"Richard, do you know this book?"

“What book?”

Cypris handed a book to Richard as he was tidying up after the battle.

“Manafia?”

“It’s a book that’s become really popular among humans lately.”

“A book full of illustrations, huh? How interesting.”

Though some time had passed since comics became a trend, Richard had been so detached from everyday life, constantly fighting the night’s servants, that the book seemed unfamiliar to him.

As Richard briefly flipped through Manafia, he asked,

“So, why are you giving me this?”

“Check out the last part of the book.”

Following her instruction, Richard turned to the back of the book and found a comic titled Van Helsing.

“Wait a minute! This is…”

Richard, who had been casually reading, widened his eyes in shock and couldn’t help but exclaim.

“Yes, doesn’t it feel like it’s about us?”

“No way! Could someone else have known about the servants of the night?”

Richard couldn’t believe it.

The vampires depicted in Van Helsing weren’t just similar to the night’s servants—they were exactly the same. Moreover, the secret society fighting against these vampires, Van Helsing, resembled his own group, the Crimson Warden.

Even the storyline seemed as though someone had been observing them up close and transcribed their every move.

“Juro is just like the late Lord Oregon!”

Richard recalled his youth, back when he was still inexperienced and immature, getting into trouble with Satanael. It was Lord Karl Oregon, his mentor and the former leader of the Crimson Warden, who had saved him by fighting Satanael in his place and ultimately losing his life. The death of Juro in the comic mirrored Oregon’s fate too closely.

“How could they know all of this…?”

“Richard, look at the author’s name.”

At Cypris’s urging, Richard flipped back to the front page and checked the author’s name. Once again, he was shocked.

Van Helsing was written by Rupert Somerset.

It was a work created by his own brother.

 

“Lady Xenia, why did you use fire magic when our allies were so close to the enemy earlier?”

“Oh, that?”

In the mage’s tent, where Xenia was resting, Morten, one of the mages sent by Yustaf to assist the coalition, approached her.

“I was confident in my ability to control my magic.”

Xenia confidently answered Morten’s question, explaining why she used fire magic despite the proximity of their allies to the enemy.

Ninety-nine times.

That was the number of times Xenia had simulated the scenario in her mind before casting the spell and taking control of the situation.

She had used acceleration spells to heighten her mental processing and calculation speed, pushing her cognitive abilities to their limits to ensure the precision of her magic.

If an ordinary mage had attempted something like this, they would have collapsed from the mental overload, possibly even coughing up blood.

Even Yustaf had been impressed when he witnessed Xenia’s mastery of controlling fire magic using this method.

“Yes, I agree. The way multiple—no, dozens of streams of fire simultaneously targeted only the enemies was a true work of art.”

“Right?”

“But believing you can control every situation is hubris, Lady Xenia.”

Though she had been excited by Morten’s compliment, Xenia’s expression shifted at his cautionary words.

“Well, that may be true, but…”

“No matter how exceptional one’s senses and calculations are, humans are prone to mistakes.”

Morten left the tent after his words of caution, but Xenia couldn’t agree with him.

“I account for every possible mistake in my calculations….”

It wasn’t the first time Xenia had heard warnings like Morten’s.

That’s too dangerous! No human can handle such complex calculations. Lady Xenia, are you serious? Using both mental acceleration and calculation magic at the same time? This must be one of the secret techniques Lord Yustaf taught you.

Every time she demonstrated her unique magic formula, people reacted the same way, assuming that her master Yustaf had taught her something extraordinary.

Is this really that hard for others?

Xenia knew that using magic while pushing her cognitive abilities to the extreme required intense focus.

But for her, as long as she kept one person in mind, no amount of complex magical calculations seemed difficult.

Snap!

She grabbed her staff, casting her mental acceleration and calculation spells once more on herself.

When Xenia felt emotionally conflicted, there was something she liked to do.

I’ll replay the scenario until I fall asleep.

With her cognition extended to its limits, she cast countless illusionary magic, creating visions of herself in the future, living together with Rupert.

 

“Ugh!”

A child grasped their throat as though suffocating, thrashing about wildly.

It wasn’t just one child. Dozens of children lay in their beds, trembling and seizing.

“What… is this…?”

“It’s from the clown mushroom powder that the mechanical dolls have been spreading around.”

Gato knew the pain these children were experiencing, having suffered the same fate himself. He understood all too well the battle they were facing.

“So don’t let them see you with that look on your face.”

If you want to ease their pain, no matter how sad or difficult it is, you must always smile in front of them.

The head of the orphanage, along with the staff, resorted to using narcotics just to maintain a smile for the children, despite their immense grief.

“This is too cruel… it’s just too much….”

Gato cried as he witnessed the death of a child he had played with just the day before, a victim of one of the seizures.

But he couldn’t let his face show any sadness. If he didn’t smile, the children would suffer even more.

So, he smiled through his tears.

“Damn it! Why am I crying?!”

“Calm down. I’m crying too.”

“I want to smash those mechanical dolls to pieces!!!”

On the release day of the latest issue of Manafia, normally the most talked-about stories would have been Van Helsing or The Count of Monte Cristo.

But today was different.

The work everyone was talking about was The Puppet Theater.

A story that many had criticized for its slow pace had recently picked up speed and captivated readers with its dense, emotionally charged plot.

In particular, the scene where one of the three main characters, Gato, discovered the truth behind the clown disease had left readers in awe.

The vivid depiction of the suffering caused by the mechanical dolls’ powder and the heartbreaking reality of the infected captivated the audience, pulling them deeper into the narrative.

“The more I look at this art style, the more fascinating it becomes.”

“Yeah, at first, I thought it was a bit messy, but now I feel like no other style could have brought out this much emotion.”

“That scene where Gato wears the mask and cries bloody tears still gives me chills.”

The Puppet Theater had an intentionally rough art style that, at first, repelled some readers. However, the more they read, the more they realized that this gritty style played a crucial role in expressing the raw emotions of the story.

And Jorge, who was quietly listening to the people’s conversations, couldn’t help but smile at the positive reception.

 

Your Highness, laying the groundwork for the story is important, but in the end, a comic needs explosive impact.

Iolin thought back to Rupert’s words when he had come to the palace to give her advice.

This art style is wonderful!

Really? Others have said it’s too messy.

Good or bad art isn’t determined by cleanliness. The current style suits your work perfectly.

Even when others offered praise, it never quite reassured Iolin. But strangely, whenever Rupert complimented her work, she felt a surge of confidence.

So, as she continued to draw her comic, retrieving all the foreshadowing she had laid, she felt her characters come alive in a way she hadn’t before.

Tap.

She proudly looked at her collection of books, now displayed prominently.

Among them was the first fairy tale Rupert had made just for her: Snow White.

The Snow White she held was a unique copy, one where Rupert had rewritten the ending specifically for Iolin.

“I was so rude back then.”

Now that she had come to understand what it was like to create stories, Iolin felt embarrassed by her past behavior.

Demanding that Rupert change the ending just because it wasn’t to her liking had been thoughtless.

“But it was still a cute way to get back at me.”

After putting Snow White back on the shelf, she pulled out The Little Mermaid.

Opening the book, she saw the illustration Rupert had drawn—the mermaid asking the witch for legs.

Her eyes lingered on the witch with black hair.

‘How dare he!’

She remembered the head chamberlain, Ayton, getting furious when he first saw the illustration, and Iolin had a hard time calming him down.

At the time, she had simply thought Rupert had modeled the witch after her.

Now, however, she realized it had been Rupert’s playful way of getting back at her for making him change the Snow White ending.

And somehow, she liked The Little Mermaid even more than Snow White because of it.

It made her feel as though she and Rupert shared a secret that no one else knew.

 

"Ismael."

"Yes, Rupert…."

“Your comic is in trouble right now.”

As Rupert spoke with a serious expression, Ismael’s face darkened, already sensing something was wrong.

White Whale, Ismael’s comic about a boy’s adventure at sea and his pursuit of a great whale, had recently started losing readers’ interest.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Ismael knew why the comic was losing its audience but had no idea how to fix it.

“It’s probably because of the ending.”

And Rupert, too, knew the reason.