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Chapter : 13
Rumors spread fast.
Especially when the topic in question has captured everyone’s attention.
“A new book is coming out.”
“Already the fourth volume? The last one ended at such a frustrating point I thought I’d die waiting.”
The conversation among mercenaries in the tavern was full of excitement.
Of course, a tavern without excitement would be strange.
The difference lay in the atmosphere.
In the past, taverns had been much gloomier places.
Complaints about the royal family, stories of war, and meaningless local gossip filled the air with a dark and dreary mood.
But over the last year, things had begun to change.
Those conversations hadn’t disappeared entirely, but discussions about books had gradually started claiming a share of tavern conversations.
And whenever a new K.H. novel was released, that share increased dramatically.
Discussions about previous volumes.
Predictions about future developments.
And even deeper analyses beyond that.
The power of a shared interest.
Through a single book, people came to understand each other’s thoughts and engage in more meaningful exchanges.
And in Edward’s previous life, there was a name for places where people gathered to freely exchange ideas like this.
The Agora.
Throughout Lugbadin and the other cities of the Rinter Marquisate, countless little agoras were already beginning to emerge.
And these budding agoras raised their mugs and spoke hopefully.
“When did they say it’s coming out?”
“Tomorrow. The rumors spread everywhere while we were out on our assignment.”
“Excellent! Perfect timing. Everyone read it tomorrow and let’s meet afterward. I’m dying to know what happens next.”
They worked hard when it was time to work.
And after work, they enjoyed culture.
The very image of ideal citizens in a growing agora.
The mercenaries chatted excitedly and waited for the next day to arrive.
Imagining just how thrilling The Story of the Three Kingdoms Volume 4 would be.
And then the next day arrived.
“…Six silver coins?”
“This isn’t The Story of the Three Kingdoms…?”
The book that would test them and help them grow was finally released into the world.
With a murderous price tag of six silver coins.
People gathered around the bookstore and began whispering.
“Hey, is this right? That’s double the usual price.”
“I didn’t think K.H. was that kind of person…”
They had rushed here first thing in the morning to buy the book.
Yet this price was impossible to accept.
The very author who had introduced them to books through affordable prices was now charging this much.
Did he simply not care about ordinary people’s wallets anymore?
“I’m not buying it! For that amount, I could buy my kids a steak dinner!”
“Boycott it! The author’s gotten too comfortable!”
One person’s complaint erupted into the crowd.
Then another voice joined.
And another.
The psychology of crowds.
As always, loud voices were often the first thing to move public opinion.
“Who would pay six silver coins for a book? Am I right?”
“Exactly. Let’s skip this one. Then the author will come to his senses.”
“Tch. The taste of money really changes people…”
And yet—
Not a single person actually left.
After waiting all this time, walking away felt difficult.
But buying it felt equally difficult.
Too expensive.
Too infuriating.
Much later, after reading The Story of the Three Kingdoms, they would finally learn the term “chicken ribs” and understand this contradictory feeling.
Something too valuable to discard but too burdensome to keep.
But that realization belonged to the future.
For now, they had entered a deadly game of hesitation.
Who would leave first?
The crowd gradually fell silent.
They couldn’t stand there forever repeating the same complaints.
Eventually, everyone would have to make a decision.
And then—
“B-Boss… are you really buying it?”
“Even for you, six silver coins is a lot…”
The mercenaries who had eagerly awaited K.H.’s new release the previous night stood together outside the bookstore.
Their leader, Geralt, slowly walked toward the display shelf.
His steps wavered slightly.
A little nervous.
A little afraid.
But hanging at his waist was a pouch filled with the reward from yesterday’s completed job.
If not now, then when would he spend it?
Taking a deep breath, Geralt smiled at his anxious companions.
“I told you all, didn’t I?”
“Read the book and then we’ll meet.”
“But that was supposed to be The Story of the Three Kingdoms…”
“No.”
Geralt pointed at the book.
“This is K.H.’s new novel. We’ve enjoyed everything he’s written so far. It’ll probably be good this time too.”
Then he tapped the book’s spine.
“And look at this thing. Have you ever seen a book this thick?”
The others stared.
“How could anyone sell something this size for three silver coins? The paper alone would cost a fortune.”
Correct.
In fact, the paper alone cost nearly three silver coins.
The production cost that had nearly been drowned out by crowd psychology finally gained a concrete form through Geralt’s words.
“Besides, look at the cover. It’s thick and high-quality. They clearly spent money on it. There’s enough content here for more than two books, and the binding is luxurious. Six silver coins?”
He snorted.
“That’s called a reasonable price.”
The crowd around the bookstore began to waver.
Everything he said was true.
Anyone could see this wasn’t a three-silver-coin book.
If anything, considering all the factors involved—
It was cheap.
Some people finally began moving.
“It really is thick…”
“And since it’s a K.H. novel, I’ll probably reread it over and over at home anyway…”
A few brave souls stepped forward and purchased copies.
Others hesitated.
“Still… spending six silver coins all at once is hard.”
“I’ll buy it later. You guys tell me if it’s good first.”
The result:
A stalemate.
Some took the leap.
Others postponed the decision.
As the crowd split into two camps, Geralt became one of the first buyers.
Book in hand, he returned to the inn with his companions.
“…?”
All the way to his private room.
Geralt glared at the four smelly men who had followed him inside.
“Why are you all here?”
“We’re reading it together.”
“Why would I let you? Buy your own copy.”
“Happiness grows when it’s shared.”
An undeniable truth.
Surrounded by the comrades he had foolishly trusted, Geralt found himself opening the book inside a room so cramped it felt impossible to breathe.
“Don Quixote de La Mancha…”
What kind of title was that?
Did expensive books come with expensive-sounding names too?
Grumbling to himself, Geralt began reading.
Along with everyone else.
“……”
“……”
They realized very quickly.
They were the winners.
And not merely winners.
Winners worthy of this book.
“Pff…”
“BAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Laughter erupted throughout the room.
* * *
There was no denying that Don Quixote’s price created a barrier for ordinary commoners.
But another group welcomed the news.
The nobility.
For people who could casually spend six silver coins on a single meal, an expensive book wasn’t a drawback.
It was a premium feature.
To them, it felt like:
“Now this is what real culture looks like.”
In fact, many interpreted it this way:
“Thank you for enduring all those cheap books until now. From this point forward, please enjoy a luxurious, gorgeous, full-course cultural feast.”
A full-course cultural feast.
What a beautiful phrase.
It sounded tailor-made for nobles.
As a result, they rushed to purchase the book.
No information had been released besides the announcement itself.
A mysterious new novel from a mysterious genius author.
The premise alone fascinated the aristocracy.
And when they finally saw the title—
“Don Quixote de La Mancha…”
“Indeed. Even the title sounds elegant.”
To be fair, The Sorrows of Young Werther was a refined title as well.
But Don Quixote de La Mancha sounded undeniably aristocratic.
If Edward had heard this interpretation, he probably would have casually replied:
“Actually, it basically means ‘The Virile Old Man of La Mancha Province.'”
And moved on.
But the nobles, unaware of that fact, eagerly opened the book.
And there—
“…?”
They met an old man.
A mad old man who called himself the wandering knight Don Quixote.
In Edward’s former world, this old man had earned countless titles.
The Mad Idealist.
The True Knight Who Lived Passionately.
The Symbol of Dreams That Never Surrender.
Yet hidden beneath all those glorious descriptions was something people often forgot.
“…Pff.”
“Hehehe…”
The true reason this novel became known as Spain’s Bible.
Its overwhelming popular appeal.
Its sheer entertainment value.
“HAHAHAHAHA!”
Only a portion of the commoners could experience that joy.
But the nobles were different.
The mad old knight and his foolish, squat squire rapidly conquered aristocratic society.
* * *
“Hehehehe…”
Why are you reading that in someone else’s house…?
I stared at Emilia with deep dissatisfaction.
Where was this?
My house, obviously.
More precisely, the house I shared with my parents.
Yet this sweet and peaceful home had been invaded.
By her.
And she showed absolutely no signs of leaving.
“Lady Emilia, isn’t the Marquis worried about you?”
“Father is busy. He’d probably decide that spending time worrying about me would prevent him from reviewing three additional documents.”
Wow.
What a wonderfully dysfunctional family.
Though judging by Emilia’s reaction, she didn’t seem bothered at all.
Then again, this was the same man who immediately banned a perfectly good book because his daughter asked him to.
Their relationship was probably fine.
Every family simply had its own style.
Still…
“Even so, turning part of our house into your personal room is a bit…”
I nearly said excessive.
Recently, she’d not only claimed a room in our house for herself, she’d also brought several personal servants.
In simple terms—
She had moved in.
The house was large enough that the additional people weren’t a burden.
Her existence, however, was.
Perhaps sensing my feelings, Emilia finally looked up from her book.
“Edward, you’re misunderstanding something.”
“What do you mean?”
“Whose house is this?”
“Huh?”
What kind of obvious question was that?
Mine and my parents’—
“…Ah.”
Wait.
No.
Did the Rinter Marquisate own it?
Well, yes.
But wasn’t it leased to us?
If something was leased, didn’t that make it ours for the duration?
Medieval property law was a little too complicated for an eleven-year-old.
“That idea—that it’s yours during the lease period—sounds like the logic of some barbarian tribe. This is very clearly my house. The Rinter Marquisate purchased it.”
“…Jesus…”
All the strength drained from my body.
Granted, I already had enough money to buy the most expensive mansion in Lugbadin.
Actually escaping was a different issue entirely.
“That’s how patronage works. You live under a noble family’s protection and create art freely. Besides, I won’t always be here.”
“How grateful I am…”
While I quietly grumbled to myself, Emilia burst into laughter again.
“Ahahahahaha!”
Well, the housing issue aside—
One thing was certain.
Emilia had become utterly obsessed with Don Quixote.
Even more than she had been with Werther.
And through that obsession, I had learned something important about her.
Emilia Rinter was…
A remarkably twisted person.
At its core, Don Quixote was an adventure comedy.
A farce.
In modern times, people emphasized its idealistic themes and viewed Don Quixote as a dream-chasing hero.
But when it was first published, readers focused on something else entirely.
Its satire.
Its mockery of knightly romances.
That was the heart of the novel.
After all, Don Quixote only became who he was because he had gone insane from reading too many knight stories.
And that was exactly the part Emilia loved.
The ridicule hidden throughout the book.
The merciless satire aimed at stale literature and warped nobles.
A novel that openly mocked everything she despised.
They were made for each other.
“Hehehe… By the way, Edward…”
After laughing her way through several chapters, Emilia suddenly asked in a quieter voice.
“Can you tell me the reason you wrote this novel?”
She had figured it out.
The reason she loved the book.
The reason I had chosen it.
I answered honestly.
“Because I want to turn the world upside down.”
Emilia smiled.
“I’ll help you.”
