Alan didn’t know Noah’s position at Magic Weekly, so he naturally didn’t trust her lightly. Still, he was quite satisfied with the 70-30 split—70% for him, 30% for Magic Weekly. He had no objections. Now, he only needed the editor-in-chief seated behind the desk to nod in agreement before signing the magical contract.
"Young friend Alan, please don’t doubt Noah’s words," Paros said, catching the skepticism in Alan’s eyes. He smiled warmly. "She’s a senior editor at our Magic Weekly. Though only 22 this year, she’s renowned among editors for her sharp eye. What she just told you reflects Newdali City Magic Weekly’s stance. Are you satisfied, young friend Alan?"
"In that case," Alan replied smoothly, "let’s sign the magical contract."
Paros beamed. He adored straightforward young people. "Excellent." He pulled open his desk drawer, took out three parchment sheets inscribed with terms, signed them, stamped his personal magic seal and Magic Weekly’s official seal, then handed the contract to Noah. As the responsible editor, she needed to sign too.
After Noah finished, it was Alan’s turn. He wouldn’t sign blindly—this was a magical contract. Breaching it meant facing sanctions from the Magic Guild, a behemoth no one dared provoke. Alan carefully read every clause before signing his name with satisfaction.
At Magic Weekly, pen names didn’t exist. Authors used their real names. That’s why novelists here rarely abandoned their stories. If they did, furious readers would immediately flood their homes with knives, greatswords, and daggers.
Years ago in Leo Kingdom, an author stopped updating his novel. His obsessive fans trapped him at home, refusing to let him use the toilet or eat until he wrote 10,000 words daily. After six months of torment, the author finally killed off the male lead in a rage. Then, those indignant readers beat him into a swollen, unrecognizable mess.
With the contract signed, Noah turned her bright eyes to Alan. "Alan, roughly how many words is this novel?"
Alan calculated. The original was nearly three million words, but his version would be around 2.5 million—no more than that. "Between two to two and a half million words. It won’t exceed that. You can rest assured for serialization."
Noah’s eyes sparkled at the number. Such length could sustain serialization for two to three years. Magic Weekly released one issue per week, each containing 10,000 words.
"The manuscript you brought covers five issues," she said. "How about submitting every five issues? Fifty thousand words per batch. Is that acceptable?"
Alan nodded with a smile. "Naturally, no problem."
"Then, to our pleasant cooperation." Noah extended her slender right hand. Alan shook it firmly. "Cooperation."
After discussing the novel further with Paros and Noah, Alan rose to take his leave. The contract was sealed; all that remained was giving Paros his magic crystal card number.
Magic crystal cards—the universal banking tool across Central Continent’s human realms. Jointly issued by the Magic Guild, Adventurers Guild, Mercenary Guild, Light Cathedral, and the Six Great Empires, they guaranteed absolute security against theft or fraud. Alan’s card was at the guild, but he knew its number by heart.
Leaving his card number behind, Alan departed Magic Weekly with Emma. When his novel would be published was no longer his concern.
At noon, Alan skipped returning to the guild. Instead, he took Emma to sample delicacies on Commercial Street. As for Haina and Medi—they wouldn’t starve. Haina’s cooking was decent, though not as good as his. What worried Alan was whether Haina would prank Medi while cooking.
Like slipping in laxatives. Murder? Haina wouldn’t go that far. Having grown up together, Alan knew her character well.
Lunch cost Emma three gold coins alone. Three gold coins sounded trivial—but for an ordinary family, it was a month’s living expenses. In villages outside Newdali City, it could cover three to six months.
Restaurant owners gaped at Emma’s appetite. Such a tiny girl devoured food twice her body weight.
For afternoon tea, Alan and Emma visited Layne’s Snowy Ice Castle. Since that night in Nevernight City, Layne had only visited Cloud Peak Guild twice. He rarely went now. To him, the guild had become a battlefield of love rivals—a terrifying one.
After tea, Alan took Emma to the Genuine & Fake Magic Items Shop. This time, the blue bird atop Kuze’s head shot Alan a withering glare before turning away. Ever since that human mentioned "pooping," Kuze made the bird "do his business" before bedtime.
The blue bird, Kulo, had sworn vengeance. He’d wait until he grew up.
Alan bought three ladies’ robes from Kuze. These weren’t ordinary robes—they bore miniature magic arrays. Their quality and colors outshone anything on Commercial Street.
Kuze demanded 3,000 gold coins for the three vibrantly colored robes. After half an hour of haggling, an exasperated Kuze knocked off two coins. Alan left happily with the robes—on credit, of course.
2,998 gold coins? Alan didn’t have that much. If he did, Cloud Peak Guild wouldn’t be in financial crisis. He’d pay after receiving royalties. Kuze wasn’t worried—Alan’s guild was right here in Newdali City. If he defaulted? Kuze would collect personally. No money? No problem. He knew many beastkin, Dwarves, and Barbarians who fancied human boys.
Around 5 or 6 PM, Alan finally returned to the guild with Emma. The moment he stepped inside, a petite figure darted toward him like a gust of wind—and slammed into his chest.
*CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!*
Bones snapped like twigs. "Brother Alan!" chirped Sia, the golden-haired loli in a pink dress. She blinked her ruby-red eyes, grinning down at Alan as he lay gasping for breath. "Did you miss me these past days?"
