Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 33: The First Victory, The Count of Monte Cristo
“Esteemed Claw Druid, someone has offered a higher price.”
At the sound of Marlon’s bid, Trist Rem, who had been playing the part of a down-and-out venerable paladin, didn’t hesitate for even a moment. He snapped shut The Book of Aery, which had been spread open before him.
One hundred thousand Lants in gold coins was, without doubt, an enormous and tempting fortune. But Trist Rem’s years of adventuring experience told him something crucial: he could not let the lure of wealth sway him now. He had to disregard the coins and continue to follow the boy—Marlon—who held the power to shape his fate.
“You, half-breed brat, are you trying to cause trouble?”
The Claw Druid, turning his half-human, half-bear face toward Marlon, narrowed his small, beady eyes with clear displeasure.
“This book, inscribed with unknown scripts, is not something a mere child like you should possess. It belongs in the hands of a respected scholar, someone who can study it thoroughly,” Claw Druid Conchita Bowden said, his gaze piercing Marlon. To emphasize his authority, he raised his massive, broad hand, as though the sheer size of his palm could intimidate the boy.
“Esteemed Claw Druid, you are indeed correct,” Marlon replied, nodding respectfully. “This book should be entrusted to a learned scholar for proper study.”
His words softened Conchita Bowden’s expression slightly. But before the Claw Druid could speak again, Marlon shifted his tone, calm and deliberate:
“Therefore, I bid one hundred and ten thousand Lants. Now, it’s your turn, Claw Druid.”
With those words, Marlon’s gaze met Conchita Bowden’s. His eyes, calm and unwavering, conveyed a silent message:
You want The Book of Aery? No problem. Just outbid me.
“You—”
The Claw Druid’s face twisted in a mixture of surprise and irritation. He seemed about to curse, only to stop himself mid-word.
“Very well! It…” The Claw Druid reached out, pointing to The Book of Aery in the paladin’s hands, and spoke each word slowly, deliberately, as if savoring them: “—is—yours.”
“Thank you, Esteemed Claw Druid, for your indulgence.”
Marlon bowed politely, every bit the picture of courteous refinement.
But Claw Druid Conchita Bowden had no intention of giving up so easily. He didn’t move away. Instead, he spoke again, his voice sharp:
“Half-breed boy, don’t thank me just yet—where is the money? Tell me, where is your one hundred and ten thousand Lants?”
Clever.
The Claw Druid truly was clever. He had immediately found a way to corner Marlon.
One hundred and ten thousand Lants in paper bills was no small sum. Yet Marlon carried no magical pouches or hidden compartments. And the Claw Druid’s naturally keen sense of perception left him no doubt: the leather pouch Marlon clutched under his arm contained nothing but ordinary paper, not gold-equivalent bills.
As a result, all eyes in the crowd turned to Marlon.
Unlike Claw Druid Conchita Bowden, the spectators hoped for something far more dramatic: that the slender, handsome boy would casually reach into his leather pouch and—rattle—pull out a stack of green, crisp bills totaling one hundred and ten thousand Lants.
Such a scene would satisfy the crowd’s expectations for a display of wealth and bravado.
Perhaps sensing their anticipation, Marlon finally smiled and moved. He lifted the leather pouch from under his arm and slowly, deliberately untied the thin strings sealing it.
Then, from the pouch, he drew out a thick, hefty stack of… manuscript paper.
Exactly as the Claw Druid had smelled, the pouch held not gold, but manuscript paper—pages upon pages filled with writing.
Sharp-eyed spectators even noticed the top sheet, bound and marked with the titles of stories in Lorin script:
“Snow White”
“Pinocchio”
“Puss in Boots”
“Cinderella”
“Sleeping Beauty”
“Shrek”
“The Count of Monte Cristo”
“The Royal Crest”
…
The clever ones in the crowd realized immediately:
These were eight previously unheard stories!
“I may not have one hundred and ten thousand Lants,” Marlon declared, holding the manuscripts high and letting the crowd’s eyes rest upon them. His voice brimmed with confidence. “But I have these stories—worth at least five hundred Lants per ten thousand words.”
It was a performance. A calculated display. Self-promotion.
But in a world utterly unfamiliar with Earth’s overwhelming, relentless culture of hype and self-marketing, this act was astonishingly effective.
Even with newspapers and top-tier advertisements, the closest comparison in this foreign world was the mundane claim: “XXX product, highest quality in White Sand City, lowest price in White Sand City.” Marlon’s gesture had far more impact—he had captured the crowd’s imagination completely.
The crowd went wild, their excitement reignited, swept back into disbelief and awe.
“Amazing! Could this boy be a descendant of the God of Knowledge and Thought?!”
“Five hundred Lants per ten thousand words? Incredible!”
“No wonder he dared to bid on The Book of Aery! He truly is a scholar!”
“Young man, I am smitten! I too, am a literary lady…”
…and on and on, the crowd chattered endlessly.
“Five hundred Lants per ten thousand words? Hmph! Half-breed brat, who do you think you are?” The Claw Druid’s face darkened with embarrassment as the murmurs of the crowd stung. He snorted coldly, pointing at Marlon. “Boy, do you dare let me see your manuscripts?”
“As you wish,” Marlon replied elegantly, bowing once again.
Ha! Was Marlon afraid of the Claw Druid reading his manuscripts? Not in the slightest.
“Very well!” The Claw Druid snatched the manuscripts from Marlon’s hands without hesitation, flipping to the first page and beginning to read aloud.
“On the twenty-fourth of February, 18357 of the Dark Age, a lookout at the lighthouse of the sea god Alonso signaled the townsfolk that the three-masted ship Christ had arrived. Departing from Ruse, it had passed through Saint Virlan and Brest. Immediately, a harbor pilot was dispatched, navigating past the Blue Storm Fortress, boarding the vessel between Saint White Rock Cape and Nacht Island.
The platform of the harbor pier filled instantly with onlookers. In that era of White Sand City, the arrival of a large ship was a major event, particularly one like the Christ. The ship belonged to a local owner and had been constructed at the Estre Shipyard, making it especially noteworthy…”
The Claw Druid’s face fell as he read, unable to maintain his composure.
The crowd, watching the Claw Druid’s expression and listening to his reading, reached the same conclusion: Marlon’s manuscripts were indeed worth five hundred Lants per ten thousand words!
And Marlon knew, with the certainty of a young genius, that he was about to become White Sand City’s most famous prodigious young author.
The first victory of his “Triple-Win Plan,” thanks to the unexpected appearance of Claw Druid Conchita Bowden, had already been secured—long before anyone had realized it.