How To Live As A Writer In A Fantasy World

I have witnessed and experienced all kinds of absurd events throughout both my past and present lives.

My past life was through the internet, and my present life is through “Iwaejin.”

That said, when it comes to “Iwaejin” in my present life, I’ve gotten used to it and just let it slide.

And as for the fact that demons originate from humans, I heard that from Clark.

In other words, even when “Iwaejin” happens, I can handle it with ease.

Besides, according to the rumors I’ve heard here and there, an expedition is currently being organized to conquer the Gray Desert.

So, my plan for this vacation was to leisurely brainstorm my next work while writing a side story.

“I humbly offer this to Mora. Devoted even to the point of becoming a demon, all for the sake of protecting love…”

That was the plan—at least, until a funeral was suddenly held in my territory.

Now, my head is filled with nothing but incomprehensible confusion.

What exactly am I looking at right now?

What in the world is happening right now?

Is what I’m seeing truly a funeral?

Of course, it must be a funeral. Most people are dressed in black, and even their hats are black.

This applied to everyone, regardless of age, gender, or race. Black was the color that signified death in this world.

So if this really was a funeral, then wearing black attire was only natural.

Even the usually cheerful dwarves were dressed in black—what more needed to be said?

But why was this happening in my territory?

And…

“The one and only True Tragedy, a symbol of the demon race’s sorrow, dedicated his entire life to Lily Selbay.

Not only did he offer his undying loyalty to the demons, but he also became a role model for all knights everywhere…”

Why in the world were they holding a funeral for Jin, a character from The Chronicles of Zenon?

I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

Jin’s sacrifice was undeniably tragic, even by this world’s standards—it was a scene so heart-wrenching that no one could watch it without shedding tears.

It felt like adding wasabi to a tongue that only knew bland flavors.

Earth, accustomed to spice, might have been able to handle it, but it seemed that wasn’t the case for the people of this world.

Otherwise, it made no sense for them to be holding a literal funeral for a fictional character.

What baffled me even more was how serious the entire ceremony was.

The white inverted cross, a symbol of peace, death, and Mora.

If this were Earth, there would have been a regular cross instead of an inverted one.

A priest was solemnly praying before a coffin adorned with that cross symbol.

Surprisingly, he was a demon priest.

Judging by the inverted cross necklace around his neck, he was a high-ranking member of the Mora Order.

‘This is so serious I can’t even say anything.’

Whether it was due to magic or just a naturally strong voice, his quiet yet resonant words reached my ears clearly.

As you might expect, his prayer was almost entirely about honoring Jin’s memory.

At the same time, he spoke of the noble destiny of the demon race.

Even just this was enough to make me scoff, but the reactions of the attendees were even more ridiculous.

“Oh, Mora… Grant rest to this noble yet unfortunate soul…”

“Happiness… isn’t something you can just taste a little and be satisfied with…”

“We should’ve just taken care of Diabolos and ended it there…”

The people—if I could even call them mourners—were truly mourning with all their hearts.

Some, seemingly overwhelmed with emotion, were even sobbing.

I had read in the newspaper that those who were deeply immersed in the Jin-Lily couple were not only highly emotional but also quite extreme.

With a story that mixed every flavor—sweet, spicy, bitter, and salty—it was only natural for people to get absorbed in it.

But lately, I had been dumping wasabi into the mix, so it was no wonder that their tongues—and eyes—were burning.

‘This is making it seem like I actually killed Jin. I mean… I did, but still…’

I didn’t even know what to say.

Would this be considered indirect murder?

As the author, I killed off a character I created—so in a way, it was a kind of murder.

This was exactly why I predicted things would go south if my identity were exposed.

I wasn’t exaggerating—if they found out, something bad was bound to happen.

I wanted to escape from here, but I had nowhere to go.

I had only approached to get a closer look, but now the back rows were completely filled.

More importantly…

‘Why is my mother there…?’

Standing right at the entrance to the mansion was none other than my mother.

She was wearing the same outfit I had seen her in earlier before she headed to the temple.

She had mentioned a funeral today, but this was beyond anything I had imagined.

Not only that, but she was standing behind the mourning priest with no one else around, as if to announce herself as the mastermind behind all of this.

‘Well, at least the citizens are enjoying themselves…’

I sighed internally and glanced toward the back.

Unlike the overly solemn funeral, the back rows were somewhat lively.

Maybe it was because this funeral was more of an event than a real funeral.

Or maybe it was because there were just too many personnel assigned to escort the procession.

Regardless, the citizens of my territory were bustling about, busy as ever.

Most of them were involved in food and lodging services.

There was no way such a large crowd would leave in just a day.

In other words, they would be staying in my territory for at least three days.

Besides, just because it was a funeral didn’t mean it had to be entirely solemn.

Depending on the culture, funerals could even turn into full-fledged festivals.

Take dwarves, for example.

Dwarves were naturally cheerful, so even their funerals reflected that.

They would pour beer into the mouths of the deceased or even talk to them as if they were still alive.

It was their unique way of ensuring that the dead were sent off in joy.

Even without the dwarves, the people here had to know.

This wasn’t truly a funeral—it was an event.

A gathering dedicated to a single fictional character.

On Earth, it would be like a fan meeting.

The only problem was… the sheer scale of it.

“…May he find eternal rest. May Mora watch over this poor soul.”

At last, the long and arduous eulogy came to an end.

The priest, maintaining his solemn posture, finally stepped away.

The person who then walked up to the coffin was none other than my mother.

Even without makeup, she was a beauty comparable to a maiden.

But today, she had clearly put effort into her appearance—making her look even more stunning.

So much so that it felt like makeup actually diminished her natural beauty.

In fact, she was someone whose makeup never quite worked on her.

As I was lost in thought, my mother stood before the crowd, scanning the audience before giving a gentle smile.

“To everyone who loves The Chronicles of Zenon, thank you so much for taking time out of your busy schedules to attend. My name is Anna Ducker Michelle. I am Zenon’s mother, the author of The Chronicles of Zenon, and just like all of you, a devoted reader of the story.”

She politely bowed, her deep blue hair cascading down.

With her noble appearance and the respect she displayed despite her status, the audience responded with quiet applause.

After straightening her posture and brushing her hair aside, she spoke again in her signature gentle voice.

“I’m sure most of you were deeply shocked by Jin’s death. I feel the same way. Honestly, I never expected so many people to gather here. I know Jin is a beloved character, but ultimately, he is a fictional one. Still, I truly appreciate all of you coming here to mourn him.”

“…”

“Have any of you read the recently released epilogue?”

“We read it together in the capital before coming here.”

The demon priest who had given the eulogy calmly responded.

Since the epilogue was much shorter than the main story, it was easy for everyone to reread it before attending.

“I see. Then you all know—Jin’s resurrection is impossible.”

The crowd erupted.

“It’s just a story! Can’t you bring him back anyway?!”

“Exactly! If it’s fiction, you can add a fictional resurrection!”

“Please, just do it!”

It seemed like my mother’s words had struck a nerve.

The mourners—or, more accurately, readers—raised their voices, some even choking up.

Some cried as they begged, while others shouted in genuine desperation.

Some just did it for fun.

But their goal was the same.

They didn’t care about the reasoning. They just wanted Jin back.

Understanding their emotions well, my mother gave a single nod before quietly opening her mouth.

“I feel the same way as all of you. However, I am only Zenon’s birth mother, and I have no authority to interfere with his work. Therefore, Jin’s death is solely Zenon’s decision. But if you all unite your voices, I am certain that the outcome can change.”

At those words, people began murmuring one by one. Their expressions suggested that they were convinced.

Watching their reactions, I couldn’t help but let out a hollow laugh.

I felt bad saying this about my own mother, but her ability to manipulate a crowd was no joke.

Gathering people through the event of a funeral was one thing, but she also knew exactly what they wanted to hear.

“So, I ask that you all stay here for the time being and join your voices together. My son… No, our rather stubborn Zenon, is still a writer at heart. There has never been a writer who could ignore the voices of their readers.”

“Uh… But is it really okay for us to do this? Zenon isn’t just a writer—he’s a prophet beloved by the gods. What if they scold us for trying to change a prophecy…?”

A woman cautiously raised her hand and hesitantly asked. She had black hair, red eyes, and horns atop her head.

Surprisingly, she was a demon.

Others nodded in agreement, acknowledging the validity of her concern.

Hearing it directly was embarrassing, but from an outside perspective, it was true. I was a being deeply favored by the gods.

Just the fact that I was involved in something like this could be seen as a defiance deserving of severe punishment.

Of course, knowing the gods’ love for their creations, the chances of that happening were close to zero.

But there was no telling how far we could push our luck, so the uncertainty made me uneasy.

“You don’t need to worry about that. It’s true that Zenon’s Chronicle is a prophecy, but at the end of the day, it is just a book.

More importantly, we have already changed the future using Zenon’s Chronicle. In other words, we, too, have the right to alter fate.”

As if she had anticipated the question, my mother responded with confidence.

Her argument was a logical stretch, but her warm smile and calm demeanor made it difficult for anyone to challenge her words.

The demon woman who had asked the question made a dissatisfied expression but mumbled quietly, almost inaudibly, “Is that… so?”

“Yes. However, it must remain within the allowable limits. As mentioned in the epilogue, even the gods themselves could not resurrect Jin as an angel.

But reincarnating him as a mortal should be possible. The gods never said it was impossible—only that it would be extremely difficult.”

That was true.

The epilogue stated that resurrecting Jin as an angel was impossible, but reincarnating him as a mortal was merely very difficult.

But saying something is difficult is just a polite way of saying it’s almost impossible.

To reincarnate Jin as a mortal, we would have to separate his soul from Diabolos, which had fused with him.

I once asked a god just how difficult that would be. The answer I received was absolutely absurd.

“You would have to scoop up a random handful of sand from a vast desert, and every single grain would need to be precisely the right soul for it to work.”

Finding a needle in a haystack? At least that’s possible.

This was a matter of sheer, astronomical probability—worse than winning the lottery.

For the record, the god also mentioned something even more ridiculous: that my reincarnation into this world had an even lower probability than that.

“By the way, why can’t the gods resurrect angels?”

“Maybe they were cursed by demons?”

“That wouldn’t explain why angels were completely absent during the Demon War.”

“Elves are said to have ripped off their wings and descended themselves. Perhaps they committed a grave sin against the gods, and that’s when the restriction was placed.”

“My thoughts are…”

A brief discussion among the readers ensued.

My mother waited patiently for the commotion to die down.

After some time passed and the room quieted, she smiled once more and continued speaking.

“As you have just seen, opinions on this matter vary widely. If emotions run too high, conflict may arise. That is why we are only making a request to Zenon. He surely knows a way to bring Jin back.”

He doesn’t.

“He is looking further into the future than we are, so he must know.”

I’m telling you, he doesn’t.

“The proof of this is Jin’s demonization. Who would have believed it was possible? Yet, he described it in his book, thus making it a reality. This shows that it can be done.”

Mom, that was just pure stubborn reasoning. I feel so wronged right now.

“Until then, we shall hold a memorial for Jin here and pray until Zenon changes his mind.

However, I must emphasize—no extreme actions. If you cause harm to the mansion or the publishing house, or if any major incidents occur, I will send you all away immediately.”

What was this? A war of attrition?

I found myself being drawn into my mother’s elaborate speech and shook my head vigorously to snap out of it.

No matter how you looked at it, our estate couldn’t handle this many visitors.

Not to mention, given the recent famine that had struck the empire, holding a festival seemed rather inappropriate.

“If you’re worried about the famine in the empire, you need not be. The Minerva Empire has received ample support from Alvenheim, and part of that support has reached the Michelle estate.

Moreover, Michelle is a city of culture where all races gather. There is food available for every race, so please enjoy yourselves freely.”

…She’s better at politics than I am. Where did she even learn all this?

With no reason to hesitate about eating and drinking, the people attending the funeral gradually began to show excitement.

“Right. If the gods were truly angry, divine punishment would have struck us from the heavens.”

“The gods must have approved of this.”

“Shall we go offer a prayer to the god who has granted us this opportunity?”

“Not a bad idea. I should take this chance to pray to Mora.”

So this was why the gods had been silently watching.

The gods thrived on the prayers of their believers. The more people who prayed to them, the stronger they became.

For Mora, this was a golden opportunity to gain new followers. Given that this was a funeral, her followers were bound to increase.

I sighed deeply and shook my head. If this continued, I was just going to stand here dumbfounded.

“…Adelia.”

“Huh? Oh?”

At my call, Adelia, who had been observing this not-a-funeral funeral, responded in surprise.

Now that I thought about it, Adelia was also someone who had supported the Jin-Lily couple. If this kept up, she might end up joining them in the future.

We needed to get out of here. Since heading straight to the mansion was impossible, finding a nearby place to rest would be best.

“Let’s go.”

“Got it.”

And so, we began making our way out of the dense crowd. But perhaps because there were too many people…

Thud—

“Huh?”

Whether I tripped over someone’s foot or a stone, something caught my leg.

I lost my balance and lurched forward, while Adelia, startled, reached out for me.

Unfortunately, there were too many people, and her hand was blocked midway.

Crash!

I ended up falling. Thankfully, it wasn’t a complete face-plant, just a stumble.

“Oww…”

“Are you okay?!”

“Yeah, I’m fin—”

I stopped mid-sentence, sensing something off. As I lifted my head, I locked eyes with a passing stranger.

They blinked in confusion, then their eyes gradually widened in shock.

Not just them—others nearby turned to look at me, their gazes sharpening.

Feeling a sinking sense of dread, I quickly reached for my hood.

As expected, it had slipped back due to my fall, fully exposing my bright red hair.

“H-Huh?”

“That person…!”

The onlooker hesitated as if unable to believe it before finally shouting—

“IT’S ZENON!”

And just to make sure everyone heard—

“ZENON IS HERE!”

Immediately, dozens—no, hundreds of eyes locked onto me.

‘Ah, shit.’

I was being treated like a legendary Pokémon.