I Wrote Trash Novels to Level Up, Now Everyone Thinks I'm the Hero

Morning dew still clung in shining drops to the oak leaves along the border.

Lucian leaned back against an ancient tree trunk, unhurriedly untying the gold silk ribbon around the vellum scroll. Sword Emperor Regulus's exuberant, gilded handwriting jumped straight off the page.

My beloved son!

I have earth-shattering news, and I couldn't wait another moment to share it. Last night, the grand opening performance of the opera 'Elegy of the Nameless Knight' at the Royal Theater succeeded beyond anything the entire nobility could have imagined!

Especially that scene from Chapter Forty-Two, the one I personally consulted on for the choreography — where the protagonist does his triple flip while delivering that monologue on solitude — the moment the choir began to sing, His Majesty Emperor Alaric de Solaris himself wept, not once, but three separate times! Right there on the spot, His Majesty signed a decree awarding House Vance the First-Class Cultural Medal!

And that's not all, son! I sold the stage adaptation rights and licensed printing rights to the diplomatic envoys of seven neighboring kingdoms that very night, bringing in a full SIX HUNDRED THOUSAND GOLD, one hundred percent clean!

The family's finest armored carriage is already waiting at the edge of the Oakhaven forest for you. Come home quickly and celebrate with your mother and me!

Reading the letter to its end, Lucian's hands fell to his sides.

He stood frozen in the misty forest, his eyes glazed, staring into nothing.

Six hundred thousand gold, clean.

He'd spent a week running away from home, trekking into the lawless wilds of Oakhaven, risking his life diving into an inverted dungeon, drawing on every scrap of mathematics and syntax analysis from his previous life to defeat a national-tier boss, and recovering a haul of ancient books worth maybe three hundred thousand gold, at best...

Meanwhile, his father the Sword Emperor had simply hired a bunch of actors in black cloaks to stand on a stage and bellow the melodramatic lines Lucian had scribbled while delirious with fever at six years old — and walked away with six hundred thousand gold from the hands of kings.

Lucian pressed a hand to his forehead and let out a low, agonized groan from the depths of his soul.

"Dad, my dad... you just turned me into the whole continent's laughingstock, and you're STILL out-earning me two to one..."

The arithmetic was almost insulting.

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Between the foreign publishing licenses, theatrical rights, and merchandise revenue, House Vance's clean cash flow had effectively quadrupled overnight.

His lifelong plan to lie around living off passive income had just become financially bulletproof.

He should have been delighted.

Instead, he felt personally attacked.

A few steps away, Sylvia carefully tucked Elder Vael's urn into the deepest compartment of her spatial ring.

She smoothed down her simple grey traveling cloak and walked over to Lucian. Her silver ears twitched gently in the morning breeze, her fine features settling into a soft smile.

"Master, our initial project has been completed — heritage recovery and linguistic instruction both delivered. I would like to formally extend my employment agreement to cover future projects."

Lucian glanced at the tutor-slash-assistant who'd just helped him clear a dungeon and let out a sigh.

"Extension's fine. No raise, though. Twenty gold a month is the cap for anyone still under a year's probation."

Sylvia smiled and bowed her head slightly to accept.

"As you command."

Watching Lucian's heavy, brooding expression and his weary sigh over the gilded letter, Sylvia's sapphire eyes filled with yet another layer of profound understanding.

He's in pain... she thought to herself, her chest tightening. The opera's triumph means the book's tragedy has awakened the conscience of kings — but that also drags in complex undercurrents of political intrigue. A visionary carrying a burden this great must always bear a loneliness no one else could ever understand.

Lucian had no time to spare wondering what Sylvia was translating his petty humiliation into this time.

He kept reading, down to the postscript at the bottom of his father's letter.

House Vance's meteoric rise in the cultural and clean-finance sectors has started to draw the ire of the capital's traditional military noble houses — Duke Valois's family, especially. They're quietly banding together to pressure the crown into stripping our trade quotas at the upcoming grand assembly.

Cultural power has brought in millions of gold, but it's also turned House Vance into a thorn in the side of everyone still holding on to their feudal military authority.

"Trying to take a bite out of this family's income, are they?" Lucian muttered, tucking the letter into his coat. "Let's see who can actually afford to pay for the damages."

The two of them set off, leaving the forest behind and stepping onto the trail leading to the edge of Oakhaven.

Beneath the cool shade of the cedar trees, an elegant, jet-black armored carriage trimmed in gold thread stood waiting. Twenty knights in full black armor bearing House Vance's crest stood at attention in two ceremonial rows.

Seeing Lucian emerge, the elderly driver hurried down and bowed a perfect ninety degrees.

"Greetings, young master! My lord and lady have ordered us to escort you home safely, in time for tonight's celebration."

Lucian walked up and placed a hand on the carriage step. He paused for a moment, turning to look back toward the distant horizon, toward Solaris — the capital's spires just visible, half-hidden in the morning light.

He climbed aboard, settled onto the plush velvet cushion, and drew the window curtain shut.

"Let's go home. Let's see what other stunt my Sword Emperor of a father's pulled off this time."

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