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Chapter : 07
Today, five noble ladies had gathered once again at the mansion of Count Elmonti.
As one of the few count families serving Marquis Rinter, the estate was frequented by many nobles. It naturally served as a social hub where information, secrets, and rumors from throughout the Rinter Marquisate flowed freely.
Today, in particular, Lady Bodrick was in attendance—a woman famous for her extensive social connections.
Normally, the gathering would have been filled with lively discussions about the latest trends and scandals of noble society.
Yet despite the fragrant tea and sweet desserts laid out before them, the atmosphere was heavy with sorrow and melancholy.
“Have you heard the news? Sir Verdir…”
As Lady Mecklinger began speaking, Lady Seladin, seated beside her, nodded.
“I have. It’s such a tragedy… To think he committed suicide…”
The news of Sir Verdir’s suicide had deeply saddened many noblewomen.
After all, his heartbreaking romance with Baroness Melania—or, as some less charitable people would call it, their affair—was already famous throughout high society.
“And that’s not all. They say three young nobles have taken their own lives recently.”
“My goodness… What in the world is happening?”
The ladies’ gazes naturally converged on one person.
Lady Bodrick.
The woman who knew every piece of gossip in noble society. A trendsetter and social butterfly.
Surely she would know the reason.
And if she didn’t, she would probably invent one.
As if responding to their eager expectations—
Drip.
“Oh my… Lady Bodrick?”
“Why are you suddenly crying?”
The women hurriedly offered handkerchiefs upon seeing tears welling in Lady Bodrick’s eyes.
After repeatedly dabbing at her face, she finally spoke.
“Don’t tell me… you still haven’t read it?”
Even while crying, there was a faintly boastful tone in her voice.
It was simply a habit born from her lifestyle.
Fortunately, nobody present was offended by it.
“Read what exactly?”
“Do you mean Madame Rodem’s One Hundred and One Pure Loves?”
“Good heavens, move beyond those physically-focused romance novels. This is something you absolutely must read. Otherwise you’ll never understand the tears I’ve shed. The love, the anguish, the sorrow…”
“What kind of book deserves such praise?”
As Lady Mecklinger humored her, Lady Bodrick’s voice grew even louder.
“Oh, kind soul, you who feel the very same impulse—find comfort in his suffering…!”
With a dramatic cry, she pulled a book from her bosom.
The eyes of the other four women immediately turned toward its cover.
“The Sorrows of Young Werther…?”
Even the title felt strange.
It was clearly a novel, but…
“Does Werther kill his father?”
asked the youngest among them, Baroness Rotenbar.
Tragic stories did exist, even if knightly adventures and romances dominated literature.
Stories where a brave knight accidentally killed his father while seeking a treasure to save the kingdom.
Or where a son killed his own child.
Stories like that.
But Lady Bodrick shuddered violently.
“How could you say such a thing? That’s an insult to this masterpiece!”
“Then… perhaps he kills his grandmother?”
“No! This work is completely different from those outdated classics! Just listen. I brought it specifically so we could hold a reading session.”
A reading gathering.
One of the refined hobbies of noblewomen.
The tea party gradually transformed into a literary salon where they read passages aloud and exchanged impressions.
And before long—
“Ah… sob…”
“Sniff…”
The room was filled with tears and sobbing.
* * *
Strictly speaking, The Sorrows of Young Werther follows a structure similar to a conventional romance novel.
A young man falls in love with a woman who already has a fiancé.
The woman eventually marries.
Werther struggles desperately to forget her, yet cannot stop seeing her.
Put simply, it is the sort of story where one could replace the word “love” with “adultery” and not be entirely wrong.
But what makes the novel extraordinary can be summarized in a single word:
Scale.
Its beautiful yet psychologically piercing prose.
Its layered narrative, shifting between letters and third-person narration.
Its ending—the protagonist’s suicide—something entirely unprecedented in romance novels of this world.
No first-time reader expects such an ending.
Yet as they continue reading, they inevitably come to accept it.
They realize it is unavoidable.
Inevitable.
It feels like departing from a familiar location, boarding an unfamiliar vehicle, and arriving at a destination never seen before.
Yet somehow, the journey itself feels right.
That overwhelming literary power was what made the work immortal.
In short—
The Sorrows of Young Werther turned noble society upside down.
“Lady Botino, have you read it?”
“Of course. How could I fail to discover a gem hidden in the mud?”
At the center of the phenomenon were the noblewomen who always chased new trends.
To women constantly searching for fresh stories and new fashions, this intimate and emotionally layered romance was a direct hit.
They carried discussions of the book from salon to salon, from tea party to tea party, spreading its reputation like wildfire.
“It felt as though I was reading my own story… My heart hurts so much…”
“Ah, I felt exactly the same. Surely anyone who has ever loved would understand.”
As the trend accelerated, the emotional defenses of noblewomen throughout the marquisate collapsed all at once.
A sickness of the heart.
A disease called love, anguish, and sorrow.
And soon, it found new victims.
“Lady Melissa… I…”
“Perhaps the destination of true love lies beyond death itself.”
The knights.
Especially middle-aged knights prone to romantic fantasies.
They too fell rapidly under the novel’s influence.
A single book given to them by the object of their affection succeeded in infecting even those who normally avoided reading altogether.
And the truly frightening aspect of this illness was…
“Sir Marik hanged himself!”
“Cut the rope! It’s not too late!”
The Werther Effect.
A terrifying phenomenon that had once existed in Edward’s previous world had begun spreading among medieval readers with no resistance to it.
If Edward had known, he probably would have calmly remarked:
“That’s not really how the Werther Effect works.”
And moved on.
But regardless, the phenomenon sent shockwaves through noble society.
“A single book can influence people’s hearts this deeply?”
“It raised the standard of romance novels by one level—no, by three!”
“Who is the author?”
“K.H…? That pen name…”
Within the Rinter Marquisate, the name K.H was already somewhat familiar.
The Story of the Three Kingdoms had become wildly popular among certain nobles, especially knightly families.
But among the wider aristocracy?
The reaction was different.
“That author commoners like.”
“I heard even sword-swinging knights read his books.”
That was about the extent of their knowledge.
Knightly families occupied the fringes of noble society.
Few knights were enthusiastic readers to begin with.
Yet now—
The author who wrote those supposedly barbaric war stories had created this?
Curiosity began spreading.
“Who exactly is this author called K.H?”
As nobles started investigating his earlier works one by one, they weren’t the only people discussing The Sorrows of Young Werther.
“I picked it up because it was K.H’s new novel, but…”
“My heart feels so heavy. I don’t think I can keep reading…”
“B-But… what is this feeling?”
Naturally, commoners weren’t obligated to love the same books as nobles.
Especially those who had been eagerly waiting for Volume 3 of The Story of the Three Kingdoms.
They weren’t prepared for something completely different.
The reactions became extremely polarized.
Mercenaries, in particular, struggled with the novel.
The story only complicated their emotions.
But polarized reactions meant one thing.
Drip.
“Huh…?”
The responses themselves were intense.
Many commoners experienced tears while reading a book for the very first time.
And those who loved it…
Loved it obsessively.
Especially sensitive boys and girls in their early teens.
For many of them, The Sorrows of Young Werther was their first encounter with a story about the fever of love.
Before long, one name began occupying their minds.
“K.H…?”
“Could this… be something the author personally experienced…?”
The readership diversified.
If The Story of the Three Kingdoms had captivated the general male population,
then The Sorrows of Young Werther was capturing nobles, women, and young readers.
Which meant only one thing.
“Who exactly is K.H?”
“Surely he’s a noble?”
“No… I don’t think he’s a noble at all.”
The attention of both nobles and commoners was beginning to converge on a single person.
* * *
“I honestly couldn’t believe it…”
Ludwin stared blankly at the sales reports.
The novel wasn’t selling at the level of The Story of the Three Kingdoms.
But the numbers were far from ordinary.
‘Has there ever been a romance novel that sold over five thousand copies in its first month?’
Even after searching his memory, he could count such cases on one hand.
When he first received the manuscript, he had been skeptical.
Yet…
“Author, did you actually expect this to happen?”
Edward, sipping hot chocolate on the sofa in Ludwin’s office, shook his head.
“What kind of author can predict exactly how many copies their book will sell?”
“Still, you seemed incredibly confident! The protagonist commits suicide! And yet readers reacted like this…”
That wasn’t all.
The epistolary format felt unfamiliar.
The protagonist wasn’t strong or courageous.
He was merely a sensitive young man.
The novel contained virtually none of the traits readers normally expected.
And yet—
Edward’s confidence and the overwhelming quality of the writing had ultimately convinced him.
The result was a completely new literary phenomenon.
Bookstores everywhere were already demanding additional print runs.
And the passionate response from the nobility…
“I’ve heard servants from noble households are lining up outside bookstores recently.”
“The more free time people have, the easier it is to immerse themselves. There’s a saying, isn’t there? Philosophy is usually studied by the third son of a noble family.”
“…What?”
“Ah, never mind. Has there still been no word from the Rinter household?”
“No. Not yet… I may need to send another letter soon.”
This novel had been written from the beginning for Emilia Rinter.
Naturally, the manuscript had been sent to the Rinter estate before anyone else saw it.
Since the resumption of The Story of the Three Kingdoms depended on the result, both Ludwin and Edward had anxiously awaited a response.
But—
“I definitely delivered it personally.”
“Hmm. Did I misjudge her? I thought the psychological depth and self-destructive themes would appeal to her.”
Edward tilted his head.
Ignoring the fact that such comments sounded bizarre coming from a ten-year-old child, even Ludwin found the silence surprising.
At the very least, he had expected a response within a week.
Yet now the novel had already been published and read throughout the region, and there was still no word.
If she disliked it, they should at least have received a request for revisions.
“Let’s not be impatient. We’ll wait another week and then—”
BANG!
“Boss!”
A staff member burst through the door.
Ludwin immediately frowned.
“Who opens the office door like that? Have you lost your mind?”
He was already stressed enough.
The interruption only sharpened his tone.
But his irritation vanished the moment the employee spoke.
“Someone from the Marquis’s household has arrived!”
“…Finally!”
At last.
The review of the book.
The sponsorship decision.
The resumption of The Story of the Three Kingdoms.
Everything would finally be decided.
“Show them in immediately! Who is it? Sir Dmitri again?”
Even a servant from the marquis’s household could not be treated casually.
As Ludwin hurriedly cleared away stacks of documents, the employee answered with a trembling voice.
“W-Well… Sir Dmitri did come, but…”
“What is it? Did they summon us to the estate again?”
A vague sense of dread gripped Ludwin as he clutched the papers in his hands.
And as always, his bad feeling proved correct.
“T-The Marquis’s daughter came with him…”
