Novels serialized in Magic Weekly mostly featured mages as protagonists. Occasionally, there might be heroes skilled in both magic and martial arts, but never a mercenary as the main character.
When he had free time, Alan would sometimes buy and read the adventure or action-packed novels from Magic Weekly. Without exception, their protagonists were always mages. Mercenaries in those stories were either thugs or rough, reckless brutes—endlessly glorifying mages while trampling on mercenaries.
The novel Alan planned to write was titled *Mercenary World*. Though the protagonist would learn magic midway, he started as a genuine mercenary—no water added.
This was awkward. Not only was the protagonist a mercenary, but Alan was also submitting to Magic Weekly. The editor-in-chief or even a junior editor wouldn’t need to read the content—just seeing the title would get it rejected outright.
Sitting at his desk, Alan felt a headache coming on. He couldn’t just change the title, could he? Renaming it to "Magical Guidance World"? That would be deceptive—and it completely mismatched the book’s core.
Frustrated, Alan scratched his silver bangs. He steeled his heart and decided: the title absolutely could not change. Altering it would betray the story’s essence. It must be *Mercenary World*. As for the protagonist being a mercenary—that wasn’t a problem. He’d just give the Magic Weekly editors a heads-up when submitting, explaining the protagonist would become a powerful mage later.
He believed they wouldn’t reject a highly promising S Rank Mage, especially one so young.
With his resolve firm, Alan prepared his magic pen and parchment. Closing his eyes, he sifted through deep memories, retrieving the gist of *Mercenary World*. He skimmed dozens of chapters in his mind, then used his will to control the magic pen, writing furiously.
This was why a magic pen cost one gold coin. Mages could control it with their thoughts, and it would transcribe their ideas word for word.
Soon, the blank parchment displayed *Mercenary World*’s synopsis: "Does history create heroes, or do heroes create history? This relationship is hard to discern. Yet from Red Moon Year 203, when Amy Haber entered Aimi Continent’s history as a small mercenary, the first decade saw history shaping the hero. The next decade became a dance between hero and history."
That was the synopsis. Alan began the main text: Chapter 1, "An Old Friend Comes in the Snow."
Time had blurred some details, but Alan retained a general impression. So, he made significant modifications.
While Alan wrote, Emma huffed and puffed, carrying a solid wood stool. Quietly, she placed it less than a meter away. Crouching on it, she swayed her little wolf tail, tilted her head, and blinked her pale pink eyes at Alan.
Though she hadn’t known him long, she didn’t dislike Alan. His aura felt comforting—like the sunlight on the Northern Plateau: gentle and warm.
Emma watched silently, listening to the magic pen scratch across parchment. Time slipped by. Hugging her knees on the stool, her head drooped, and she slowly drifted off to sleep.
When Alan finished Chapter 3 and stretched his neck, he saw Emma curled up asleep against the stool.
Noon sunlight streamed through the window, bathing her in gold like a gauzy dress. She reminded him of a ginger cat napping in a rocking chair under the sun, curled into a ball. He almost pinched her slightly chubby, baby-fat cheeks.
But Alan didn’t. He couldn’t bear to wake the sleeping little elf.
Silently, he gathered the manuscripts into a drawer. Standing, he walked to Emma, gently lifted her, and left the study.
Alan didn’t notice the blush rising on Emma’s cheeks as he carried her. Her long, dark eyelashes fluttered rapidly for an instant.
He laid her on his bed, covered her with a thin blanket, and left.
After he closed the door, Emma slowly opened her eyes. Her pale pink pupils shimmered with shyness. Alan’s embrace was as warm as his aura.
Whispering to herself, she touched her flushed cheek with her fluffy little hand, then closed her eyes again.
Alan returned to the first-floor hall. It was busier than morning—normal for noon, when guild members liked to freeload meals.
"Yo, youngest guild president ever—is lunch ready?" A delinquent-looking blond youth, Harvey Hard, grinned at Alan.
"Harvey, if you took quests as eagerly as you eat, our guild wouldn’t have a financial deficit. Don’t you agree?"
"Hey hey hey, youngest president! I, Harvey Hard, am a water mage! Are you really asking a water mage to fight Beastmonsters head-on? To quote you—doesn’t your conscience hurt saying that?" Harvey put on a heartbroken expression, as if deeply wounded.
Alan flipped him off. Shameless guy—just lazy, making excuses. He was disgracing water magic’s reputation.
Water magic wasn’t pathetic. Its destructive power was terrifying. Spells like "Spilled Water Cannot Be Recovered" and "Roaring Waves" could wipe out a city as easily as child’s play.
"Eli Gao, where are Haina and Bacas Medi?" Alan scanned the hall after glaring at Harvey. He couldn’t find the two women.
Eli Gao, mid-sip of ale, burped. "They probably went to duel."
Alan: "..." He was exasperated. These two women—couldn’t they stay still for a minute?
Duel? That was for knights, mercenaries, and other races! What were two women dueling over, anyway?
Muttering inwardly, Alan turned upstairs. Stopping them? Out of the question. He hadn’t even considered it. Two furious women—who’d dare interfere? Whoever tried would die.
