Cripple was peering around the small square in front of the old church.
He wore a faded gray linen jacket over an old cotton coat that had seen many years. The coat was covered in crooked patches of various colors; some spots hadn’t even been mended, with dingy gray cotton stuffing poking out from the holes. Combined with his uneven gait, he looked like a motley penguin at first glance.
He was a spy sent by the house of Viscount Bolen.
Years ago, when he was still an adventurer, he had a name. However, during a mission to hunt a two-headed snake, his party had the misfortune of encountering a dragon. He was the only survivor, escaping with a permanent disability that rendered one of his legs useless. People mockingly called him “Cripple,” and over time, he began to call himself that as well.
Left disabled and haunted by nightmares, he had no heart to continue as an adventurer. He used his savings to open a Handyman Shop at the docks—a business that took on any odd job.
The name sounded grand, but in reality, he did nothing but repair shoes, mend roofs, or lend a hand wherever someone was short-staffed. It wasn’t a profession one could speak of with much pride. When Viscount Bolen mentioned hiring “shills” at the docks, he was among those recruited.
***
This place didn’t look like it held much profit.
Stretching his neck to peer into the old church, Cripple frowned repeatedly. Although the interior was clean, the outer walls were in ruins, with plaster peeling away in a state of utter dilapidation. Had it not been for the two sturdy Paladins standing guard at the entrance, he would have assumed the place was abandoned.
*I can’t go back and report like this,* Cripple thought.
Over the past half-month, the newspaper had gained a certain level of fame within the capital’s aristocratic circles and had even begun spreading to the commoners. It had reached the point of becoming a hot topic of conversation among the nobility.
In a world without electronic devices for leisure, people generally lacked entertainment. A small piece of gossip could be chewed over dozens of times by neighbors. The sudden appearance of the newspaper perfectly satisfied the people’s thirst for entertainment.
Furthermore, because it was popular among the nobles and the price of one silver coin was just within the range that a commoner could afford if they gritted their teeth, buying a newspaper was seen by some as a step into high society. It was a novelty and a status symbol.
But this had made life miserable for Roden, Viscount Bolen’s adopted son. Every issue featured a column called “Letters to the Editor” that published dirt on him, making Roden, the Holy Son of Black Stone, the talk of the town.
Cripple knew that this was why Viscount Bolen had ordered him to investigate the newspaper office. The Viscount suspected the Tanbull family had conspired with the Flawless Holy Son to launch a campaign against him, and he intended to accept the challenge.
Once Cripple located the office and identified the person behind it, Viscount Bolen planned to manufacture dirt on the newspaper or send people to sabotage it. These were the Viscount’s usual tactics, and Cripple was long accustomed to them.
But now… what was he supposed to do?
Looking at the Paladins who were staring at him as if he were a thief, Cripple felt a surge of dread. He couldn’t exactly go back and say, “The Church is running the newspaper.” The Viscount’s butler would surely break his other leg. Why would the Church open a newspaper to oppose their own candidate for Holy Son? That wasn’t how political lines were drawn.
Yet, the location he had tracked down was definitely here.
“Hey, you there! Why are you lurking around?” “If you have business, speak up. If not, get moving.”
Finally, the two Paladins who had been watching him for a long time couldn’t help but shout.
Cripple jumped, nearly bolting then and there. He had a guilty conscience from his many shady deeds, and being rebuked by righteous Paladins triggered an immediate reflex.
Fortunately, he forced himself to suppress the urge to flee. He stood his ground and asked timidly, “M-messieurs, is this the Kingdom Times office? I saw in the paper that one can talk to the office about anything, and if your story is picked, you can even get some money…”
“Oh, he’s looking for the newspaper office.”
The Paladins looked Cripple up and down. Seeing his fawning expression and his disability, they judged him to be no threat. They stepped aside and gestured toward the church.
“The office is across from the old church. Go inside, turn right, and walk about a hundred meters.”
“Thank you, Sir Paladins! Thank you, Sir Paladins!”
Cripple bowed and scraped repeatedly, then hobbled inside. Before he had gone far, he saw a row of buildings with “Kingdom Daily Office” painted in large gold-leafed letters on the roof. He couldn’t help but find it strange. Usually, shops hung signs depicting their trade—a blacksmith would hang a sign with a hammer and sword, and a tavern would hang a wooden board shaped like a mug. Who just hung plain text?
*Cultured people are just different.*
Cripple felt a hint of contempt. In the eyes of an old hand like him, this was pure amateurism.
He didn’t enter. Instead, he circled the row of small buildings to observe. Unlike other workshops that were strictly guarded, the newspaper office had almost no security. The row of rooms looked more like storage closets than a workshop. He could hear people talking busily inside, but the most prominent sound was a frequent, mechanical “crunching” noise.
The sound was like a demonic wolf crushing the bones of its prey, making Cripple shiver with dread.
*What is that thing? Is the newspaper office raising monsters?*
His heart pounding, Cripple crept to the back of the building and peered through a window.
Inside the dim room, a machine the size of a wardrobe was clanking and pressing down under the operation of a student. He stared with wide eyes for a long while before realizing that this giant thing was the machine printing the newspapers.
A student would feed paper into it and pull a long lever. With a “crunch,” a blank sheet of paper would transform into a newspaper covered in text.
Cripple watched, dumbfounded.
*Magic!*
In his memory, even with magic, a caster had to concentrate their mind on the tip of a pen and write slowly on paper. To get a page with a single press—what kind of magic was that?
*Could it be… a deal with a devil?*
A chill shot from the top of Cripple’s head to his feet, making it hard to breathe. That large pressing plate looked like the gaping maw of a monster; every time it chewed a human soul, it spat out a newspaper.
No wonder the newspaper was so captivating; it was all the work of evil arts. But how could a business dealing with devils be allowed inside the Church? Did the Church not know?
Cripple was filled with doubt and fear. He felt he had to report back immediately, or Viscount Bolen would surely suffer here—he knew the Viscount had recently contacted many scribes, intending to follow suit and open his own newspaper.
But just as Cripple was about to leave, several people walked into the dim room. When Cripple saw the girl leading them, his pupils shrunk to the size of pinpricks. A violent ringing filled his ears, and his vision grayed out.
*A dragon!*
Cold sweat poured uncontrollably from his pores. He had to hold his breath just to keep from screaming.
Even though the person standing before him was just a young girl, he was absolutely certain she was a dragon. The dragon that had toyed with and killed his team back then was just like this—except for the horns, tail, and wings, she was no different from a human. But when that creature had discovered his party, it had transformed in an instant into a colossal dragon that blotted out the sun. A single breath of dragon fire had turned his comrades into charred husks while they screamed before his eyes.
He could never forget the desperate cries of his companions, even in his dreams.
The trauma of the past was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Though the girl before him was young and the dragon from back then had been a youth, their horns and tails were identical in both color and shape. Cripple was paralyzed with terror, praying fervently that she wouldn’t notice him.
*The opponent is a dragon! No matter how powerful Viscount Bolen is, he can’t challenge a dragon!*
Any adult dragon possessed strength comparable to a Fifth Tier magic caster. Furthermore, the more powerful a dragon was, the more human they appeared in their humanoid form. There had been countless dragon calamities throughout history. This dragon looked almost entirely human; her power must be unimaginably terrifying. If this dragon were to lose her temper and reveal her true form, the entire capital would likely be reduced to a sea of fire.
*Is she here to take my life…?*
Cripple’s heart hammered wildly. He had always felt guilty about the past—all his teammates had been turned to ash while he alone survived. If he had warned them to leave earlier, even just a word, could they have been saved? But he had done nothing, leading to the destruction of the team, and he couldn’t face the spirits of his fallen comrades.
Tortured by such nightmares, seeing a dragon again made Cripple instinctively believe the girl was here to collect his soul. He seemed to see the dragon roaring at them again, his companions crawling miserably on the ground.
With a “thud,” his legs gave out and he collapsed. Then, he scrambled and crawled away. The people inside heard the noise and walked out.
Because of his disability, Cripple couldn’t run fast. He had no choice but to hide, trembling, behind a pile of discarded tables and chairs. It was junk the students had cleared out from the storage rooms, but now it was Cripple’s lifeline.
“What was that noise?”
“Maybe someone’s cat fell out of a tree.”
“Does a cat make that much noise? I clearly heard something that sounded like a person. Maybe someone’s trying to steal our secrets. President, I think we should hire some guards. It’ll be a problem if someone learns how to use the printing press; this is our bread and butter.”
Several students shouted their suggestions to Lulumia. Lulumia smiled and shook her head. Since Lulumia’s voice wasn’t as loud as the students’, and because Cripple was particularly terrified of her, he had no mind to listen to what she said. He only knew that the students stopped dwelling on the subject, and the group returned inside.
Cripple was suddenly flooded with relief. He slumped behind the pile of furniture, gasping for air. He rested for a long time, until his backside went numb from the cold, before he finally regained his senses.
*This job… I won’t do this job anymore, no matter how much they pay.*
Cripple swallowed hard. The biting winter wind made his whole body shake, and only then did he realize his back had been soaked through with cold sweat. Shivering, he rose unsteadily and hobbled away under the midday sun.
*But don’t the books say dragons come in all sorts of colors? Why are the dragons I see always the same one…?*
—
“You only found out that the people selling the paper are from the Tanbull family, but you didn’t find out who the president is?”
In a luxuriously decorated living room with a roaring fireplace, Viscount Bolen questioned the butler standing nearby with an unfriendly gaze.
The elderly butler, wearing a monocle, bowed slightly. “The one we sent was Cripple from the Handyman Shop. He has always helped us; there should be no mistake. Even if a problem arises, we can distance ourselves from him. He is not a member of the family.”
Viscount Bolen fell into thought. “Did he say anything else?”
“Nothing else, my Lord.”
*However, Cripple seemed to have something on his mind today,* the butler thought, but he didn’t say it. Cripple was an outsider, after all, and the trivial matters of an outsider’s home didn’t need to be reported to the Viscount.
Viscount Bolen considered for a moment. “What about the people we contacted earlier?”
“We’ve recruited about a hundred people. Sixty-three scribes passed the test. They have experience writing biographies and monster bestiaries. Running a newspaper shouldn’t be an issue.”
“Good. Establish the newspaper office immediately. The name will be—” Viscount Bolen thought for a moment. “The Sacred State Newspaper. They sell theirs for one silver coin; we’ll sell ours for nine copper coins. We won’t just sell it on the Noble Street; we’ll go to the docks and sell it to the merchants.”
“Understood.”
***
Lulumia arrived at the academy as usual to help Sinrella handle student assignments.
Today, after the newspaper had been in circulation for a while and achieved staged results, she, as the president, felt refreshed.
As long as the nobles accepted the newspaper, it was only a matter of time before the commoners did as well. The nobility could lead the way, making people feel that reading the newspaper was a fashion—which was a form of promotion in itself.
Thinking of this, Lulumia took a pre-prepared newspaper from her pocket, spread it out, and pretended to read it nonchalantly in front of Sinrella.
As expected, the sound of the unfolding paper caught Sinrella’s attention. The black-haired, red-eyed Sinrella arched a shapely brow and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Is this the newspaper you were talking about?”