Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 44: The God-Sealing Party
Compared to the days not long ago, the young minotaur, Ester, had recovered significantly. He was not the same cheerful and lively boy he once had been, not yet—but at least now, he was willing to exchange a few words with others, even if only shallow, surface-level conversation. It was progress, fragile though it might be.
The reason for this gradual reopening of his heart lay in the survival of his father—the skilled papermaker. On that dreadful night of the Great Riot, when so many lives had been claimed, Ester’s father had, against all odds, escaped with his life.
Yet for reasons known only to him, Ester stubbornly refused to return home. Instead, he lingered here, under Marlon’s roof.
And what was stranger still—whenever Marlon so much as mentioned his father, Ester’s mood darkened instantly. He grew irritable, restless, his emotions twisting into visible frustration.
As for the father himself, he had come secretly to see Marlon once. Upon hearing from Marlon about Ester’s condition, the man had bowed his head in shame. He left behind several hundred Lants in cash—blood and sweat earned coin—and pleaded with Marlon to care for Ester for a while longer.
It was a messy family matter, the kind that even the most impartial judge could never untangle. Marlon could sense a deep, unspoken rift between the minotaur father and son, but he had no idea how to mend it. In the end, all he could do was agree to the father’s request.
After all, it was merely one more mouth to feed in his household. Both in sentiment and in reason, Marlon could hardly refuse. Truthfully, even had the father said nothing, Marlon would likely have suggested Ester remain with him a while. The boy’s fragile state worried him too much to send him away so soon.
And so it came to pass that Ester stayed in Marlon’s blossoming courtyard. Each day, whether Marlon went to the orphanage to tell the children their daily stories, or sat beneath the courtyard vines to fulfill his peculiar duty—reading aloud twenty thousand words of The Book of Aery to the Claw Druid master—Adela would always make sure Ester was called to listen as well.
Who could say? Perhaps one day, a single tale might strike some hidden chord within the boy, loosening the knot that bound his heart. That was Marlon’s quiet hope.
Naturally, if stories involved Ester, then so too would games. Once Marlon had invented the tabletop game “Dungeons & Dragons,” how could he not draw the young minotaur into its orbit?
In fact, before ever introducing it to Ivna, Marlon had already taken inspiration from The Investiture of the Gods and reshaped it into a TRPG he named “The War of Enfeoffment,” built upon the rules of Dungeons & Dragons. In the other world—the Earth he once knew—such games were simply called “running the table.”
The test runs had gone surprisingly well. After two months of daily storytelling, Marlon had already matured into a capable Dungeon Master. He could pluck any fragment of The Investiture of the Gods, reweave it into a background story, and set his eager friends loose upon it.
Yet, curiously, their choices never changed. Every time, the little fox-girl Amy chose to play a Qingqiu assassin; Adela unfailingly picked a winged archer; young Ester gravitated toward a heavy-armored warrior of the Chiyou tribe; and the Claw Druid Master, of course, played a human cultivator specializing in wood-elemental magic.
And every time—without fail—the fledgling party of four would suffer a total party wipe within two hours, undone by all manner of humiliating misfortunes.
But the defeats only seemed to heighten their enthusiasm. They grew addicted to these nightly runs, so much so that it had become a ritual: no one slept until they had played at least one game.
Even Bernard, the once-proud Inspector who had stubbornly remained an observer, was dragged into the fray just yesterday. By the end of the night, he was a “glorious Qingqiu spearman,” much to everyone’s amusement.
Thus, when Marlon asked Adela—while she served fruit juice—to gather the others for a rare midday session, the three arrived almost instantly, storming into his study as though answering a military summons.
By then, Marlon had already prepared everything. The Dungeon Master’s screen was set up, hiding his notes from prying eyes; the prop cards and battle sheets were neatly sorted; and even Ivna had finished skimming through the player’s manual, memorizing the rules she felt most essential.
“Eh? You, little lady—how do you even have time to play today? Didn’t the newspapers say you’ve been making so much money your hands can’t count fast enough?”
The Claw Druid Master chuckled, tossing the remark at Ivna as she entered. He had no business ties to her, so his words carried no malice, only teasing. But the jest was not far from truth—at least if one believed the newspapers.
Her publishing house, Emerald Crest Publishing House, had printed two million copies of Marlon’s books in the very first run. Even after deducting costs—author royalties, printing, and distribution—the profit margin, conservatively at ten percent, meant at least a tenth of a lant per copy. The total, when added up, was staggering.
And that wasn’t counting the fortune brought in by the sale of Marlon-brand merchandise: T-shirts, charms, and other goods whose margins were far higher than books. Rumor had it she was already preparing for a second run of another two million copies.
“It’s true I’ve earned a little,” Ivna admitted with a soft laugh. “But most of it is already gone. Acquiring Golden Riley Publishing alone swallowed a fortune. The rest went into ordering paper, hiring printers, purchasing land for a factory to make merchandise, recruiting workers… By the end, there’s hardly anything left.”
“Fair enough,” the Claw Druid Master nodded sagely. “Spending is always easier than earning.”
He dragged a chair over and flopped down opposite Marlon, who sat behind the raised DM screen. Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, he barked with barely restrained glee:
“Well, what are you all standing around for? Sit down and make your character sheets already! Ha! Last night, when we ventured into Xuanyuan’s Tomb and got slaughtered by that vixen Su Daji, I swore I’d have my revenge. Today, it shall be repaid in full!”
At his urging, everyone quickly pulled up chairs. Everyone, that is, except Amy. The little fox-girl stood pouting, glaring daggers at the Claw Druid Master.
“Eh? Amy, why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, finally noticing her stare.
She puffed out her cheeks, raised a tiny hand, and pointed to the fluffy fox ears atop her head. Then she bared her dainty white teeth at him.
“Our cute little Amy means to say—hmph!—Uncle Conchita is a bad man! Throwing shade at fox spirits is wrong, because Amy herself is one too!”
The exaggerated, cutesy delivery could only have come from Marlon, who, naturally, received an enormous eye-roll from the indignant fox-girl.
“Ah! My apologies, my dearest Amy! I meant only that that fox spirit, Su Daji, is the vile one!” The Claw Druid Master waved his hands frantically, stumbling over his words as he tried to appease her.
And with good reason. For the adorable fox-girl was no ordinary companion—she was their chef, and a skilled one at that. Offend anyone else, but never offend the cook. That was one of his most sacred life philosophies.
With Marlon’s joking tone and the Druid’s heartfelt apology, Amy’s temper was soothed, her anger dissolving like morning mist.
Thus, the new campaign of “The War of Enfeoffment TRPG” began.
A Qingqiu assassin, a Chiyou heavy-armored warrior, a winged archer, a human cultivator of wood spells, and a sea-folk cultivator of water magic—all stood ready to set forth on their journey through the world of The Investiture of the Gods.
Once the character sheets were filled out and the dice clattered into place, Marlon leaned forward, lowering his voice as he began to weave the tale:
“On the eastern shores of the Jiuzhou Continent, in the lands of Nanzhan Buzhou, there lies a fortress built with the toil of countless hands and the wealth of countless coffers. Its name… Chentang Pass. The commander of this pass is a man called Li Jing.
Now, Li Jing’s wife has carried a child in her womb for three long years… and still, it has not been born.
Whispers spread among the townsfolk: the child must surely be a monster, a punishment from the mountain god for Li Jing’s lack of reverence. Desperate to calm the unrest, the weary general seeks brave adventurers to investigate the abandoned mountain temple said to be haunted…”
And so, the stage was set.