Chapter 154

“Thinking about it, they scored eighty points…”

“Shh! Quiet!”

“S-sorry!”

Amidst the brief commotion, more entries were inscribed on the situation board. However, they weren’t deeply engraved as these would need to be erased later and updated with new information from the emperor. Repeatedly engraving forcefully could damage the wild boar hide, but nobody was concerned about that.

Wild boar hides accounted for over 80 percent of the Human Empire’s clothing materials and were considered low-grade. Once damaged beyond a certain point, ten hides could be combined using 1,000 gold, resulting in a rebirth as intact mid-grade leather. Unlike wild boar hind legs, which no longer sold due to their abundance, there was high demand for mid-grade, high-grade, and premium materials for crafting purposes.

Swish.

“Wow…”

“There’s so much here. Are these all entries for the main competition?”

In total, there were 350 works with their respective authors’ names and scores listed on the scoreboard. This was already an impressive number considering that there were still eight months left until the final deadline. The public servant mage explained they expected over five hundred submissions by then.

“But what criteria do they use to award points?”

“It’s unclear.”

The first Imperial Literary Festival had generated unprecedented interest across the continent. Whenever people gathered, conversations inevitably turned to the contest.

It was only natural. The grand prize wasn’t just any pet; Kasim was a living legend capable of annihilating hundreds of monsters with a single roar and flying more than a thousand kilometers overnight. Winning it would be akin to hitting the jackpot worth billions back on Earth—truly life-changing even for a beggar on the street.

Acquiring Kasim would be more monumental than winning billions of dollars from Earth’s lottery. Even a beggar on the street could instantly rise to become a pivotal figure within the Human Empire upon obtaining him.

Especially now that even the emperor’s trusted aide couldn’t secure permission to summon Kasim despite possessing it.

In essence, whoever gets Kasim will effectively have the second legendary pet after the emperor himself.

And if I—or at least someone aligned with my influence—could obtain it…

But there were other benefits as well. Merely placing in the competition awarded citizenship and generous cash prizes. The honor of having one’s work read aloud by the emperor himself…

In the Human Empire, where advancement, wealth, fame, growth, and success could all be achieved through a single battle, the cultural explosion triggered by this Literary Festival was shaking the continent with immense force.

“The end! The next update is scheduled for the first of next month!” announced the public mage.

Someone asked, “Will our scores change every month?”

“Yes, according to the official notice I received. It stated that our points will increase monthly, but the rate could accelerate or plateau over time,” replied the public mage before excusing himself.

People gathered around the bulletin board after the public mage left. Since the entries were listed by submission order rather than score, the rankings varied widely. Groups huddled together to examine the scores, with some even taking notes and organizing them accordingly.

“There’s only one entry with more than 10,000 points.”

“It must be Imperial Knight, right?”

“Yes, it’s overwhelmingly ahead. And…”

The crowd murmured as they observed the high-scoring works.

“The Ears of Listening scored over three thousand seven hundred points! That’s quite high.”

“And Dawn scored three thousand one hundred points.”

“Even High Wind, the elemental cleric, is significant at two thousand three hundred points!”

The Imperial Knight Never stood out with its score above ten thousand points, but most other works ranged between five hundred to a thousand points. Out of the total of three hundred and fifty entries, only nine exceeded twenty thousand points. The vast disparity left participants feeling disheartened, while spectators had a different perspective.

“It seems highly likely that this writer ‘Never’ will win Kasim.”

“Any idea who they might be?”

“All we have is their pen name. However, my friend who recently joined the newly formed Cultural Department mentioned…”

People started making moves to secure potential winners. Writing skills didn’t necessarily translate into physical strength, so they either tried to intimidate or form alliances with these candidates! And this was all done in a highly organized manner.

“I have information that the innkeeper here writes something every day.”

“But can such a kid really win first place in the competition?”

Several men visited an inn located within Iron Castle. Although their weapons were hidden due to the existence of inventories, one could tell by their attire—either cloth or leather—that they were warriors and mages.

“You fool. Think about the name of the innkeeper!”

“That fierce kid? His name is definitely… Yes… huh? Wait. Yes? Never?”

The contradiction was significant. The men exchanged looks before entering the inn.

“Welcome!”

“Hey, owner. Long time no see. Let’s see now…” One of them surreptitiously scanned the interior of the inn. The owner clicked his tongue at their behavior.

“You’re here for Yes, I presume! Sorry, but he isn’t around.”

“Oh man! Someone beat us to it! Who could that be?” The burly men grew more agitated. They’d rather have struck out than discover someone else had already snagged the prize right under their noses!

“We got here as soon as we heard about this place… So who the hell are they? You know our guild master acquired a rare class this time, right? If you upset the Grave Guild…,” one of them threatened ominously.

Despite the hostile atmosphere created by these Players, the innkeeper remained unfazed.

The stakes were too high for him to worry about upsetting a mere midsize guild.

“Who else but knights of His Imperial Majesty! I heard they evacuated their families and relatives over a week ago.”

“Oh…”

“Ah…”

“Right… Of course.” The men’s bravado quickly deflated.

It was obvious that no one would dare challenge someone associated with the emperor. With just a word, he had fed thousands—perhaps tens of thousands—and built Iron Castle, a fortress as massive as a mountain. He’d given humanity hope by introducing them to Players and supplying valuable skills and items no one else could provide. He rode around on a drake or a pet as big as a mountain, crushing hundreds of thousands of monsters with a single blow.

The scary thing is that every single one of these rumors is true…

More than half of the Players present had personally witnessed at least one of Jinwoo’s feats. In fact, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that half of the Human Empire could attest to his abilities. The emperor wielded such immense power and influence that each move he made stunned the world, and with how active he was, citizens inevitably bore witness to his might at least once during their lifetime as part of the empire. And even if they hadn’t seen him in action themselves, there was no way they could remain oblivious, since everyone around them couldn’t stop talking about him.

Could anyone who watched a pathetic castle wall instantly transform into something larger than a thirty-story apartment building or saw various structures sprouting inside keep quiet?

Could someone witness tens of thousands of soldiers clad in medium armor lose their heads with one swing of the emperor’s giant hammer and not share it while drunk? If they could hold back that story, they wouldn’t be human anymore. Even if others grew tired of hearing about it, they’d continue to recount the tale regardless.

The Emperor of the Human Empire was akin to a living god, a Savior who descended to save humanity from destruction.

“It seems like the emperor wants to manage writers specifically.”

“I heard literature and art can enhance his authority.”

“Pfft…whatever. Let’s head back and level up!”

The Gravel Guild members promptly gave up and left the inn. Similar scenarios were unfolding all over the continent.

It had been half a month since the Olymon competition started. In Ardenia, more than three months had passed. I ate and slept in Ardenia, occasionally going out hunting as well, so it was natural for time to pass quickly.

“Uwaah…”

I woke up from a luxurious bed and stretched lazily. I could’ve used chakra to sleep but there was also a certain appeal to sleeping on a proper bed.

“It’s almost four months now… Need to update the purchase count.”

The Olymon competition, namely Novel Arena, was an event based on paid serialization. The first 15 chapters were free, while subsequent chapters required payment, accumulating points. Fortunately, the ‘total number of purchases’ was displayed at one side of the forum, so there was no need to find and add the purchase count for each chapter separately.

“Let’s see… Imperial Knight Never is… No. 46. It was overwhelmingly number one in Ardenia though.”

Despite being an excellent work, “Never,” the author of Imperial Knight, was merely an unknown rookie in District 34. With established authors participating in this large-scale competition, it wasn’t surprising that “Never” hadn’t immediately generated buzz.

However…

Imperial Knight Never (Never): 74,217 points.

“The average purchase count per chapter exceeds 1,500.”

The view counts weren’t extraordinarily high. Established writers often had an average purchase count above 3,000, and popular authors could surpass 10,000 purchases per chapter. Nonetheless, this didn’t mean low earnings.

”…Impressive.”

With each chapter of a web novel costing 100 won and selling 10,000 times, it would generate one million won in revenue. In other words, with a total purchase count of 74,217:

“7,421,700 won.”

And with the double earnings event applied, although Olymon takes a 25% commission, the content provider (CP) doesn’t participate in this promotion, resulting in well over ten million won in profit for Jinwoo.

Can you believe this is what just one writer from Ardenia earns?

Moreover, there wasn’t just one such writer. Here’s another example:

Golden Tower Mythology (The Seeker of Truth): 911 points

This was commonly referred to as a “shitfest,” averaging only fifteen views per chapter. For most authors, these numbers would be dismal enough to abandon writing and find another job.

However, even these shitty works generated more than 100,000 won when combined together. Writing was also work but it wasn’t much of a problem since I could write 20 volumes per day.

“Money…can be duplicated!”

Furthermore, only 15 days had passed out of the 60-day event period. Currently, I was adjusting the serialization speed so future earnings would be much larger compared to what I had made so far.

“As expected… gathering writers was the right decision.”

I summoned all the writers with initial scores above 1,000 points, including Never, to Great Earth City where I currently resided. At this moment, they were likely being escorted by knights or soldiers while moving their families through underground passages.

“And… ultimately, we must give honorary positions and pensions to all writers who achieve 10,000 purchases, as well as provide them with special protection. If these valuable talents die somewhere without my knowledge…”

As the Human Empire encompassed most of Ardenia’s humans and Ahjins, numerous talents were embraced by the empire. There were experienced knights who had hunted hundreds of magic beasts, mages dedicated to decades of training, blacksmiths crafting weapons akin to firearms through hammering, and elementalists controlling mysterious spirits. So, what was the best among these talents?

‘Novelists are the best…!’

Outstanding clerics, mages, elementals, and technicians were remarkable talents but their abilities were limited to Ardenia. On the other hand, novelists? They could make money on Earth.

From a company president’s perspective, there is a clear distinction between employees who simply perform assigned tasks and those who generate substantial profits. If someone earned only two million won per month but brought in two or three hundred million won in profit, wouldn’t they be considered invaluable? Naturally, such employees should be cherished and treated well; otherwise, the company would eventually go bankrupt under incompetent leadership.

“Yes, we need to establish a ranking system for writers.”

Firstly, there would be ninth-rank authors. This rank would be awarded to those who received accolades in writing competitions.

I can’t offer them any significant benefits since anyone could potentially achieve this.

Even without talent, sheer persistence could result in authoring five books. These individuals would receive a writer registration card as a substitute for their national ID, along with modest cash prizes akin to pocket money.

And then there are eighth-rank authors.

I set the purchase threshold at 10,000. This meant generating one million won in revenue. It wasn’t difficult conditions. Initially, Never was the only writer with over 10,000 points but that occurred due to insufficient volume and not much time had passed since serialization started.

If a five-volume novel consisted of 125 chapters, and 15 were free, then it could be resolved by achieving 10,000 purchases for the remaining 110 chapters. That meant an average of just 100 purchases per chapter! Even if the volume exceeded five books, reaching double-digit purchase numbers would suffice to become an 8th grade writer.

‘The benefits include registration as a writer… Let’s make it a pension system. The term is three years, renewable if they continue working.’

However, I added another condition to address some lingering concerns:

‘Yes. Additionally, let’s provide free housing during their tenure as writers. For 8th graders, it should be studio apartments.’

In other words, if they diligently wrote, at least their stomach wouldn’t be empty. If many writers emerged, it would consume quite a bit of the national budget but I didn’t mind at all. How could I feel sorry? They were entities that gave me more than one million won in cash.

‘Next is the 7th grade writer. From here on, let’s get serious.’

The cutoff was set to exceed 20,000 and reach 30,000. These were writers generating three million won in revenue. In addition to the writer registration certificate, increased pension, and housing, I decided to give them ‘choice’ among high-class options.

‘Then there are the 6th grade writers.’

I raised the cutoff to 100,000. These were individuals generating ten million won in revenue. On average, this equated to selling over 1,000 copies per book based on five volumes. While considered just decent in District 34 with its multitude of writers, it still allowed one to make a living solely as a full-time author.

A writer registration certificate, ample pension, and a house of 35 pyeong (approx. 116 square meters). They would be given the option to choose a rare class.

‘Next is a fifth-grade writer.’

The cutoff was 300,000 purchases. On average, there were around 3,000 views per volume. It wasn’t the highest level but could still be considered popular. They would receive a writer’s registration certificate, a more substantial pension, a house of 50 pyeong (approx. 167 square meters), and options to choose from rare classes, pets, or gatekeepers.

“At this rate, fourth-grade writers will receive Hero-class. Well, it doesn’t matter since winning the competition gives a legendary pet.”

For now, I decided to create up to fifth-grade writers. This was a sort of predetermined maximum level.

‘It might be better to develop fourth grade and above after establishing a stable income flow within the writer community.’

I decided on the ‘Writer Grade System’, organized it and sent it to Flower as an official document. After briefly checking the contents, Flower nodded.

“I will deliver it. Ah, and 12 more works have just arrived.”

“That’s good participation. Upload them.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

After sending away Flower, I picked up one of the manuscripts piled on my desk in the study. It was time to copy 20 volumes today. I quickly memorized one page before speaking:

“Log out.”

I was about to leave for Earth to continue working when…

“Mewow! Mewow!”

“What? Who is this?”

Lately, there were too many contacts coming in, so I blocked all except a few.

“Is it Director Alan? Or Producer Taesuk?”

However, it wasn’t either of them.

“It has been a while, Jae-yeon-ssi.”

“Ah, Chairman Bae Sarang.”

She was the representative of Nemesis, the production company behind Revenge. We exchanged contact information when I converted my 40 billion won worth of stocks into diamonds, but I didn’t expect her to call directly instead of through her secretary.

“I have been hearing your name frequently lately. I thought you were extraordinary in many ways, but I never imagined you would become an apostle of the Game Master…”

“I’ve just been lucky in various ways.”

We chatted briefly. Revenge had faced some difficulties initially, but it became established as the only virtual reality game in District 34. As a result, Nemesis, which was already doing well, experienced unprecedented success. While listening to her story, I asked:

“So, what brings this call?”

In response, Bae Sarang said, “Are you interested in appearing in advertisements?”

Naturally, I had to inquire further.

“How much were you thinking of offering?”

”…”