with Ed, I’ll turn him into candle-making materials myself. So don’t worry.”

At William’s reassuring words, Greta’s expression relaxed slightly as she continued watching the door.

Their son might be mature and difficult to understand, but he was still their child.

If they heard even the slightest commotion from inside, they intended to rush in immediately.

Meanwhile, the man who had entered the room under the full weight of their suspicious gazes—

Rudwin—

was staring at the boy sitting across from him with utter disbelief.

“You wrote this…?”

“Please stop joking and just tell me the author’s name. Do you like sweets? I’ll buy you ten boxes.”

“I really wrote it. Would you like me to recite some of it?”

Without hesitation, Edward began reciting passages from the manuscript.

Word for word.

Not a single mistake.

After repeatedly looking between the manuscript and Edward, Rudwin was finally forced to accept reality.

It was this boy.

This boy had written that impossible manuscript.

“This is absurd… A ten-year-old child…”

As a publisher, Rudwin had read countless manuscripts.

In a literary market dominated by knightly adventures, romances, and duels, the manuscript this boy had submitted was a complete shock.

A vast fictional world.

Common people suffering beneath a collapsing dynasty.

A massive rebellion choosing to become perpetrators rather than victims.

Ambitious nobles seeking glory by suppressing that rebellion.

And in that age of chaos, three knights rose to prominence.

For justice.

For their king.

For the people.

A grand epic with an enormous scale and countless characters living and breathing within an imagined history.

And he was expected to believe that a ten-year-old child had written it?

“I… simply can’t believe it.”

“If you don’t believe me, you can return the manuscript.”

“No! I believe you! I do, but…”

Rudwin hurriedly hugged the manuscript to his chest.

Then he asked the question he had been most curious about.

“But… why did you choose that title? The Story of the Three Kingdoms?”

The manuscript he had read contained no three kingdoms.

Only a fictional nation called Han and a rebel force known as the Yellow Turbans.

With hopeful anticipation, he looked at the boy.

“Because it’s a series, obviously. Hmm… the three kingdoms probably won’t start being mentioned until around Volume Seven.”

“I knew it!”

Exactly the answer he had hoped for.

Then only one thing remained.

“I’ll buy it. How does fifty gold coins sound?”

Fifty gold coins was enough to purchase five ordinary knight-novel manuscripts.

It was an aggressive offer.

But his instincts, sharpened by over a decade in publishing, were screaming at him.

Don’t let this get away.

You’re standing at the beginning of a new wave in knight literature.

The boy who received the offer—Edward—answered as if it were obvious.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“…What?”

Fifty gold coins was an enormous amount.

Did the kid simply not understand money?

Maybe if he said five thousand silver coins instead, the answer would change?

Ignoring Rudwin’s thoughts, Edward picked up a pen and began writing on a sheet of paper.

He listed current book prices, average sales figures, and the manuscript fee Rudwin had just offered.

“Currently, the publishing industry works by paying the author once and then keeping all future profits from sales, correct?”

“Well, yes. That’s how it works. Obviously.”

Wasn’t that why he’d offered such a generous payment?

What was the problem?

“It is a problem. Imagine paying such a huge amount and then the book doesn’t sell. Would you buy the next manuscript?”

“Huh? W-Well… no, probably not.”

“Then the novel ends unfinished. The risk is too high for both sides, isn’t it?”

Edward began writing formulas across the paper.

Despite the fact that a ten-year-old was calculating percentages right in front of him, Rudwin no longer found anything strange about it.

The child had been strange from the moment they met.

“I asked around at bookstores. They said novels of this type sell around one thousand copies on average. Is that accurate?”

“Hmm… about that. Popular books can sell more than three thousand.”

Edward considered the numbers for a moment.

Then he made his decision.

“Give me twelve percent of the sales price per volume. In exchange, I won’t take any manuscript fee.”

“No manuscript fee?”

“That’s right. But you must promise to continue publishing the series as long as it doesn’t operate at a loss.”

“Well, that’s…”

There was no reason to refuse.

Knight literature was already a niche genre.

Sales had natural limits.

And now the author wanted a percentage instead of an upfront payment?

From Rudwin’s perspective, he could publish the book without risking a large sum and simply share part of the revenue.

He’s still a child after all.

He probably believed his novel would become an overwhelming success.

Otherwise, no one would make such an offer.

Of course, twelve percent wasn’t a small cut…

“Ah, and if twelve percent feels too burdensome, I can lower it to ten.”

He was even willing to reduce it.

A relaxed smile began spreading across Rudwin’s face.

As expected, when one part of a genius’s mind develops too much, another part is lacking.

The boy apparently wasn’t very skilled at negotiation.

“Provided you grant me one request.”

“Let’s hear it first.”

The boy’s proposal was surprisingly simple.

“Lower the book price. Nobles aren’t the target audience for this novel.”

* * *

One month after the contract was signed and the first volume was published—

A peculiar trend was spreading through Lugbadin.

“Thank you for your business.”

After receiving payment and leaving the estate, the tree merchant wore a puzzled expression.

He specialized in ornamental trees, and recently business had been booming unexpectedly.

Had a gardening competition suddenly broken out among the nobility?

If that were the case, rumors should have reached his ears by now.

Something along the lines of:

“At so-and-so’s banquet, Lady So-and-So mocked another lady’s garden, and now everyone is obsessed with the latest gardening trend.”

Yet there was nothing.

Even stranger, most of the customers were male nobles.

Knightly families, in particular.

People who were about as far from gardening as one could possibly get.

So why were they all buying trees?

“Well, as long as I’m making money…”

The merchant shook his head and climbed back onto his wagon.

He still had two more deliveries to make.

“But why peach trees specifically? They’re beautiful in spring, sure, but they attract bugs and wither quickly.”

He simply couldn’t understand it.

As the merchant drove away, faint voices drifted from beyond the garden wall.

“Though we may come from different families, we have become sworn brothers!”

“We shall repay our nation above and bring peace to the people below!”

“Though we were not born on the same day, we shall die on the same day!”

The tree merchant had no idea.

He knew nothing of the peach-tree craze currently sweeping through Lugbadin.

Nor did he know that the book responsible for it had already inspired dozens of sworn-brotherhoods within the city.

And that wasn’t all.

“That one will do.”

Knights gathered inside a blacksmith’s forge.

With tensions escalating between the Kingdom of Aldbania and Offenheim, increased demand for weapons was only natural.

The problem was that they all wanted the same weapon.

“I thought the glaive had gone out of fashion…”

The blacksmith muttered while filling out another order form.

A glaive.

A polearm with a sword-like blade mounted at its tip.

Once famous for its elegant curves and beautiful design.

But it had gradually fallen out of favor as knights shifted toward halberds.

And yet it was becoming popular again.

Particularly among young knights and mercenaries.

The blacksmith didn’t know why.

He had no idea what had suddenly reignited interest in glaives among knights.

He didn’t realize that a single book was capturing the hearts of passionate young men at an astonishing speed.