Chapter 83 – The Age of Romance (4)

"Doctor Dickter, what on earth is that?!"

The youthful voice echoed loudly through the cave. Soon after, a hearty middle-aged voice followed.

"Hahaha! Miss Grace, how should I know?"

"I'm going insane!!"

At that moment, a rumbling sound filled the cave as something—a massive boulder to be precise—began to crash down on them.

"Why on earth is there a trap here?!"

"This is one of the last strongholds where the ancient Gallic tribes fought against the Romans! It must be a defensive weapon they set up back then!"

"Enough with the useless explanations! Just save me!!"

"Oh dear, these modern graduate students! Don't they have any scholarly passion?"

Does that put food on the table?

At the absurdity of the remark, Grace was about to retort when Doctor Dickter's strong arm pulled her away.

And then.

"Ugh, uaaaah?!"

"Hold on tight!!"

The ceiling was spinning. Doctor Dickter had tied a dagger to the end of a rope and anchored it to the wall, pulling them along.

As a result.

"Uuuuugh."

Boulders whirled past beneath their spinning field of vision.

The sudden movement made her stomach churn.

Ugh...

"Just keep your eyes shut."

"Yes, y-yes...!"

She closed her eyes tightly as instructed. Meanwhile, she felt the rush of air as they sped by.

Whoooosh! Bang───!

"Good grief, what's this doing here?"

Wait, is it not the wind?

Anyway, she was completely in the dark. How long had she been in this state of ignorance?

"Ah, we're almost there."

Doctor Dickter's calm voice reached her ears. When Grace finally peeked open her eyes again.

"D-doctor?"

Grace swallowed nervously.

At fifty years old, his well-trained, solid physique caught her eye.

"Good, it's moving away."

"Pardon?"

"That way."

Grace blinked and looked in the direction Doctor Dickter was pointing. To her surprise, the boulder that had been threatening them was now moving away.

"What happened?"

"A good scholar always keeps a sharp eye on their surroundings. That's how you find hidden paths."

"Haaaah..."

He could have mentioned that earlier.

Grace sat down, saying this. Doctor Dickter, chuckling, patted her head.

"Still, you've got some grit for a first adventure. Excellent, you'll make a fine scholar."

"I just want to write a dissertation in cultural anthropology...!"

"Oh, sitting at a desk won't let you see such sights."

Doctor Dickter said with a sly grin. Grace looked up at his words.

They were in a small garden within the cave.

A small gap in the ceiling allowed sunlight to stream in, casting a beautiful reflection like stained glass in this dark place.

Below it, nature seemed to showcase its greatness in its effort to continue life, with unknown moss and wild plants flourishing.

And beneath it, there was a massive mural.

The mural depicted the great warriors of Gaul, who courageously fought against the mighty Roman Empire until the end. Even with the passage of time, the mural had managed to maintain its form.

"How is it?"

"It's so, so beautiful...!"

Grace forgot her troubles and marveled.

To think such a beautiful scene existed in the world! It was truly a grand and awe-inspiring sight, as if arranged by the gods themselves.

"It's amazing! With this, I feel like I can perfectly finish my graduation thesis!"

Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she eagerly began sketching the mural.

Watching her, Doctor Dickter sat down in a corner and pulled out a silver hip flask from his pocket, pouring its contents into his mouth.

Mmm.

After downing everything in one gulp, he said softly.

"Hehe, what else would you expect from a student who hired a professor to help with her thesis?"

Indeed, there was promise in her.

"Alright, once this is over, I might suggest she join this research institute."

He smiled at the thought.

And behind him, on the wall where the boulder had rolled, a black shadow began to seep in.

After the release of Weekly Temple.

London was in a frenzy.

"Yaaaay!!"

"This is it, Jenjang!"

"I knew it would be great!!"

Doctor David Dickter, the head of the Miskatonic University research institute and a notorious troublemaker, and Grace Granger, the attractive student with blonde hair and blue eyes who came to him to write her doctoral thesis.

An adventure that combines unknown civilizations and nature, resembling a father-daughter dynamic.

It retained the tension of exploring unknown places while focusing on familiar civilizations, distinguishing itself from the typical lost world adventures.

A delicate balance between the unknown and the known.

This unique trait set it apart from Henry Rider Haggard's Allan Quatermain series, and it was the point where London readers were most excited.

"So, Hanlow Jin went to France to gather material for this?!"

"Oh, in that case, I have to admit it!!"

"Where are you going?"

"Where else? I'm heading to France to explore the ruins of Gaul during my vacation!!"

The passenger ferries from Dover to Calais quickly became fully booked.

The translated edition of Caesar's Commentarii de Bello Gallico began to sell like hotcakes.

Simultaneously, the sales of Frederick George Jackson's exploration journal, which chronicled the rescue of Fridtjof Nansen, also started to rise.

"It may seem a bit too old for a sequel to Peter Perry. But..."

"At least the courageous Doctor Dickter is just like Peter Perry! Much better than those cheap, mass-produced pulp fictions!"

Moreover, the surrounding circumstances also helped.

Without Hanslow Jin, the saturated "pulp fiction" market had turned many readers away, inducing disgust, vomiting, and requests for refunds.

In such a situation, while there were some aspects, like the protagonist's significantly increased age, that did not satisfy existing fans, seeing more severe issues made it seem relatively "angelic" by comparison.

It even attracted a new readership.

— Hmm, the old soldier never dies, right? Ah, back in my day...

— Hehe, what do these youngsters know? You can't call yourself a man without experiencing the gunfire firsthand. The thrill of charging with a gun or even biting down and fighting when it fails...

— Indeed! A man's true character matures with time.

For the mature fans who had been unable to enjoy the previous work due to their conscience.

— Oh my, Doctor Dickter... such brawny arms despite your age...

— This refined charm is truly something else. Hehe.

— Hmm, doesn't the combination of Jean and Doctor Dickter make a great team? I felt a fondness in his gentle demeanor.

— Haha, Madame, you have quite the discerning eye. It looks like there's much to discuss today.

— Of course, Dickter x Jean!

— No, it's Jean x Dickter!

— What?

— What's that?

The influx of female fans, attracted by the elegant Art Nouveau illustrations...

In any case, it was a new work in many senses.

Originally meant to inspire dreams and hopes in boys, adventure in young people, and nostalgia and vicarious satisfaction in adults.

— Ha. So, you've been pulling such tricks even though you're good at what you do.

Even someone within Buckingham's inner palace commented like this.

In a way, the success of Doctor Dickter's Bizarre Adventure seemed almost predestined...

"Hahaha, I told you so. I'm confident!"

"I get it, I get it. Now, could you stop with that flippant laughter?"

Flippant? This is the sound of proven success.

I pouted for a moment. But even so, I couldn't protest against Arthur Conan Doyle's laughter.

The timing wasn't right.

"Alright, opening the door!!"

"Wait! No!! Not there!!"

"Be quiet!!"

Scotland Yard brought the corpulent man to his knees.

The corpulent man, despite ignoring his pain and struggling, couldn't prevent the door from being opened.

And what they first encountered through the opened door was none other than...

"Ugh...!"

"The... the smell."

Even the Scotland Yard officers, accustomed to London's yellow pea soup-like smog, couldn't tolerate the stench of sweat, oil, and food waste emanating from the room.

"What... what is this?"

"Is this... food...?"

And from within came a faint, slowly rising voice.

It sounded as if it had been in a coal mine all day.

And beneath a barely recognizable light, they saw 'them'.

"Scotland Yard! Is there a Nottingham University student named Jack Clinton here?!"

"Th- that's me...!"

"Then Harry, Harry Fordham... no, just everyone come out! Write down your names as you come out!"

"I... write down?!"

"Pen! Ink! Eeeek!!"

Those who seemed to have a primal fear of writing instruments.

I bit my lip as I watched them.

"I expected there would be some issues, but I didn't think it would be this severe."

"It's not your fault. It's their greed that's the problem."

Arthur Conan Doyle glared at the corpulent man, bound and thrown on the floor.

This place was one of those nameless weekly magazines, specifically Brownie Bevin, which had plagiarized my Peter Perry word for word.

Because they had set out to sweep up all the transgressions.

Moreover, even in the historical context... well, even in the period I mentioned, there were many similar exploitation-related incidents.

It wasn't the era when common sense and fairness were buried under anti-communism, and human rights were a cheap joke during military regimes.

Knowing that genre literature, which had gained artistic recognition, could make money, during the 90s to 00s, the second-generation period.

Acknowledging this history, we mustn't repeat it in this era.

So, with the help of Arthur Conan Doyle, who had a deep connection with Scotland Yard, I decided to raid the most severe places first...

Wow, is that glutton some demon from the 18th century?

This isn't just exploitation; it's like filming Oliver Twist?

"I too find myself reflecting on this."

"Why, sir?"

"Setting up something like the Alliance of Authors and ignoring such horrific scenes."

What is this?

Arthur Conan Doyle, who was always so composed, was now trembling with emotion, clearly affected by the shock.

In fact, I only had a superficial understanding of the bottom of the publishing industry from that era, having heard about it through a few connections. By my time, such things had truly crossed into the realm of absurdity, thanks to the efforts of many proper writers and publishers.

Of course, such issues weren't absent in the web novel era, but it wasn't my responsibility. This was the first time I had seen it first-hand.

It seemed outwardly composed, but it was more like I couldn't react because I had seen something beyond my imagination.

"I will find ways to prevent such exploitation institutionally. The alliance itself needs more exposure."

"I'll leave it to you."

"And."

Arthur Conan Doyle approached a desk.

Then, he reached out and scrutinized a thin manuscript.

"Harding or Giffard."

"Excuse me? Who?"

"Yes, that person."

Arthur Conan Doyle simply stated this.