As I stepped out of the White Magic Tower, it started to rain.

Unlike the imperial capital, where it rarely drizzled, the eastern part of the empire, where the White Magic Tower stood, had rain about half the week. It took just about half a day on a magic-engineered train to reach the capital from here.

Maybe because it was close to the Magic Tower, I noticed a few folks who seemed to have learned some magic. They were the type of people that raindrops ‘avoided’. These folks strolled around without getting wet, proving that wonders do exist in this world.

They could probably sit outside reading a book on a rainy day without the paper getting soaked. But I bet they’d end up with wet pants and soaked bottoms while reading in a cozy spot. It struck me as a hilariously baffling mystery.

As I stood there, staring blankly at the rainy scene, the master of the White Magic Tower approached me.

“Oh, it’s raining. Would you like to teleport to the capital? I can inform the Blue Magic Tower,” he offered.

“Um, no… I planned to spend the whole day reading a book on the train today,” I replied.

I didn’t really enjoy traveling, but I did like the long travel time that fell between journeys. If I could manage a little motion sickness, it was the perfect time to dive into a good read.

Imagine carrying a hefty book—something like *Les Misérables*—and hopping on the train. I loved the picturesque landscapes painted in the pages of my book a bit more than the chaotic scenery outside the window.

But seeing the mysterious and comical landscape around the rainy Magic Tower and the daily life in this world with orbital elevators, magic, and alchemy made me think for a moment that I’d walked right into a scene from Earth’s literature.

Not because this world felt surreal, like something out of a dark fantasy novel, but because it bore such a striking resemblance to where I once lived. The experiences and ideals of the people in this world mixed together with those from Earth.

“This place reminds me a lot of my hometown,” I mused.

“Oh? Weren’t you from the capital, Author Herodotus?” he asked.

“I am indeed from the capital,” I acknowledged.

“But this area feels quite exotic compared to the capital since many folks are from the Harren Kingdom… Well, I guess people’s homes all have some similarities.”

“Indeed.”

Now that I thought about it, I had made a promise to the Lazy King of the Harren Kingdom. What was it again? To write a novel that could topple him? That surely seemed a bit irresponsible for a monarch of an absolute monarchy.

“Speaking of which, it’s about time I studied the literature of the Harren Kingdom…”

And let’s not kid ourselves—I was hardly any less irresponsible.

I decided I would head to the Harren Kingdom.

* * *

Emerging from the long tunnel at the border, I found myself in a snow country.

This was the opening line of Yasunari Kawabata’s novel, *Snow Country*.

Here, the character for “国 (country)” doesn’t mean a nation but refers to a Japanese administrative area known as “kuni.”

In Korea, the term “border” generally signifies the boundary between countries, so in translation, it’s often paraphrased as “contact zone” or “boundary.” The term “snow country” is also frequently translated as “land of snow.”

However, I favored this translation that stayed true to the original text.

Isn’t it a privilege of the Korean language—with its similar sentence structure to Japanese—to appreciate Japanese literature comfortably without paraphrasing?

So, picking up where I left off:

“The bottom of the night turned white…”

As I broke through the long tunnel that crossed the mountains separating the “Empire” and the “Harren Kingdom,” the rain that had been falling from the sky had magically transformed into white snow.

I had arrived in the snowy land.

After waiting yet again for a while until the train pulled into the station, I hopped off at the busiest stop.

A different language floated through the air, distinct from the Empire’s. Still, the common language spoken in the Empire could be heard as well.

An elderly man hawking items on a mat in front of the station was soliciting customers in the common language. While his grammar was spot-on, his dialect was a bit quirky.

“Hey there, are you from the Empire? I have fine bracelets that symbolize the Harren Kingdom! Cheap. Very many for sale!”

I had already memorized most of the languages from this world during my childhood.

I replied in Harren, “You can speak freely.”

“Hmm? You’re pretty good at Harren!”

“I can manage basic conversations. Where’s the largest bookstore around here?”

“It’s not a problem to tell you. Just buy something first.”

“Hmm.”

The stuff laid out on the old man’s mat was just a jumble of trinkets.

Not needing much, I pointed at a fountain pen I thought would come in handy.

“I’ll buy this.”

“One silver coin, and we accept imperial notes too.”

As expected from someone dealing with tourists, he was trying to pull a fast one on me. I shrugged and pulled out a gold coin from my pocket, handing it over.

“Keep the change. Just show me the way to the bookstore, will you?”

“Huh, look at you, a generous one! I’ll draw you a map, just a moment.”

“Alright.”

The old man turned out to be quite the mapmaker.

He must’ve had all the buildings in the area memorized as he drew them up easily, complete with their unique features, making it a piece of cake to find the bookstore.

Following the map the old man drew, I finally arrived at the bookstore.

True to his word, it was the biggest in the area. But unlike the polished and swanky shops back in the imperial capital, it looked a bit old and had that strong smell of paper wafting from it.

I loved the cozy vibe.

“Welcome! If there’s a specific book you’re looking for, just let me know and I’ll help you find it!” the attendant chimed.

“I’ll just browse around a bit on my own.”

“Sure thing!”

Even though I had managed to get my hands on a bunch of novels from the Harren Kingdom back in the Empire, there were still a ton of new books I hadn’t laid eyes on.

Some even included translations of the classics I’d ‘borrowed’ from my previous life.

As for the translation quality? Well, I didn’t want to be harsh, but let’s just say it was tough to compliment.

Deciding to skip on the translated works, I opted to read all the original novels from the Harren Kingdom instead.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes! Can I help you find a book?”

“Could you wrap up all the books I’m pointing at?”

“Huh?”

“Oh, and please recommend a place to stay. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Are you joking with me—”

I pulled out a pouch of gold coins I had on me and showed it to the shopkeeper.

In an instant, his demeanor changed to one of friendliness.

“I’ll take you to the finest lodging in the kingdom!”

* * *

I had sent a heads-up home that I would be late.

I couldn’t help but wonder what my mother would say when I returned. But that was a concern for later.

I spent about a week holed up in my lodgings reading hundreds of novels.

During that time, I discovered something quite intriguing: socially critical and satirical novels had become all the rage in the Harren Kingdom. This was remarkable considering the king was an absolute monarch, the worldly ruler of all citizens, as well as the head of the Eastern Church.

It wasn’t hard to hypothesize what was going on.

“The royal family must be behind this on purpose…”

A royal family sponsoring socially critical novels to transfer power to the citizens—talk about a complicated mess.

But I didn’t mind. In fact, I found it to be rather delightful. After all, literature marches forward on the dual wings of pure and participatory literature.

After closing the last book I had bought from the bookstore, I ventured out from my lodgings, heading to a location I’d researched earlier in the week.

A building with “Ivan Publishing” written on it.

Without a second thought, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“Is anyone here?”

“Huh? Who might you be?”

“I’m a translator. I came here wanting to work.”

“Excuse me?”

This was the very publishing house that printed that poor-quality translations I’d seen at the bookstore.

As a reader before a translator, I couldn’t stand the low quality of the translated books. I had suffered enough in my previous life due to terrible translations of literature.

“I’m okay with working for free. Just give me a week. I’ll handle all texts that urgently need translation.”

“Uh, okay. I’ll speak to the editor-in-chief first.”

“Sure thing. Here are the manuscripts I’ve translated. I hope they help with your decision. I’ll stop back tomorrow.”

“What name should I mention?”

I paused for a moment, deciding how to respond.

I wasn’t inclined to use my real name, and saying Homer or Herodotus felt iffy.

“…Sophocles.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sophocles.”

“Oh, right. Mr. Sophocles.”

* * *

In the end, I managed to secure a job.

It seemed the editor-in-chief of Ivan Publishing was quite taken with my translations. Or maybe it was the allure of free labor that snagged him. Not entirely sure.

My role here was to translate literature from the ‘Empire,’ but occasionally, I also tackled books written in other foreign languages.

“Hey there, Senior!”

“Yes! Oh, wait, um, Mr. Sophocles!”

“I came up with a simple guideline for translation. There tends to be quite a bit of random, sloppy translating, so I thought laying down some principles would boost productivity.”

“Oh, thanks!”

Thus began my translation journey as I worked on various books into Harren.

I read the novels from Harren Kingdom, researched the social contexts necessary for good translations, and analyzed market trends too.

In between all that, I was busy ‘borrowing’ a book.

“Editor-in-chief!”

“Ah, our treasure, Mr. Sophocles! What’s the matter? Already finished with the translations?”

“I’d like to serial publish a novel in our house’s magazine.”

“Not a translation?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm… that shouldn’t be a problem! Thanks to you, our publishing house is thriving. What’s the novel about?”

“It’s titled *Les Misérables*.”

“The miserable ones? Nice title.”