How To Live As A Writer In A Fantasy World-Chapter 476: Golden Goblin (4)
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“Oh. Could it be that you know me?”
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When I muttered his name, Count Callas—Marshal—widened his eyes and asked me.
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His eyes were already sparkling enough to make me uncomfortable, but now that intensity only grew, leaving an even stronger impression.
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“Ah, no. It’s not like that. I just happen to know a similar name.”
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I hastily shook my head and replied.
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Marshal is a name one would easily come across if they looked even a little into World War II.
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He was a soldier who could be called the god of logistics—not only making impossible supply lines possible for an army of over a million but even personally ensuring ice cream was included.
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Winston Churchill once praised him as the architect of victory. Without Marshal, the U.S. military wouldn’t have been able to churn out supplies like mad.
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The problem was that he was too competent, which ironically led to his fame being relatively lower than other generals.
LongStringOfTextToSimulateLargeRandomDataSet123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz Some people even mistake him for a politician because of the Marshal Plan, which revitalized West Germany. LongStringOfTextToSimulateLargeRandomDataSet123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
“Ah… I see. I guess I got my hopes up for nothing. Hahaha!”
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Despite my denial, Marshal didn’t seem disappointed and instead burst into hearty laughter.
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He must have a mindset as positive as his intense appearance.
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Combined with his thick lips and gleaming eyes, he left a striking impression that would be hard to forget.
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It felt like he would linger in my memory for a long time.
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“By the way, may I ask what business brought you two to see me?”
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Wrapping up the conversation with Marshal, I shifted my gaze back to Marquis Matthius and Marquis Gotz.
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Normally, they would go straight to my father-in-law and ask, “Give us a budget, please.”
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They’re soldiers, not politicians, but that doesn’t mean they’re completely removed from politics—especially when it comes to budget matters.
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So it’s strange that they would go through Kay to arrange a meeting with me.
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“I have a lot to say, but first, let me apologize for the rudeness my daughter showed you.”
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Marquis Matthius bowed his head and apologized politely.
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No flowery words—just a direct and sincere apology.
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It’s rare to see a marquis bowing his head in apology.
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Perhaps that’s why the people around us reacted with visible surprise.
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I, on the other hand, remained calm.
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“Ah, you must be referring to that incident involving Lady Matthius. I heard rumors she enlisted in the military. Is that true?”
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“Yes. According to imperial law, anyone who insults a soldier must enlist regardless of status. And nobles must serve for at least five years.”
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In other words, that girl is currently busting her ass in the army.
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Forget going back to school—she’s now forced to serve, likely holding back tears.
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I still don’t understand why she acted the way she did back then, but honestly, it’s almost a forgotten memory at this point.
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I’m not petty, and I tend to forget things easily. Plus, the Matthius family handled the aftermath well, so I have no real complaints.
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“I see. I hope that incident helps Lady Matthius develop a respect for soldiers. As you know, my father and brothers are all soldiers.”
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“I’ll keep that in mind. Especially since it wasn’t just anyone—she was rude to Sir Marshal’s son.”
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I raised an eyebrow at Marquis Matthius’s response.
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He was treating me not as Zenon, but as the son of Sir Marshal—focusing on my father rather than me.
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Normally, people would pay more attention to Zenon’s reputation, but it seems he wasn’t interested in that.
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Of course, this is just speculation, but I figured I could push the conversation a bit further.
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“There’s no need for such deference. Taking responsibility alone is admirable.”
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“I can only be thankful for your generosity.”
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“Speaking of which, could I ask what kind of man my father was?”
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A natural shift in topic.
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In the past, I might not have known, but now I’m well aware of how great my father was.
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I brought it up not just to change the subject but because I was curious about how Marquis Matthius viewed him.
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This was no longer a conversation between individuals—it was house to house.
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“Saying he was admirable would be an understatement. Without Sir Marshal, the northern region would’ve become a warzone, not just a conflict area.”
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Marquis Matthius seemed to be reminiscing, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.
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I nodded at his words and took a sip of wine.
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Though I already knew of my father’s reputation, it was a good stepping stone to keep the conversation flowing.
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“Marquis Gotz, you’re in charge of the southern sea, correct?”
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While Marquis Matthius gathered his thoughts, I turned to Marquis Gotz, who oversaw the navy.
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This was to prevent him from becoming a background prop in the conversation.
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‘Still, is he really navy?’
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His tanned skin fits the image of a seaman, but his unkempt beard made him look more like a pirate.
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As I was thinking that, Marquis Gotz let out a hearty laugh and spoke in a booming voice.
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“Yes! I’m sweeping away all those who threaten the southern seas!”
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“Are there as many hardships in the southern sea as there are in the north?”
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“The sea is always dangerous. Every voyage is a gamble with death.”
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I could sympathize with the seriousness in his voice.
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The seas of this world are far more dangerous than Earth’s.
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Violent storms and brutal weather alone seem enough to capsize a ship—but then there are sea monsters to worry about.
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On top of that, most people hesitate to approach the sea due to its fearsome reputation.
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But that doesn’t mean we can give up on the ocean.
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The sea is essential not only for food but also for trade. It’s a high-risk, high-reward occupation.
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‘Long-distance voyages are probably out of the question.’
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Right now, coastal navigation is the limit.
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Even if a genius like Columbus appeared, it would be difficult.
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Overall, their tech is at 17th-century levels, but in terms of navigation and shipbuilding, they’re more than three centuries behind.
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“I don’t know much about the sea, but I do know it’s dangerous. Do sailors willingly risk their lives knowing that?”
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“Of course! The sea has its own kind of romance!”
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“Then what are your thoughts on a world voyage by sea?”
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I slipped the question in between the proud words of Marquis Gotz.
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It was something I personally wanted to ask a sailor.
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In this world, the sea is seen as a cursed terrain created by demons during the Demon War 3000 years ago.
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Even sailors on Earth suffered from scurvy during the Age of Exploration, and it took a long time to find a proper cure.
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But in this world, the entire mindset is different.
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While Earth’s sailors went, “What the hell is this?!” this world just accepts it like, “A curse? Eh, it can’t be helped.”
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It means they don’t even think about solving it—because they believe it’s a demon’s curse.
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This is a side effect of the clear presence of gods and the overwhelming power of divine authority in this world.
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“A world voyage by sea? Haha. You don’t seem to understand how terrifying the sea’s curse is, even as Zenon.”
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At my question, Marquis Gotz let out a disbelieving laugh.
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Then he curled his lips and began to explain what the “sea’s curse” was.
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“It’s not that we haven’t tried. Even if you have a ship sturdy enough to endure the storms, if the crew collapses, it’s meaningless.
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The sea’s curse is a fatal affliction for us sailors.”
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“Can you explain exactly what the sea’s curse is?”
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“Just what it sounds like. The longer you stay on the sea, the stronger the curse becomes, and crew members start dropping like flies.
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Their gums bleed, teeth fall out—if it gets worse, they die.”
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“… …?”
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Those symptoms scream scurvy.
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I blinked.
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Meanwhile, Marquis Gotz continued explaining just how dire the sea’s curse was.
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“Even having a priest doesn’t help. The sea is a dreadful place created by demons. On land, maybe—but on the sea, priests are powerless.
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That’s why we must return to port at least once every two months.”
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“Are you saying priests can’t use their powers?”
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“Divine power attracts sea monsters.”
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Ah. No wonder naval technology is so far behind—this is the reason.
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People here truly believe the sea was created by demons during the demon war 3000 years ago.
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Sailors on Earth also suffered from scurvy during the Age of Exploration, and it took centuries to find a cure.
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But this world’s mindset is completely different.
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While Earth went “Damn it, what the hell is this?”, this world just shrugs and says, “A curse? Oh well.”
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They’re not even trying to solve it. Because it’s considered a demonic curse.
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With gods being real and divine authority too powerful, this is a clear downside.
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“Is there no way to lift the curse?”
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“It’s simple. Just disembark and rest for a few days, and you’ll recover quickly. If it’s serious, visit a temple.”
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“……”
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Should I tell them that fresh fruits and vegetables are the real cure?
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But first, I’d need to know what kind of food they actually eat on board.
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Based on symptoms, it’s definitely scurvy, but there’s still the chance it could be a real curse.
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Especially considering they do grow potatoes. Potatoes are rich in vitamin C and a known cure for scurvy.
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After a moment of thought, I casually dropped a hint.
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“Then you don’t have any issues with food? I suppose having something like potatoes would help…”
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“You want us rough sailors to eat potatoes? Dried meat is the best for building strength!”
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“… …”
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Why are sailors always macho idiots, no matter the world? Must be the harshness of the sea.
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Given my name, they’d probably believe me, but the real question is—how did I even know this?
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If I shouted “Potatoes are the cure to the sea’s curse!”, what would they even think?
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It’s only because I’m Zenon that they might believe me—anyone else would be dismissed as a lunatic.
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“But judging by how you mentioned potatoes so specifically… do you know something?”
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While I was inwardly chuckling, Marquis Gotz leaned in and asked me in a subtly curious tone, seemingly having picked up on something.
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I had a dumbfounded expression on my face upon hearing those words. Just a moment ago, they had scoffed at the idea of giving potatoes to sailors, but now their attitude had completely changed.
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It wasn’t just him—others were the same. Before I realized it, even Marquis Matthius, who had just come out of his thoughts, and Viscount Callas were now staring at me with interest.
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So was Kay. They were all staring holes into me.
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And finally, Adelia. The moment our eyes met, she smirked. She knew I was a reincarnator, so she was probably thinking, “There he goes again.”
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First things first—I had to respond. The situation was tangled, but if I handled it step by step, there shouldn’t be a problem.
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“Why do you think that?”
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“Well, young master Michelle, you are blessed by the gods. So I thought perhaps you might know something.”
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“You may have heard this before, but I’m not a prophet.”
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Sailors, both past and present, tend to hold absolute belief in ‘superstition’ or ‘religion.’
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Someone once said that the only thing standing between them and the sea that swallows everything is a single large plank of wood.
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And in this world, since the perception of the sea is utter chaos, they have no choice but to cling fanatically to religion.
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“Even so, surely you have knowledge akin to that of a prophet? If you can resolve the sea’s curse, we will give you a reward worthy of a prophet.”
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“I don’t particularly want anything. Just stock up on potatoes. Throw away the ones that have sprouted.”
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Fine. I’ll throw out a bundle of knowledge, so be satisfied with that. I offered a rough solution before things got any more complicated.
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Explaining vitamins or whatever would be pointless—they wouldn’t understand anyway. And I had a feeling that if I delayed further, someone might say something I really didn’t want to hear.
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‘They were probably about to offer me their daughter or something.’
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There was a 99% chance that was the case. Or at least a reward along those lines.
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That was exactly the kind of situation I wanted to avoid, so I cut it off in advance. All I wanted was to build connections, nothing deeper than that.
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Otherwise, I might get beaten to death by Mari. Not joking—she’d actually kill me.
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“Is that true? Just a potato can resolve the sea’s curse?”
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“It may not resolve it completely, but it should prevent it. If potatoes are hard to supply, just provide fresh fruits or vegetables.”
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“No need to worry about that. Viscount Callas?”
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Marquis Gotz turned his head toward Marshal with a big, happy smile on his face. His expression was full of belief.
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But Marshal was the aide of Marquis Matthius. Marquis Matthius furrowed his brows slightly and spoke with displeasure.
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“Sorry, but Viscount Callas is my aide. Ask your own aide. This isn’t that hard.”
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“Tch. Fine, fine. In any case, if the sea’s curse can be resolved… hehehe.”
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He’s definitely a marquis, so why does he keep giving off pirate vibes? Maybe all sailors are like this.
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Leaving the dream-filled Marquis Gotz behind, I turned to look at Marquis Matthius.
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He wore a fed-up expression at Marquis Gotz’s behavior.
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Then he sighed and spoke in his distinct cavernous voice.
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“No, no. Not all navy men are like that, so I hope you won’t misunderstand. Still… it’s good if the sea’s curse can be resolved.”
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“As I said, I’m not a prophet.”
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“No need to worry about that. I’m not hung up on such things. Instead… I have a few questions.”
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Trailing off, Marquis Matthius glanced around cautiously. I sensed he was about to get serious.
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Otherwise, there’d be no reason to check his surroundings. Let’s leave out the dreamer Gotz, who was lost in his imagination.
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I finished the remaining wine. It must have a higher alcohol content than I expected—my face was already getting warm.
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Still, I wasn’t tipsy. Just pleasantly buzzed.
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“You want to ask me something, don’t you?”
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“It’s about The Chronicle of Zenon—specifically, the battles described in it. No, more accurately, the war.”
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“Hm?”
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Marquis Matthius was curious not about the story, but the war depicted within it. I couldn’t tell what he was getting at, and it left me puzzled.
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Moreover, he had mentioned not just The Chronicle of Zenon but also Blood and Steel. But Blood and Steel was still primarily political.
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It hadn’t shown even a single battle scene, yet he seemed to predict that a war would happen.
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“There were no such depictions in Blood and Steel, though.”
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“There weren’t, but I assume it will happen in the future. Am I wrong?”
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His confident words made me just shrug. Anyone with some depth of thought probably expected it.
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Marquis Matthius nodded at my reaction and quietly continued.
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“So I became curious. Sir Hawk is your father, but young master Michelle, you are a writer. I wondered if you possess any military knowledge.”
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“…Marquis?”
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His question wasn’t just direct—it was a verbal cannonball. Kay called out in alarm.
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Even Marquis Gotz, lost in fantasy, widened his eyes. That’s how provocative it was.
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But I stayed calm. To be honest, that question made perfect sense from a military perspective.
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People call me a prophet, a regressor, and whatever else, but I’m just a writer. Far from a professional.
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Putting in inaccurate information could end up spilling blood in unexpected places.
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“The war in The Chronicle of Zenon was deeply moving. Each race’s strengths were highlighted, yet they harmonized well together. ‘Grim yet elegant’ seems fitting.”
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“Thank you. I’m flattered.”
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“But I hope you understand—wars don’t end in a single battle.”
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Marquis Matthius was concerned about that. Or maybe… he’d already seen blood spilled.
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In fact, those working as ‘adventurers’ had experienced something similar. Adventurers inspired by The Chronicle of Zenon ended up disappointed or dying alone in obscurity.
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The influx increased, but so did the problems. A few months ago, there was even a case of someone impersonating me.
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“Real wars, unlike those in The Chronicle of Zenon, don’t end after one battle. It usually takes several engagements to achieve an objective.”
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“I understand.”
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“I hope you’ll explain that well in the war to come in Blood and Steel. If you’d like, I can assign someone to teach you military knowledge.”
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“Someone…”
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I looked straight at Marshal. He was still staring at me intently with those clear eyes.
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“Ah. Sorry, but not Viscount Callas. He has duties to attend to.”
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“I see. I appreciate the offer, but it’s not necessary.”
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I had a rough idea what Marquis Matthius was concerned about—he probably feared I’d insert inaccurate military details.
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But even as times change, the core of war remains the same. That doesn’t change, even in WWII.
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Part of me wanted to hand over The Art of War, but unfortunately, I didn’t know its contents well enough.
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Still, I could say this much. I gave a small smile and said:
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“The best thing is not to go to war at all. Circumstances may force it, but I’d never recommend war.”
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“Then why depict war in Blood and Steel?”
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“To show just how horrifying it is.”
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“……”
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Marquis Matthius, momentarily speechless, broke into a light, relieved smile.
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He looked like a man whose long-standing anxiety had finally been soothed.
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“Thank you. Hearing that puts my mind at ease.”
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Then he expressed his gratitude—genuinely. He must have been very worried.
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“I understand what’s troubling you, Marquis Matthius. But I assure you, that won’t happen.”
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“…Alright.”
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“But if I may ask—how do you know how horrifying war is?”
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Ah, this one’s hard to answer. But I had no choice.
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“My father told me. That the best war is one you never fight.”
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I had to bring my father into it. But it was the best option—Marquis Matthius nodded in understanding.
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After all, my father was both a national hero and one of its greatest victims. Of course he’d nod.
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While Marquis Matthius was lost in thought, I turned to Marshal, who still had those alert eyes wide open.
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“Viscount Callas, don’t you have something you’d like to ask?”
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“…Ah. W-Wait a moment…”
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As soon as I asked, Marquis Matthius panicked, as if realizing he’d made a mistake.
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I was puzzled, but only briefly—Viscount Callas seized the chance and shouted:
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“What are your thoughts on cannons, young master Michelle?!”
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“…Excuse me?”
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Sigh…
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I flinched, and Marquis Matthius covered his face with his hand. His exasperation was plain.
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Regardless, Viscount Callas shouted again.
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“I asked what your thoughts are on cannons!”
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“Cannons?”
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“Yes! Do you think cannons can be developed to rival magic in power? And not just single shots—but multiple!”
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At those words, I murmured unintentionally:
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“…Artillery?”
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“!!!”
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Viscount Callas’s eyes sparkled even brighter.
