0 – 00. Prologue
00.
“There’s really nothing decent to read.”
The boy listlessly cast aside the thick anthology he had been reading, while laying slanted on his bed.
With his hands massaging his tired eyes, he grumbled displeasingly as he slid to lay down on the pillow.
“Why are all books written as if they are elaborate anthologies? Even children’s books wouldn’t sell if they were written like this, no one would buy them!”
He was left baffled at how every piece of literature seemed to be at the level of a complex anthology.
The boy had no choice but express his exasperation.
These text blocks, deeply imbued with the egotism of those who pursue art rather than commercial novels, awaited the reader, decorated with all sorts of difficult allegories. It wasn’t physically painful like being hit with an axe, but every time he read it, it gave him a headache.
He could not understand those who enjoyed reading such novels.
Books that were so difficult that you had to decipher them as you read. This made novels seem like they were meant only for nobility.
It would be great if the words naturally flowed as you read.
“Damn it. If only I were a fantasy writer…”
If he were a fantasy writer, he would be a superstar author who could change the paradigm of the world and wield an incredible influence over the continent, just by writing well.
Unfortunately, the boy was a man who lived half-heartedly in fantasy.
“What would happen if we dropped a martial arts writer into a fantasy world?”
