Alan’s forehead throbbed with exasperation. Haina stared blankly, utterly dumbfounded. Rob wealthy merchants? Was that something a legitimate mage would say? Robbery was still a crime under Leo Kingdom law, for goodness’ sake!

Emma looked thoughtful. So this was an option?

Snap!

Alan gently tapped Emma’s little head. “Don’t listen to Medi’s nonsense. Robbing merchants? Absolutely not. Understand?”

Emma nodded obliviously. She didn’t really get it, but if Alan said no, then no it was. Alan was always right.

Seeing Emma’s obedient nod, Alan turned to Medi. No wonder—coming from a DarkMage, “robbing merchants” rolled off the tongue as easily as breathing. Even with his S-rank strength, Alan would never dare say such a thing.

“Medi, don’t say ‘rob wealthy merchants’ again. Unless you want warrants from the Light Cathedral, Mage Guild, Adventurer Guild, and Leo Kingdom hunting you down. Better keep that phrase buried forever.”

Unlike legitimate mages—who only faced heat from the Mage Guild and Leo Kingdom officials—DarkMages drew fire from all four factions the moment they broke the law. Sometimes even the Mercenary Guild joined in. A law-abiding DarkMage was fine, but one misstep turned them into a rat fleeing down every street.

“Heehee, Alan, are you worried about me?”

Medi stepped close, tiptoeing with her hands clasped behind her back. She blinked her bewitching eyes up at Alan’s handsome face, grinning. She was growing more fond of him by the second.

Strong, caring, gentle—wasn’t he the perfect man her master had described? Alan was hers, and she wouldn’t let anyone steal him. But as a DarkMage, staying by his side meant giving up her old, illegal hobbies.

A little annoying. She couldn’t play with interesting people anymore. Well, for Alan’s sake, she’d endure it.

Alan took a step back, tearing his dark eyes away from Medi’s striking cleavage. At nearly six feet tall, he’d caught a clear view—and a whiff of her natural fragrance—when he’d glanced down.

“Alan, come here. I need to talk to you.” Haina’s eyes blazed. That woman dared flirt with the boy she’d raised like her own, right under her nose! If not for not wanting to seem like a shrew to Alan, she’d have burned that hussy to ashes already.

Just looking at those seductive eyes confirmed it—Bacas Medi was trouble. Behind the bar, Haina’s gaze kept drifting to Medi’s ample chest.

Cow. That’s what she’d nicknamed her in her head. What else could you call that?

“What is it?” Alan stepped in front of Haina, blocking her hostile stare. Emma clung to his sleeve, never letting go. With Alan there, she feared nothing and felt no loneliness.

Haina glared at Alan, annoyed. She knew Medi and Emma’s arrival wasn’t his fault, but she couldn’t help it.

Alan shivered under her look. “Haina, stop staring like that. Your eyes are screaming, ‘I want to punch you.’”

“That obvious?”

Alan nodded. “That obvious.”

“Fine, I’ll be subtler next time. Now, serious talk: the guild’s finances are tight. What our members earn barely covers expenses. I thought capturing a DarkMage would help, but… wishful thinking.”

“You mentioned a quick way to earn gold earlier. What’s the plan? Spit it out.”

Haina poured a glass of juice for Emma. She couldn’t stay mad at such an adorable beast-eared girl.

“I’ve got two solutions. First, see that rusty greatsword in the left corner? It’s a divine artifact! Sell it, and we won’t just get ten thousand gold coins—we could fetch ten thousand magic coins. If we can actually sell it.”

Haina’s delicate hands twitched on the counter. She itched to slap Alan silly.

If that rusty sword was truly divine, would he leave it gathering dust in the hall?

“Ahem. That’s option one. Option two: write a book!”

Haina froze. Write a book? Like adventure novels or hero biographies?

Bards might sing it, and royalties could flow—if it was gripping enough. But could Alan even write?

Her stunned expression shifted to doubt. Alan, who knew her like his own skin, caught it instantly. “Haina, besides becoming a hero or Overlord, I’ve always dreamed of being a bestselling author. Then I’d nap on a glittering pile of magic coins.”

“If your book’s anything like those you wrote at Arcane Academy—‘Xiao Ming’s Adventure’ or ‘The Princess and Her Seven Men’—let’s just discuss selling that rusty sword as a ‘divine artifact’ instead.”

Haina had read Alan’s childhood ‘novels.’ If those could sell, that corner sword might as well be divine too.

Alan flushed. Those two books—barely 200,000 words total—had earned exactly two gold coins. Worth noting: ‘The Princess and Her Seven Men’ sold best.

(Alan’s friend Layne kept it hidden under his bed.)

But this time, Alan wouldn’t write some short fluff. He’d craft a grand epic—a true masterpiece worthy of bards’ songs.

He’d borrow a classic from his past life, tweak it for this world, and write it out. Once the gold rolled in, he’d hand the guild presidency to Kane temporarily and set off on his travels. Just thinking about it felt wonderful.