Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World

Chapter 78: Side or Last: Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World

Moby-Dick was a monumental work in American literature.

It was the past, inheriting the epic tradition of literature; the present, the peak of American Romanticism; and the future, an immortal symbol of literature. Because of this, Moby-Dick was called America’s Bible and the greatest book ever written about the sea.

The greatest American literary work.

The reason I published this great book in the ‘competition’ was not merely for fun. It wasn’t because I wanted to show off some ridiculous goal of demonstrating skills worthy of the authority of the so-called transcendent of literature.

It was actually the opposite.

I used this ‘Moby-Dick’ as a marker, wanting to directly observe the ‘seeds of literature’ I had sown in this world through simple statistics.

[Grand Prize]

[Moby-Dick – Ed Frieden]

[Vote share: 33%]

33%. That was the percentage of votes Moby-Dick received in this competition. Even though I had plagiarized one of the greatest novels in literary history, it still received less than half of the total votes.

That fact delighted me.

A long tail. Like a graph with a long tail, countless works received a few votes each, making up the majority of the total votes in this competition. This metric was the clearest proof that literature had become more universal.

In other words.

It meant that there would no longer be a time when a single ‘work from a previous life’ would dominate the entire literary world of the empire. Of course, the name value of ‘transcendent of literature’ and the soul contained in the classics would still be enough to shake the world… but ultimately, those were matters outside of literature.

The essence of literature is one.

The writer writes.

The reader reads.

Since more than half of the readers chose works other than Moby-Dick, this was akin to the sinking of the colossal divinity of Homer. Literature is not guaranteed its absoluteness by ‘Homer,’ but simply by being written by the author and passed down as a work.

To show that, I prepared this foolish competition.

“Moby-Dick by Homer is truly the greatest work symbolizing the literature of a new era!”

“Homer is the new name of this age!”

Of course, seeing the people cheering enthusiastically in the square, it might seem like a meaningless act.

After all, since Homer won, some people might claim that all other authors’ works were simply inferior to ‘Homer.’

The Homerist cult or whatever it was called would revere Homer as divine.

Even the greatest writer to emerge in the future would never escape the shadow of being ‘the second Homer.’

But.

What of it?

In the end, what moves the reader’s heart is not the author, but the work. Not norms, but impulses. Not authority, but deeply personal impressions.

Like the majority of people who didn’t vote for Moby-Dick, in the end, readers would choose the ordinary books that had once moved their hearts in their own lives, not the one book considered the greatest. Great books may advance literature, but thousands of ordinary books can change a person’s life. ?????Ê?

That was the true meaning of this competition.

“The library is quiet.”

“Most of the people who usually enjoy books are gathered in the square.”

With my complicated feelings about literature, I arrived at the library.

It was time to stop the unnecessary worrying.

I had to put aside lofty thoughts like the future of literature or everyone’s literature and dive deeply into a single book, like a child.

“Sion. Do you have any book recommendations?”

“Well, among the works submitted to this competition… there were quite a few good fairy tales.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“I’ll bring a few.”

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After the competition, I had once again been quite busy.

First, I checked the foundation’s book support policies and researched ways to help the library recommend books to readers more effectively, based on library science and statistics.

I even hired the writer who had been protesting in front of the Homer Foundation—’Albers Minideli’—as a consultant to handle these tasks.

Now, whenever authors visited the library, they could check which books were the most popular, the loan and return periods, and various other standards and metrics—all at the library. Simply put, based on the foundation’s information and records, we created a sort of ‘genre-based bestseller’ list.

This task required a lot of manpower, so naturally, it also created job opportunities.

Before everything was digitized, all the data had to be manually recorded, reviewed, classified, and evaluated. It wasn’t something that could be done by ordinary personnel.

In fact, due to my ambition to build libraries in every central district of the empire, the number of personnel required by the foundation continued to increase.

“Wow, this library is going to be named after me?”

“Yes. It will be a landmark, storing twice as many books as the Empire’s Central Library.”

“Not bad. I could live here from now on.”

“There’s also a simple cafeteria inside where meals can be prepared. And a resting area for those who stay up all night in the library.”

“…Ohh. Sion, you really put a lot of thought into this, didn’t you?”

“Considering how often you skip meals because of your reading, young master, I had to.”

In the central district where the Fríden estate stood, a library named after me, the ‘Ed Fríden Library,’ was set to be built.

The architect designing the new library was a young and promising talent supported by the Homeros Foundation. In addition, numerous artists and sculptors affiliated with the foundation were also participating, making this the largest art project in the Empire’s history.

In the future, would it be evaluated similarly to ‘St. Peter’s Basilica,’ built during the Renaissance of my past life? I wasn’t sure.

“So, how long until it’s finished?”

“With the help of several Magic Towers, it should be completed in about a year.”

“Sounds good.”

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As soon as I fell asleep at night, my consciousness awakened anew and floated gently into a higher plane.

The Library of Transcendents.

The door to the library of infinite possibilities—representing the future—remained closed, but the library containing all the texts I had read up until now was still there. Even in my dreams, I sat there rereading the books I’d gone through before.

“Oh! You’re here! It’s been a while!”

“Ah, yes. Alchemist, sir. The invisibility potion has been quite useful.”

“A friend of mine happens to be visiting today, so this is perfect timing.”

“A friend?”

“The Transcendent of Dragon Slaying. A thoughtless friend who recklessly killed the one and only dragon.”

“Ah, I see.”

As the Alchemist had said, another visitor soon arrived at the library.

He was a man with long black hair reaching his shoulders, leaving a striking impression.

When he saw me, he flinched and then greeted me warmly.

“Could you possibly be the writer, Homeros?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Ohhh! I’m a fan!”

The man’s overly excited face felt strangely familiar.

After recollecting for a moment, I realized he resembled the “Lazy King.”

“Are you, by any chance, from the Harren Kingdom? You bear a striking resemblance to the Lazy King… His Majesty, the Eternal King.”

“Ah, I am his ancestor.”

“…Pardon?”

“To be precise, I suppose you could call me the prototype? The ‘Dragon Seed’ created by borrowing my soul and essence is what became the royal bloodline of Harren.”

“When exactly did that happen?”

“Hmm… I believe it was over a thousand years ago.”

“…Hah.”

With that simple introduction, we sat in the library and shared casual conversation.

“I really like how peaceful your space is, Homeros. A library… it’s so tranquil.”

“Are others’ spaces different?”

“In my case, it’s a massive nest with a dragon the size of a mountain resting in it. That guy Gallen’s space is an endless workshop filled with alchemical materials and recipes….”

“Hmm.”

“Since I’m somewhat of a senior Transcendent, feel free to ask me about anything you’re curious about.”

“Do you know anything about a tree called the ‘World Tree’?”

“The World Tree, you say? Hmm, I feel like I heard about it from the dragon… I believe it’s related to ‘angels.’ You’d probably be better off asking an angel about it once the ‘door’ opens.”

The Alchemist and the Dragon Slayer.

The two taught me a wealth of new knowledge I had never heard before.

“Ah, Mr. Homeros.”

“Yes?”

“Could I get your autograph?”

“…Pardon?”

“I’m a fan, after all.”

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Anyway, a lot of time passed like that.

Now, the literary ecosystem was completely stabilized, and thousands of new works were being published by publishers every day.

“I no longer need to guide the future direction of literature. Countless writers are now creating their own works.”

“So this is what you meant by ‘the advancement of literature,’ young master?”

“Perhaps. I feel like this world no longer needs Homeros.”

“Young master?”

This world no longer needed a plagiarist who copied the literature of his past life.

From now on, literature would be created by the writers of this world themselves.

“Y-young master, don’t tell me you’re going to stop writing?.”

“No?”

“…Pardon?”

“I’m just going to stop worrying about the impact literature might have and release everything freely.”

The literary ecosystem was already robust enough.

It had grown sturdy enough not to be swayed like reeds by the invasive species known as ‘classics of my past life.’

If so.

My task as a plagiarist was simple.

“Hobbies are always the most enjoyable when you can share and discuss them with others. Reading other people’s reviews or interpretations is so much fun. And there’s nothing strange about wanting others to recognize the works you love.”

I would plagiarize more works.

Not for the sake of advancing literature, but simply to share them with other readers and hear their opinions.

The thousands of works I had translated and left to collect dust in storage.

The time to bring them out had finally come.