Fantasy Writers 1860

"It breaks here?"

Dorian looked at the editor-in-chief's flushed face and felt a little flustered.

Oh no, he might actually get angry and beat me up because of this missing part of the sentence, right?

In the past, everyone was separated by the internet, and no matter how angry they were, they could only suffer. No one could trace them back through the internet. But now, I am actually sitting in front of my readers!

After a moment of silence, Clancy uttered a serious remark that sounded like a joke, yet somehow contained no hint of sarcasm: "You'll get beaten up if you keep making those kinds of pronouncements."

But he immediately broke into a wide smile, his lips curving upwards in a wide grin:

"However, as an editor, I still have to say, that's a good cut! This way, people will buy our next issue of the newspaper!"

Dorian breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed he wouldn't be beaten up.

"So when will the rest of the story be finished?"

"It depends on how quickly I can translate the ideas in my head into the real world; the story is already in my head." Dorian held up his right hand, pointing to his head, and laid out his prepared explanation:

"Now you know why I'm planning to buy a typewriter, right? Handwriting is too slow. If I had a typewriter, the rest of the story could be published much sooner."

"Mr. Clancy, you also want to see the rest of the story as soon as possible, don't you?"

Well, so this is where you were waiting for me.

Clancy understood Dorian's meaning perfectly well; everything was just a prelude, and the real purpose was to borrow money.

"...Alright, here's two gold pounds, take it." Clancy took out four Ducati gold coins from his pocket and reluctantly but solemnly handed them to Dorian.

Anyway, this was the money that mysterious gentleman paid when he came to buy the original manuscript of "Mr. Hakimi's Jokes" a couple of days ago.

The money was originally obtained by exchanging Dorian's things, and now it's back in his hands, which is fine.

He had barely placed the gold coins in Dorian's hand, and before the other could even pull his hand away, he suddenly grabbed Dorian's wrist tightly: "Wait a minute, how can I be sure you actually spent this money on buying typewriters, and not on something like a casino or a brothel?"

"Well, if you don't believe me, you can come and see my apartment later."

"Okay, give me your address. If I find out you've squandered this money elsewhere, I'll chop your hand off!"

……

After receiving the money, Dorian indulged himself and immediately went to a carriage rental shop to request a two-wheeled carriage.

They didn't even take a public carriage.

The destination was naturally 332 Kingdom Avenue in the Loia district.

"Sir, are you sure this is the address?" The coachman looked Dorian up and down, noticing his tattered overcoat, patched trousers and shirt, and stained soft hat. He didn't look like someone who should be going to a place like this.

"Just drive, why ask so many questions?" Dorian sat in the car with great interest, somewhat impatient with the driver's questions.

This is my first time riding in a horse-drawn carriage!

Excitedly rubbing hands.jpg

"Alright, as you wish." The coachman said nothing more, but silently climbed onto the roof of the carriage and brandished his long whip.

The carriage traveled through the streets, from roads that were all hard dirt to roads with sidewalks on both sides paved with stone bricks, with only the middle section being hard dirt; and then to roads that were completely covered with stone bricks but were old and full of potholes.

Finally, we stopped at the side of the road, which was completely covered with stone bricks and was flat, smooth, and aesthetically pleasing.

Dorian got off the bus and looked around. All he saw were tall and solemn classical buildings. The spire of the Westminster Cathedral soared into the sky, the arches of the City Hall were carved with the imperial coat of arms, the Corinthian columns on the facade of the Parliament Building supported a large, ornate wooden roof, and the distant clock tower rang out with a deep, resonant chime.

This is the center of Lentinion, the heart of the empire.

Following the street signs, I found number 332, where a unique three-story building stood:

The walls are made entirely of black bricks, with only the window frames, lintels, and doorposts using white stone strips, making them stand out starkly against the backdrop of the surrounding white or beige building facades.

The same pitch-black gate was painted with the numbers 332 in white paint, and a gleaming magic crystal lamp hung from the top of the wrought iron archway at the entrance.

"The road sign says this is where the Department of Culture, Arts and Libraries is located." Dorian tapped on the door lock.

Soon, the black door slowly opened, and a middle-aged man dressed in a black tailcoat with his hair neatly combed stood in the doorway, looking at Dorian with an undisguisedly offensive gaze.

He didn't ask a single question, and after a moment, he casually prepared to close the door.

"Wait a minute, I'm here to sign up for the writing contest!" Dorian hurriedly said the "secret code" that Lily had left behind.

Sure enough, after hearing the "code," the middle-aged man stopped what he was doing; then he opened the door, leaned out, looked around, and said, "Please come in."

Inside the door was a spacious and bright hall with black and white marble floor tiles and several oil paintings with gold frames hanging on the walls. The air was filled with a faint, mixed smell of ink and leather.

"Who introduced you here?" The middle-aged man led Dorian through the hall to a corridor with oak panels hanging on the walls.

"She said her name was Lily Lockhart." As Dorian walked down the corridor, he curiously observed the furnishings around him, and a sense of understated luxury and sophistication wafted over him.

"You're really lucky to have been introduced to the team by Captain Lily. You're really getting a lot of attention. Although she's usually a bit cold, she's actually..."

Before the middle-aged man could finish speaking in his elegant and authentic Lentinian accent, Dorian interrupted him:

"Join? What do you mean, join? I just wanted to come and take a look..."

"Take a look?" The middle-aged man frowned. "Sir, you're quite humorous. This is the Empire's top secret location. The fact that you've been introduced here means..."

After saying this, he suddenly fell silent.

At the same time, the two of them stopped in their tracks.

He and Dorian were standing at the end of another corridor, which led nowhere. At the end of the corridor was a wall covered with beige wallpaper, with a niche carved out in the middle containing a celadon vase.

"...Join us or die, there is no other choice."

The middle-aged man spoke in a calm tone, as if he were discussing the weather, but it instantly sent chills down Dorian's spine.

He gently pushed the celadon vase in the niche, and a pale blue halo shot from beneath the carpet where the two were standing straight up to the ceiling, enveloping them.

The next second, the end of this magnificent corridor returned to silence, as if no one had walked here for a long time.

It was as if no one had ever been there.