How to Live as a Martial Arts Writer in a Fantasy World

1 – 01. Oh, this isn’t it

01.

He lacked talent.

He didn’t have enough talent to be born in a renowned swordsmanship house of the empire, let alone another country.

It was a common story.

An overly skilled sibling who lost himself in excessive training due to inferiority complex becoming disabled was a cliché.

However, the boy was not the second child, but the youngest.

“Tss…”

In any case, it was no use getting angry. It had been 16 years since the boy reincarnated.

To speak from the beginning, the boy was a reincarnation.

Alan Edgar von Moller.

That was the name he was known by in this world.

He was the son of a noble family, one of the greatest families in the largest empire of the continent. That was the status of the boy named Alan Edgar von Moller.

“…I would have preferred to fall into a martial arts novel, instead.”

Alan had always realized that this world was one of fantasy.

It was better to be in a martial arts story, where at least he knew how to react in danger. But in a world where he barely scraped the surface of understanding fantasy, he had no idea what to do.

Thankfully, in this world too, there was an area comparable to an Eastern region where he was at least able to utilize his martial arts knowledge.

“…Oh, my head.”

Just the idea of reading novels gave him a throbbing headache, and yet reading was the only worthwhile task.

He wasn’t particularly fond of riding horses or swinging swords.

He could fall off a horse and get hurt, or accidentally cut himself while handling a sword. After avoiding dangerous things, he was left with limited options, and the safest among them was reading books.

Everything he encountered was headache-inducing thickness.

Alan genuinely wanted to lash out at the disrespectful minds of whoever wrote these real novels.

“Should I really just write it myself…?”

But, would that even sell?

Being honest, the only point of intersection between Fantasy and Martial Arts was the formula Ki = Mana.

Of course, some concepts in the fantasy, like Sword Arts and Aura Blades, had relative equivalents in the martial arts world, albeit not a perfect 1 to 1 correspondence.

“Am I overthinking…?”

As Alan sighed deeply, a sound of knocking came through to his ear.

“Sir Alan, it’s time for your morning training.”

“I’m not going.”

“The Duke himself has said he wants to observe today.”

‘Damn it.’

Swallowing his curse inwardly, Alan got up.

“Fine. Just let me get ready.”

Why was it that his father had to intervene on such a day?

Alan heaved another sigh.

“I am only going to get scolded again.”

He already knew he was going to hear another lecture today.

As the reincarnated son of a prestigious swordsmanship household, this was an unavoidable destiny.

With another sigh, Alan left his room.

***

The Mueller House of Lords was one of the illustrious households in the Empire.

One of the three pillars holding up the empire, widely known for producing numerous reputable knights with their famous intense swordsmanship.

That was the House of the Mueller Duke, and Allan Edgar Von Mueller was the youngest son of such House.

“So you do come to the training ground after all.”

In the center of the smoke-filled training field stood an imposing middle-aged man, his hand resting on a large sword, waiting for his son.

Despite being dressed casually without armor, he exuded an inevitable aura of dominance.

An intimidating middle-aged man who could instill fear in anyone with his overwhelming presence alone was none other than the master of the Mueller Ducal House, Sword King Gerhardt Edwin Von Mueller.

“… Allan.”

His name was called out in a voice that struck his ears like thunder.

No matter how he listened, it always sounded like a reprimand. That was the voice of his father, the Duke of Mueller.

The Duke of Mueller, with his hand rested on a large sword, looked down at Allan.

There was a tinge of regret in his eyes.

“Yes, father.”

“It seems that you’ve been missing your sword training more often.”

His first words were suffocating.

Even though the Duke of Mueller knew that it was the question Allan detested the most, he still looked down at Allan as if demanding an answer.

After a brief silence, Allan opened his mouth.

“I have my sister and brother who are higher than me in rank. There’s no point in practicing a sword skill that doesn’t improve, even with practice.”

The Duke’s eyebrows furrowed at his words.

Even though Allan was born the youngest son of a prestigious house skilled in swordsmanship, it was also true that he didn’t have any particular talent in that regard.

Of course, as a blood descendant of the Mueller Ducal House, he would have an average level of swordsmanship. The problem was that it was so mediocre that it didn’t even match the skills of the knights of the ducal house or the level expected in the Duke’s castle.

Allan was dissatisfied with this.

‘As long as I can wield a sword to defend myself, what more do I need?’

Initially, Allan wasn’t even originally born in this world.

He was simply a humble novelist from Korea, who had unfair fate to be reincarnated in a different world after being hit by a truck. For Allan, who just wanted to live a peaceful life, the Duke of Mueller demanding him to learn the sword was a particularly awkward existence.

In this world, holding a sword means you’re always exposed to the risk of death by the blade.

True, one can die regardless of whether one is holding a sword or not, but it’s better not to hold one rather than to die by the sword while claiming to be a knight.

“With my lack of talent, what use is there in learning to wield a sword?”

“Such reasoning is not a valid excuse for neglecting your training. What can you accomplish by not even trying properly?”

“Things won’t change much just because I, who lack talent, missed a few lessons.”

“… Allan.”

“I hate the sword.”

From the beginning, he didn’t particularly like being thrown into this world.

It’s nice to be born as the son of a noble family, even of a dukedom, but he didn’t understand why he was born as the son of a swordsman’s house rather than a magician’s.

If he’d been born as a child of a magic house, he would’ve happily accepted it, even if it were a TS.

Having never held a sword before, he had endured a lot just by forcibly wielding a sword from a young age until now.

“I am sixteen now, Father. I have the right to decide my path.”

“Have you forgotten what kind of family we are?”

“A house renowned for swordsmanship.”

Another name for it is the Iron-Blooded Sword House.

In other words, he was reborn into a swordsmanship house that pushes you hard enough to warrant such a name.

Ellen didn’t like that.

“You can’t protect yourself with just basic defensive swordsmanship. As part of our house, you could be the target of fatal attacks at any time…”

“…I still don’t like it.”

“It directly relates to your life.”

Duke Mueller was worried about his youngest son.

With his wife away from the family estate for recuperation, he did not feel confident in handling her wrath if something were to befall Ellen.

Duke Mueller said,

“Furthermore, your entrance into the academy has been confirmed. As the child of the Mueller house, shouldn’t you possess enough skill so you won’t be looked down on wherever you go?”

Ellen didn’t respond.

Isn’t possessing enough swordsmanship to protect oneself enough? Is it necessary to go through painful practice while wielding a sword even more?

After all, it’s not like he doesn’t have any bodyguards.

And if he encounters an enemy he can’t face, he should flee. There’s no need to confront and die.

But one phrase caught his ear.

“…The academy?”

“It seems like I have been talking about it for a while now.”

Ellen, who caught the gaze of Duke Mueller, scratched the back of his head.

“Ellen, are you listening to me?”

“I’m listening.”

“You are a child of the Mueller house. You should naturally go to the knight’s…”

“I’m not going.”

“Ellen!”

The booming voice of Duke Mueller echoed through the training hall.

“Are you refusing the duty of a knight!”

“Yes.”

Allen was sincere.

Sure, living and dying valiantly whilst wielding a sword as a knight sounded admirable. But that was only under the presumption of inherent talent, the assurance of a bright future.

Born without any distinct talent, Allen naturally didn’t desire to become a knight.

From Noble mtl dot com

“I would prefer to write instead.”

Upon hearing Allen’s words, Duke Mueller’s face contorted in disbelief.

It was a bombshell.

The youngest son of the Mueller Duchy announcing his intention to yield a pen rather than a sword was indeed a big deal. After all, the Mueller children, regardless of gender, had typically all become knights.

This is why Duke Mueller looked so shocked.

“Allen. Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

Duke Mueller cast his gaze down towards his son.

He was aware that Allen disliked sword training. Compared to his other children, Allen didn’t have any distinct talent.

But to abandon the sword and pick up the pen, he didn’t expect that.

He never thought Allen would be so bold to express this directly.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

It was beyond mere distaste for the sword.

There had been magicians amongst the family of the Mueller Duchy. But claiming to yield a pen, neither as a knight nor as a magician, the meaning was clear.

A deep silence fell between Duke Mueller and Allen.

***

‘Damnit, I’ve done it now.’

Allen thought that his father’s expression was not normal.

He had the impression that anything his father may say now would be frightening. If his father were to pick up the large sword lying on the ground, Allen would be left with no argument.

He wasn’t a knight. Nor a magician.

To hold a pen meant to become a writer.

The Mueller Duchy, which had produced many knights, had never once produced a writer.

“…If that really is your wish.”

Duke Mueller’s mouth opened.

“Do as you wish.”

“Father…?”

The reaction was so unexpected, both Allen and the knights waiting in the training yard were surprised.

Duke Mueller added.

“But know that you won’t be forgiven if you bear the name of the Mueller family and perform mediocrely.”

A chill, an unpleasant feeling, ran down his spine.

Allen met Duke Mueller’s gaze.

“Become the finest scholar on the continent. If you decide not to walk the path of the sword, make your name renowned as a scholar so that anyone on the continent can recognize it.”

Duke Mueller said firmly.

“Can you do it?”

Allen’s expression hardened.

‘Huh, this isn’t the reaction I expected…?’