Chapter 13
The alchemist, Gallen Rennion, quickly brewed the potion and handed it to me.
Inside the transparent glass bottle, a golden liquid shimmered.
“I made it strawberry-flavored as you requested!”
“Oh, how should we settle the cost for the concoction?”
“Cost? No need to worry about that! The novel written by the story’s creator has provided me with sparkling inspiration!”
“Still, it feels off to get it for free after making a direct request.”
Even if the cost were exorbitantly high, the prince would pay without hesitation.
So, I wanted to confirm things properly.
“Really, it’s okay! In fact, I should be paying you, since I created this potion from the inspiration drawn from your novel! Don Quixote, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and the Conan Saga—I’ve enjoyed them all!”
“Ah, thank you.”
…Wait a moment.
What did the alchemist just say?
“The Conan Saga…?”
“Wasn’t that your novel?”
“How did you know?”
“It’s the color of the inspiration! Yes, a brilliant and unearthly kind of inspiration. Haha!”
The color of inspiration.
Even though I translated them, these were novels dreamed up by writers from different eras.
And to think, he recognized them as coming from the same author for such a fantastical reason.
“Ah, was this supposed to be a secret? Don’t worry! I’m quite tight-lipped. Eek.”
“…Ah, yes. Please keep it a secret.”
He didn’t seem like someone who could keep secrets, but…
It’s not really a big deal anyway.
“Well then, I must be off! I need to organize these wild inspirations into recipes!”
“Sure. Thanks for the potion.”
Since I received the potions for free, it felt alright to trust him this much.
* * *
Having turned into a woman with the ‘Soul Potion’, the prince didn’t hesitate for even a moment before gulping down the ‘Fixing Potion’ too.
“Mmm~. Both potions being strawberry-flavored feels a bit monotonous. Is that the creator’s preference?”
“Do you feel any physical changes?”
“Well? When I drank Hyde’s potion, the pain of my body transforming was very pronounced, but with this potion meant to fix my body, I don’t feel much.”
“……”
I mean, I got the potions for free; they better not be defective, right?
I started feeling a bit anxious.
Noticing my anxiety, the prince smirked playfully and teased me.
“Hehe, you don’t need to be so tense. Even if the potion ends up being defective, I have no intention of blaming you, the creator. After all, you gifted me this mysterious potion, right? I’m very grateful!”
“The prince’s happiness is my happiness.”
“Shouldn’t I be called a princess now?”
“…Princess, Your Highness.”
“Yes~! Ah! Say it again.”
“Princess, Your Highness.”
“Hehe, one more time.”
“Princess, Your Highness.”
“Ahaha! This feels so good. It’s addictive…”
“…”
“Ah, did you just think something impure? You think I’m crazy, right?”
“Not at all.”
It’s like she can read minds.
Does she actually have some kind of mind-reading ability?
“Sounds about right… Well, enough of that. Hey, when are you planning to write your next piece?”
“Yes?”
“I’m a patron, so it’s totally okay for me to ask that, right?”
“Oh.”
“Oh? You haven’t forgotten, have you? No way!”
He had completely forgotten.
Suddenly, cold sweat trickled down his back again. His hands were trembling.
Would using a different pen name for the ‘Conan Saga’ be problematic…?
“Wow, you really did forget, huh?”
“…I’m sorry.”
“I thought I’d sent quite a bit as a patron… Well, you don’t seem to be in dire need of money. Should I have promised something else?”
“Not at all. I truly appreciate your patronage alone.”
“Weren’t you the second son of the House of Fríden?”
“…Have I ever mentioned my real name?”
“Ah, do I really need to be told that? It’s something one finds out naturally.”
She says this with such confidence!
Considering he’s a prince, it’s not like he can just meet anyone casually.
“I hear the Count of Fríden is having quite a headache with issues among the central nobility… Should I help?”
“Are you talking about my father?”
“I could write a recommendation letter for you to join the College of Arms. Officially, it would be under my uncle, Duke Artien’s, recommendation, though.”
The College of Arms catalogues noble genealogies and decides on official titles. As the name implies, it also gives crest symbols to rising noble families.
Any noble wanting to inherit a title had to go through scrutiny by the College of Arms.
It has little real power, but if they take a dislike to you, they can drag their feet on awarding titles during inheritance, so one better keeps things smooth. It’s pretty much a royal family’s civil service.
“What do you think? Pretty sweet deal, right? Just being on their list gets central nobles knocking on your door with gifts.”
“…I appreciate the thought, but I’ll have to decline.”
Plus, such a position is unnecessary for my father.
“Why?”
“My dad just lives for gossiping about the central nobility, so I wouldn’t want to rob him of that joy as his child.”
“…Pfft, wait, seriously? That’s really the reason?”
“Yes.”
It was partly true.
Our father—the Count of Fríden—was a natural slacker. He hates working, and if you even hint at him signing paperwork, he makes the most dramatic show of disdain.
Throwing such a bothersome position like the College of Arms at him would just result in me being called an ungrateful child.
“So I’ll just pretend I never heard your Highness’s proposal.”
“Proposal? It was a gift… But alright. I can’t force a gift on someone who refuses.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“However! Don’t forget that I’m your patron next time, okay? Remember to whip up the next novel in no time.”
“Yes, understood.”
“Can’t wait!”
The prince, giggling and covering his mouth, soon left the room with his escort knight.
A short while later, someone peeked their head through the door.
“Author! His Highness has left!”
It was the president of the publishing house, Dorling Kindersley.
“I’m really exhausted…”
“Hehe… Great job!”
“Could you give me a glass of water? I’m sweating like crazy.”
“I figured you’d need it and brought some in advance!”
“Ah, thanks a lot.”
I took the glass from President Dorling and chugged it down in one go.
Refreshing. Did they install a magical water dispenser at the publishing house?
“President.”
“Yes!”
“I think you’ll have to take on the editor’s job.”
“…Y-you mean, really?!”
“Yes.”
There’s a particular work I’ve been wanting to write.
It’s time to get it published.
“I’m planning to write a new piece.”
“Whoa!!! Really?! You aren’t ditching me, are you?!”
I expected Dorling to make a fuss, but her reaction was a little strange.
“Ditching me…?”
“Well, since you published it in a low-end magazine like Half and Half, I thought I wasn’t good enough… I was practically crying… Haha. Thank you for choosing me!”
“Ah.”
From the president’s perspective, I guess it would be shocking to see a top author suddenly sign with another publisher.
“You don’t need to worry about that. I plan to pass most of my future works to Kindersley Publishing from now on.”
“Th-thank you! I’ll work harder than ever until I turn to dust!”
“You really don’t have to go that far…”
Yeah, she really tends to overreact.
* * *
The ‘Conan Saga’ is the ancestor of cookie-cutter fantasy novels.
The plot is straight as an arrow, the story is simple, the characters are stereotypical, and the writing is intuitive. Each episode adopts an omnibus format.
In short, it’s a breeze to read.
‘Half and Half’ was much cheaper than other magazines, and among the readers of the ‘Conan Saga,’ a lot of the fans were kids.
“Mom!”
“Did you just go out to play again with your friends? Oh my! What’s with that knee? Oh no, it’s all scraped! Didn’t it hurt while you were playing?”
“Barbarians don’t stop because of pain!”
“You should stop if it hurts. It’s foolish to keep playing when you’re injured. You’ll make it worse.”
“Hehe.”
The noble and pure hero ‘Conan the Barbarian’ game was currently the hottest craze among young children.
All it took was a stick. Just throw off your shirt, and you’re good to go.
The problem was, these children, so engrossed in their hero games, often ended up getting hurt while playing. Normally, kids playing among themselves still manage to break a nose or two, but to parents, this all pointed at the ‘Conan Saga.’
“Oh dear, that darn barbarian or whatever.”
“It’s great that they’re learning to read… But I wish they’d pick up some proper books. Magazines are just filled with violent and sensational stuff.”
Thick fairy tale books with illustrations were the privilege of the wealthy and noble.
All ordinary kids had access to were cheap magazines and thin novels. Or if their dad saved enough pocket money, maybe ‘Don Quixote.’ But hardly anyone read it.
“Haah…”
* * *
“I’m going to write fairy tales.”
“Fairy tales…?”
“Yes.”
“Are you talking about collecting folk tales into a book?”
“Of course not. I’ll be creating them myself.”
Well, actually, it’s more like I’ll be plagiarizing my previous life’s works, but I’m feeling quite shameless about it now.
I can say this with confidence.
“Fairy tales…? You aren’t just planning to write a few stories for a collection, right?”
“Just read them and you’ll understand.”
I was sure.
Out of all the masterpieces I’ve borrowed so far, this ‘fairy tale’ is going to sell the most worldwide.
Any adult who was once a child will definitely fall in love with these tales.
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