Chapter 110: Chapter 110

"You wouldn't believe it, Mr. Williams! You simply have no idea just how much of a sensation the 'Stranger's Story Collection' has become in Bel Diran!"

As he spoke, he pulled several stacks of newspapers from his black, buckled briefcase.

The smell of fresh ink was still strong.

Jenkins glanced over them. Most were highly specialized literary journals or local Bel Diran tabloids, the kind that were hard to find in Nolan.

"Their praise seems a bit over the top."

Jenkins flipped through a few pages before abruptly shutting the paper. He strongly suspected that the publisher, in his quest for profit, had somehow taught himself the art of advanced marketing.

The portly middle-aged man quickly waved his hands, undoing the top button of his coat. "I just got back from Bel Diran on the steam train, so I'm very familiar with the situation there. Mr. Williams, you've truly become famous throughout the kingdom. I hear even the princesses are fond of your book!"

"I don't know much about politics, but... our kingdom doesn't have any princesses, does it?"

"Whatever." Latest content publıshed on novel·fiɾe·net

Jenkins took the envelope from the publisher, slid his middle finger under the flap to lift it, and his eyebrows shot up.

"This seems to be quite a bit more than we agreed on, doesn't it?"

It was more than just 'a bit.' He knew how many books were in the first print run in Bel Diran, so he could calculate that this sum of gold pounds was more than ten times his normal share.

Mr. Bro gave an embarrassed laugh. "The book was selling so well that we had to do an emergency reprint..."

"I believe the contract we signed says something different."

Jenkins cut him off. "Doesn't a reprint require my approval?"

"But who would turn down gold pounds, Mr. Williams? Your tal—"

His voice trailed off under Jenkins's silent gaze, as if he were facing an ancient, divine statue.

Mr. Bro pulled a white, embroidered cotton handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe his forehead, only then realizing how blasphemous his earlier thought had been.

"O Traveler, forgive me."

He prayed softly. This deity held the portfolio of contracts and was thus a common object of worship among merchants.

As for how devout those merchants truly were, only the gods could say.

"This time, it was our fault."

He explained in a low voice.

Mr. Bro had been doing business in Nolan City for many years, and he had so-called 'friends' in both city hall and the criminal underworld.

He was well aware of just how much influence an unassuming antique dealer like Papa Oliver wielded in the city. He also recalled that when he was first approached for the partnership, the approval document had been personally signed by a bishop from the Church of Knowledge and Books.

Otherwise, the book's publication wouldn't have gone through so quickly.

"Don't be so serious."

Jenkins, unaware of how intimidating his divine taint could be to someone naturally sensitive, tucked the envelope into his pocket and turned to look out at the street.

"Mr. Bro, I'm just an ordinary writer."

A troop of men in black on horseback rode past on Fifth Queen's Avenue, forcing pedestrians to scatter. What was going on? Jenkins wondered. Who were these people acting so arrogantly in broad daylight, and where were the city police?

"No, no, how could you call your talent ordinary?"

"I've never inquired about the book's sales figures. I've always accepted whatever profit share you've given me."

"That is a testament to your generosity. I'm truly honored to be working with someone as noble as you."

Mr. Bro was not stingy with his praise—half of it genuine, the other half certainly for show.

In truth, the kingdom, in its effort to limit the power of the Orthodox Churches, would never grant the Church of Knowledge and Books full control of the publishing industry. The secular power struggle was a constant affair.

But in a world where true gods existed and could prove their miracles, the power of faith was formidable. Jenkins had initially worried that his naivety would make him an easy target for swindlers. Papa Oliver, however, had reassured him. Among the mid- to high-level professionals in the publishing industry, one-fifth were devout followers of the Sage, and a majority of the rest were at least casual believers.

In other words, with Bishop Parrold's patronage alone, if Mr. Bro ever tried to pull any tricks, he would surely lose his entire life's fortune. Most of the people around him wouldn't hesitate to prove their piety to the Sage by reporting any accounting discrepancies.

This was the greatest advantage of his identity as Jenkins R. Williams—coming from a family of the Church's core believers gave him more power than any down-on-their-luck minor noble family could claim.

This simple warning was the best rebuke Jenkins could think of for Mr. Bro.

"I don't sort of thing at all."

He thought to himself, watching the troop of men in black ride off into the distance.

He much preferred spending time alone in his room—reading, studying, or writing—to negotiating with people. That was his favorite pastime.

Now that the 'Stranger's Story Collection' had made a name for itself in the capital, Mr. Bro planned to team up with several other major publishers to promote it nationwide.

Jenkins had no objections; his affection for gold pounds was just like anyone else's. The Church would have to mediate the specifics of the collaboration, and the details promised to be complex. Today was just for establishing a preliminary agreement.

"Mr. Williams, I actually came today with another question, aside from what we've already discussed. It's about your next book..."

"I'm preparing it now."

"So, what genre have you chosen?"

"Love, friendship, family, court intrigue, and a dash of the occult. Something like that."

Jenkins nodded as he spoke.

"Wonderful! It's fantastic that you're breaking free from the confines of fairy tales to try a new genre. When the next book is published, your reputation is sure to reach a new height!"

The publisher smiled in satisfaction. He lifted a hand adorned with a gold ring to fan his collar a few times, but a sheen of sweat still broke out involuntarily on his forehead.

Jenkins expressed appropriate concern for his business partner.

"No, no, I'm still young. Perhaps I've just been visiting Mrs. Tinis a bit too often lately..."

A suggestive smile spread across his face. Jenkins, stroking the cat curled up on his lap, pursed his lips. The cat, Chocolate, flicked her tail, nearly wrapping it around his wrist.

He was probably referring to some famous courtesan.