How To Live As A Writer In A Fantasy World

After putting Ariel to sleep for a while, Clark’s story didn’t stop.

It was as if he was eager to unburden himself, effortlessly recounting tales of the past.

According to him, he had lived as a wanderer for over 30 years.

Even the rare times he settled down barely lasted a decade, meaning he had spent most of his life roaming.

During this time, he carried on his family’s mission of tracking down demon worshippers.

“Grandfather, were you part of some secret organization? Earlier, you mentioned a group.”

[Half yes, half no. It wasn’t exactly an organization. It was more like a scattered network that occasionally gathered.

Of course, everything fell apart because of that damned cardinal.]

“So, when was this group formed? And what was its name?”

Whenever we built a base, they would attack within days, forcing us back into a wandering life.]

I nodded at Clark’s explanation.

This seemed like the safest and only feasible way, given that demon worshippers held enough power to distort history itself.

They had a firm grip on the shadows and connections to nobles, making forming an organization exceedingly dangerous.

Clark added that he pursued them mostly alone, as like-minded allies were almost nonexistent.

This wasn’t just his burden—it had been the way of his family for generations.

Hearing this, my father voiced his curiosity.

“But I’ve seen you, not your father. Did he die before I was born?”

[Huh? No. I’m not even sure if he’s alive or dead.]

“……”

[Just kidding—I personally conducted his funeral, so you don’t have to worry.

But since they could revive him through sorcery, I had him cremated. You can do the same for me when the time comes.]

At times, it was hard to tell if Clark was joking or being serious.

My father’s changing expressions as Clark teased him were entertaining to watch.

Though some might find him immature, his cheerful personality and his being in his 50s made it more understandable.

Technically, “the late 50s” would be more accurate, as Clark himself mentioned he wasn’t fully intact even as a spirit.

“So, when will you leave? I hope you can stay a bit longer.”

My father sighed, speaking in a voice laden with complex emotions.

Despite his words, it was clear he wanted Clark to linger in this world a little while longer.

There were misunderstandings and unresolved feelings between them as father and son, and Clark had lived a life of duty, bearing heavy burdens.

Surely, he deserved a taste of freedom.

[Not long. But I still have to meet my daughter-in-law and the grandchildren I haven’t seen yet.

Didn’t Dave and Nicole become knights under your lead?]

“They did.”

[Then I should spar with them before I go. I need to see at least one of their performances, don’t you think?]

I wasn’t sure if he would find their “performance” amusing.

Dave and Nicole were strong enough to graduate at the top of the Academy’s martial arts division, but they still fell short compared to Clark, who single-handedly defeated demon worshipper lords.

[Speaking of which, how about we spar, just for old times’ sake?]

“No thanks. I’m too old to go challenging people. Besides, I’m practically skin and bones—what strength could I even muster?”

[Ha! Listen to this boy talk back to his father. You haven’t changed a bit.]

“All thanks to the rough life you gave me.”

Despite their words, they didn’t seem to harbor any ill feelings.

Their relationship resembled that of brothers more than father and son.

Though my father once mentioned Clark wasn’t the best parent, he must have still respected him as a person.

Their warm banter made their bond evident.

At least, they seemed to have found some peace during the times they were settled—until demon worshippers came knocking.

[It’s remarkable, though. Someone like you, with a literary gift, was born into this family.]

Clark nodded toward me, marveling.

The moment he did, all eyes, including my father’s, turned to me.

Feeling self-conscious, I scratched my head awkwardly.

From Clark’s perspective, I must indeed seem strange.

A novelist born into a family that valued martial arts, one who could fold and unfold the world through storytelling, and even revered as a prophet.

Though my mother once excelled in elegant writing, that alone couldn’t explain it.

“I’m surprised too. I’ve always been closer to books than weapons, even as a child. I wasn’t as strong as I am now, either.”

[Perhaps you take after me. You wouldn’t know, but I used to write a bit.]

“Your shamelessness remains unchanged. You mean the diary you wrote? Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

[Oh? And what about you? Should I bring up that time you submitted a terrible report and got scolded by your superior?]

“Why bring that up now?”

Again, they started bickering.

Watching these older men argue made me laugh wryly. This was my cue to step in.

“Stop it already. Aren’t you embarrassed, arguing like this in front of others?”

“He started it with his nonsense.”

[I was just telling the truth. My son is the one who refuses to believe me.]

“Whatever. I’m just an ordinary person who loves books. I taught myself to write.”

[Then where do you get your ideas for your stories?]

“Let’s skip that question.”

In truth, I’d love to say something like this:

“Clark, you slaughtered the demon lords, their summoning ritual failed, and the backlash summoned me.”

While they didn’t know this yet, I planned to tell them soon.

I wondered how Clark would react.

Would he laugh in disbelief or show a completely different response?

Either way, I looked forward to it.

To change the subject, I asked,

“Grandfather, did you also learn martial arts from my great-grandfather?”

[Yes, but I’m not sure when it all began. Records show our ancestors wielded various weapons, from axes to swords, shields, bows, spears, and maces.]

“That’s a lot to master…”

[At the time, wars were constant, and King Morgan was a conqueror. If one weapon broke, you had to switch to another. It was a necessity.]

I imagined those days—a time before humans mastered magic or mana, resembling a medieval era from my past life.

Battles must have been mostly hand-to-hand combat.

Facing muscle-bound warriors charging at you would have been terrifying.

But why did they eventually settle on the axe as their primary weapon?

Could there be a hidden story behind that choice?

“So, you don’t know when they started using axes?”

[It is true, but it is certain that it has been passed down for 300 years.

They said they taught martial arts to Hicke, the Beast King.]

“Ah. I see… huh?”

Did I hear that wrong? I was about to nod and let it slide but stopped abruptly, startled.

It wasn’t just me; others had similar reactions.

Mari and Adelia’s eyes widened, and my father raised one eyebrow.

Unlike Mari and Adelia, my father seemed skeptical but had clearly heard it right.

Seeing our reactions, Clark tilted his head in confusion and said,

[Why are you reacting like that?]

“Wait… Did you just say Hicke? The first Beast King who founded Animers?”

[Yes, that’s correct.]

“Are you saying someone from our family taught him martial arts?”

It was an unbelievable story.

Of course, it is briefly mentioned that Hicke, unlike other beasts, used martial arts and wielded an axe as his weapon.

Even though it is a brief mention, it’s a crucial record, because back then, beasts essentially had no “skills.”

As a result, during the racial wars, beasts were often massacred by humans, who were armed with advanced technology, or reduced to slaves.

In that chaotic time, Hicke emerged like a comet.

A hero who believed that building civilization required basic skills, starting with individual abilities.

By gradually uniting factions through Holmgang, a traditional beast duel, he eventually established the civilization of Animers.

[What? Didn’t you say you read a lot of books? Even if it’s surprising that we taught him, you should at least know he learned techniques from humans.]

“There isn’t even a sentence about Hicke learning skills from humans. Even so, it’s equally shocking.”

[Is that so? I thought there might be a few lines about it, but I guess not.]

“Where did you hear this story?”

[From my father, probably?]

Clark scratched his head, looking unsure, as if his memory was hazy.

His nonchalant response after dropping such a bombshell was almost deflating.

[Anyway, they said our family helped Hicke when he was enslaved.

After that, they just taught him martial arts and went on their way.]

“…Hicke was a slave?”

[Hah, you didn’t know that? Was it not officially recorded because it was too humiliating a past?]

“Or maybe our ancestor told him not to mention it. Didn’t they say all redheads were killed off?”

[Ah, that might be true. Just the connection itself would have angered the demon worshipers.

Perhaps it’s recorded in personal journals.]

It’s uncertain whether such personal journals would have been preserved intact.

The paper-making technology at the time was far inferior, making preservation difficult.

Most shocking of all was the fact that Hicke had been a slave.

If Leona hears this, she would be deeply affected.

Though she was only half-beast, she took great pride in her race.

“Are you sure Hicke was a slave?”

[Otherwise, why would he have met us? Most of what our family did back then was freeing slaves, some of whom were even intended as sacrifices.]

“That may be true, but… it’s still surprising. It’s hard to believe.”

[Believe it or not, isn’t it good material for you?]

How did he know? I flinched slightly at Clark’s words.

The trope of someone rising to power while hiding their past as a slave was common even in my previous life.

It often heightened immersion if they had a moment of self-reflection.

And in most cases, they would reveal their past as a slave at the final moment or keep it as a symbol of their struggle.

‘…Still, since this involves the founding king, it feels like I need to handle it carefully.’

[Do as you wish. By the way, what about Leona? Why not ask her for help? I’m sure she would gladly assist you.]

“I’ll think about it. It’s not something I need right away.”

Clark continued to unravel stories he hadn’t been able to share until now.

Among them were topics I was interested in and some that felt a bit outdated.

Still, his storytelling was so captivating that I didn’t find it boring.

Though his life had been filled with obligations, it wasn’t oppressive at all.

He had fought hard to rid himself of those burdens and succeeded, all while maintaining his humor.

Truly, he was a mentally resilient man.

“Grandfather, what did you think of demons back then?”

[Honestly, I didn’t think much. I focused on demon worshipers—what does it matter what race they are?

Besides, demons rarely came out back then. When I did meet them, they were all good people.]

“With such power, why didn’t you try to reveal the truth to the world?”

[No matter how strong an individual is, they are helpless in the face of a collective, my dear.

Other than influencing the group itself, like in your books, there was no way to reveal the truth.]

Clark provided advice akin to a sage, with unparalleled experience to back it up.

Our conversation stretched on, time flying by unnoticed, until mealtime. At that point, we briefly dispersed.

Clark didn’t need to eat, but my father wanted to continue their conversation, so they moved to the training grounds.

Later, vibrations and loud noises echoed from the training grounds, but I didn’t check.

Entering would only result in being caught in the aftermath, so I left them alone.

While Adelia and Mari prepared the meal, I waited quietly in my room.

There was no need for Mari to prepare the meal herself, but she went anyway.

And finally, I…

“…Lord Isaac.”

“Huh? Go ahead.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Excuse me?”

In a room where Ariel was soundly asleep, Kate suddenly apologized to me.

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