bookbashuk Page 537
Page 537
"you……!!"
His emotions were suddenly jolted, like a bomb being ignited by a match.
The emotions that had been so hard to suppress instantly flared up at this unexpected sarcastic remark.
The moment his fist clenched, his muscles trembled slightly beneath his trench coat. Even as reason pounded in his ears to dissuade him, anger instantly shattered the last vestiges of his composure.
He knew, of course, that the guy in front of him never had a clean mouth;
He knew all too well that even as the "writer's" Master, and even with Command Seals in hand, he couldn't truly shut this guy up.
As a former sergeant major of the Imperial Magic Corps, he had undergone rigorous mental training and should remain unmoved by any provocation.
But the most terrifying thing about the knife of language is never its sharpness, but its bluntness.
It slowly, bit by bit, inch by inch, wears through the skin and flesh, finally piercing straight to the bone marrow.
And Alexandre Dumas—was the old executioner wielding that blunt knife.
The atmosphere in the room suddenly became tense.
The flickering firelight reflected on their faces, like the trenches that had been lit the night before.
The brief silence felt like a steel wire choking him, ready to snap at any moment.
But in the end, it was just silence.
A complete breakdown in relations is impossible. At least, not now.
They both knew perfectly well that they still shared common interests and were still on a ship that had not yet sunk.
Alexandre Dumas raised an eyebrow, observing his Master, whose thoughts were not so well hidden, with great interest.
The anger flashed like thunder, but was quickly suppressed by reason in just a few seconds.
But those few seconds were enough for him.
Just like what listeners look forward to most is not the story itself, but the expression on the storyteller's face.
He licked his lips, as if savoring a sip of fine wine he had just swallowed.
During this time, women and alcohol were both absent. In these desolate, desert-like days, some fun was definitely needed.
The most enjoyable form of entertainment is to expose the pretense on someone's face and watch that face slowly slide down from anger and shame to repression and numbness.
Just as he was lazily thinking, a thought suddenly popped into his mind.
He thought of a young man.
A person he thought was "worth writing about".
What was that kid's name again? He couldn't remember for a moment.
Did they forget? Or...did they never remember it at all?
"Oh, right," Alexandre Dumas muttered softly.
They only have code names.
Members of the Imperial Magic Guild are not entitled to have names.
Was it the 3rd? The 7th? Or the 20th? He couldn't remember.
All I remember is that he was a good-looking guy, kind of interesting.
That was the first time he was rejected for his kindness.
A person who clearly had the makings of a protagonist ended up dying in a pile of cannon fodder.
What a pity... If he had lived a few more chapters, it might have been a very exciting story.
But it's not entirely meaningless.
Before he died, that young man did something that was "not bad at writing"—enough to keep the novel going.
For example, the little girl he "deliberately let go" should now be on European soil.
Alexandre Dumas's lips curled slightly, and his eyes revealed a pure creative passion.
He silently activated his own magical artifact—
"A tale of endless, fantastical food and drink (Gran Dictionnaire de Cuisine)".
This treasure originated from the extensive compilation and revision of works he participated in during his lifetime.
It also comes from that strange posthumous work—"The Great Dictionary of Food".
It also includes his brief stint as the “chief of the museum for the investigation and excavation of ancient sites and related sites”.
The skill "Item Creation (Modified)" is a Caster class skill.
He can upgrade the rank of existing items by "writing" legends, turning them into pseudo-noble artifacts.
He himself was never a hero—
But he can create heroes, writing their beginnings, turning points, and endings.
Use the tip of your pen to forge destiny, and let them carry the story forward.
However—there is a limitation.
If the item was already at or above Rank A and its legend is "completed", then it cannot be changed.
But he didn't care. The real story is yet to be continued.
At this moment, Alexandre Dumas was using this treasure to sense the location of that "work".
It's very far away.
It was so far away, it seemed, was at the very end of another stage.
Yet a faint "response" still came through.
That "prop" that he created and released himself is now growing in a different place.
Like a forgotten clue in a story, it will finally resurface at the climax.
Alexandre Dumas's eyes brightened slightly, and his breathing quickened a little.
That familiar impulse surged forth—
He couldn't wait to write the second half of the story.
But before he could even devise the next scene—
"boom!"
A dull, abrupt sound, like a blunt hammer slamming into the skull of his inspiration.
The story's initial form, which was about to take shape, was thus shattered and scattered like smoke.
Alexandre Dumas frowned, his eyes revealing barely concealed annoyance. He looked up toward the source of the sound.
His cheap master was standing opposite him, throwing a package that looked to be sewn from some kind of unknown animal hide heavily in front of him.
"What is this?" Alexandre Dumas asked lazily, his tone revealing undisguised annoyance and disdain.
The man in the trench coat glanced down at him, his tone calm to the point of being almost mechanical: "The next batch of materials. I want you to turn them into a Noble Phantasm that I can use."
"Hmph?" Dumas raised an eyebrow, a sly smile appearing on his lips.
"For yourself? That's rare... So, in the end, you're just preparing some tools to save your life? Should I carve 'Keep Out, Crispy Skin' on you while I'm at it?"
He initially thought it would be some kind of self-defense gadget, like an easy-pull escape smoke bomb, a fake death drug, or a teleportation ring – all boring stuff.
Before he could finish speaking, his hands had already begun to unpack the bag without him even realizing it.
The animal hide was unfurled, revealing a jumble of items inside. The tabletop was instantly covered, a dazzling array of materials.
His eye twitched involuntarily.
Good stuff.
The real, rare, and high-quality goods used on the main characters.
The first thing that catches the eye is a strange dagger, about thirty centimeters long, with a bluish-black sheen.
The material is unidentifiable, but it carries a heavy feeling of age and life.
Without a doubt, this is an artifact that has existed for at least five hundred years.
And next to it, there was something else.
In a crystal-like petri dish, a section of curled biological tissue lies quietly.
Even in its dormant state, it still emits magical fluctuations that instill a sense of physiological dread.
Hydra in its larval stage.
Alexandre Dumas's lips twitched, and he gently lifted the dagger, then pinched the container holding the Hydra infant.
He stopped laughing.
No, he laughed even louder.
He went from a perfunctory, lazy attitude to a lively, almost sycophantic demeanor. His hands were clasped together, and his tone was so respectful it was as if he were a completely different person.
"My dearest, most esteemed, and most outstanding Master—"
"Please allow me, an artist skilled in both literature and weaponry, to ask you a few questions—"
"What type of Noble Phantasm do you desire?"
His eyes were fixed on the materials, yet he seemed to already see the outline of a legend that could be written.
—This is not a clichéd life-saving tool; it is a foreshadowing element in the narrative and a key element that can influence the direction of the plot.
At this moment, Alexandre Dumas was like a chef who had finally obtained the ingredients for inspiration and couldn't wait to start cooking.
"Are you planning to make a curse-type? A chain-reaction self-destruct type? Or perhaps a romantic contraption type that requires some kind of sacrifice to activate?"
He rubbed his hands together, eager to try.
—Finally, a decent play has emerged.
Chapter 588 Entering the Spirit Tomb (4k)