Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 30: The Paltry Price of One Hundred Thousand Lant
Seeing the offer of a thousand Lant as her incentive, Adela hesitated only briefly before nodding in agreement, officially becoming Marlon’s personal secretary, tasked solely with transcribing his writings.
Ah, work for the secretary when there’s work… and nothing when there isn’t… cough, cough. Of course, Marlon wasn’t the kind to be crude or lecherous; at most, during breaks, he would tease Adela a little, and even then, only to win the favor of his capable little secretary who could transcribe at his pace.
In truth, on the very first day alone, Adela had copied over sixty thousand words. So, once she received the full sixty Lant salary stipulated in Marlon’s formal contract, the half-demon girl had no intention of giving up this job.
Sixty Lant—a sum that ordinary people would struggle to earn in an entire month!
Determined to prove her worth further, Adela proactively took on the role of a private tutor, teaching cultural knowledge to the little fox-girl Amy and young Anvi.
“Adela, who taught you all this… knowledge?”
Marlon asked, curious, as he observed Adela handling the role of a tutor with such ease.
“My mother did.”
Adela’s answer was odd—at least, Marlon didn’t fully understand it, interpreting it to mean that her mother had been the one to educate her. Considering that the records on Trist Rem only mentioned that he had brought his daughter to White Sand City, with no mention of Adela’s mother, Marlon simply nodded slightly and added, “Adela, make sure you teach them well. I’ll give you an additional thirty Lant per month as a tutor’s salary.”
Thirty Lant was a reasonable wage for a tutor, especially since lodging and meals were normally included by the employer.
At this point, Marlon had no way of gauging Adela’s natural talent as a tutor, so he saw no reason to offer a higher salary—it was not exploitation, but fair compensation for work rendered.
“Huh? No, no, that’s not necessary! I’ve already taken so much from you; how could I possibly accept more for this…”
Adela’s eyes widened in surprise. To her, there was no need for Marlon to pay her extra for tutoring.
Before she could finish her protest, Marlon interrupted her: “Adela, don’t you want a better life for yourself… and for your father?”
Instinctively, Adela nodded. Marlon, satisfied, delivered his words with decisive clarity: “Then it’s settled! One must be rewarded for their effort—this is a rule that even the gods cannot defy!”
With that, he turned and left, leaving Adela standing there, stunned.
“Really? Reward for effort… even the gods cannot defy this rule?”
Adela repeated his words softly, her amethyst-gold eyes filled with confusion as she sank into thought.
Time passed—she didn’t know how long—before she murmured again to herself: “Mother… it’s a pity you can’t hear this. You’d be so happy… Mother, I miss you so much…”
“Adela, could you bring the organized manuscripts downstairs for me? I need to go to the publisher. Stay here and make sure Amy and Anvi study properly, alright?”
Marlon’s voice carried from the small living room below.
“Yes, of course!” Adela replied, finally pulling herself from her thoughts of longing and confusion: “Just a moment! I’ll bring them down right away!”
Soon, Adela delivered the neatly organized manuscripts into Marlon’s hands.
Meanwhile, Marlon was comforting the pouting little fox-girl, who clung to his coat with a determination that defied letting go:
“Amy, sweetheart, I have an important task to handle right now, so I can’t take my adorable Miss Amy out shopping. How about this—once I finish my work, I’ll dedicate a whole day to playing with you, anywhere you want!”
Though Marlon apologized and made promises, the little fox-girl remained stubborn, her large sapphire eyes widening with suspicion and curiosity.
After much coaxing, Marlon finally offered a “major concession”: an extra bedtime story each night, which finally earned her reluctant release.
Thankfully, with Adela helping with transcription, Marlon could now easily carve out the time he needed.
It was still a mad dash on the crowded steam bus, but Marlon had tasked Ivna with arranging a steam locomotive for him. Calculating the time, he knew he could ride it back from the publisher—steam automobiles were still too expensive, so the locomotive would have to suffice for now.
After nearly two hours wasted in transit, Marlon arrived at the entrance of Banmubuk Street. Straightening his wrinkled clothes from the jostling on the bus, he carried a thick stack of manuscripts in a leather folder, strolling leisurely toward the direction of the Emerald Crest Publishing House.
Banmubuk Street lay at the heart of White Sand City’s most bustling district. Vehicles and pedestrians flowed endlessly, and Marlon noticed numerous buildings under construction or being renovated along the way.
The cacophony of voices, horse bells, and steam horns filled the air, mingling with the scent of building dust and rust—every sense saturated with the thriving, industrious energy of a steampunk city.
Pushing through the crowd, Marlon finally spotted the two-story building of Emerald Crest Publishing. Several neighboring structures had been demolished, leaving a white, empty lot of at least three hundred square meters.
No doubt, this was the plot banker Sols had purchased for the new headquarters of Sols Bank.
“Quite an investment… buying a lot this big in a prime location isn’t cheap. Honestly, I can’t help but wonder… is this really a banker on the brink of ruin?”
Marlon muttered under his breath.
Pressing on, he soon saw what he had expected: a loosely formed crowd of over a thousand people occupying the three-hundred-square-meter plot.
Feigning casual curiosity, Marlon squeezed into the throng.
“Spectator gatherings for the Godly Church” were abundant even in the Earthly world, and in this divine-filled alternate world, believers were just as plentiful. It took Marlon considerable effort to reach the innermost circle.
There, he finally saw the object of everyone’s attention.
An aged, sorrowful Paladin.
Indeed, the figure at the center was an old, sorrowful holy warrior, clad in tattered, classical armor without any insignia of a particular order. He crouched on the ground, clutching a thick, obscure tome, at least half a foot thick. In front of him lay a large white cloth, roughly the size of a small mat, with fist-sized characters neatly inscribed across it.
“One hundred thousand Lant—selling the sacred text for a pittance!”
Yes, that was exactly what the cloth on the ground declared.