Surviving as a Writer in the British Empire - Surviving as a Writer in the British Empire chapter 39

Hero(2)

Sandhurst Military Academy, especially a room in the cavalry department dormitory. in the blanket.

“Kuhm, great. So, eh… Pardon? is Sorry, the serviette is the napkin…”

If my father knows, he will play the sutra.

Even thinking so, Winston Churchill, the eldest son of Randolph Churchill, the 9th generation of the great Duke of Marlborough, is doing what he is doing now. That’s why I didn’t stop studying Cockney.

If it were him, he wouldn’t have paid attention to such a mouthful of words, saying, ‘Absolutely not something a proud aristocrat of the British Empire would do!’

But he wasn’t like that now. No, I was actively studying. There is only one reason.

“Keuuu, Vincent is the best in this flower too…!”

He admired the great writer of the British Empire, Hanslo Jean.

Churchill also buys three copies a week of ＜Temple Bar＞, the magazine Hanslo Jean is serializing, as well as ＜Weekly Temple＞.

Why are there three copies, of course, for reading, for collecting, and for propagation.

Of course, when I first saw ＜Vincent Villiers＞, he didn’t have a good voice like the others.

─Oh my God! That ‘poor man’ enters the body of an aristocrat? What a cuckoo story!

──The garbage can should be closed properly, but the rich women of the aristocratic families were carelessly exposed like this! Eh…!

—That Hanslo Jin would slander such nonsense!! The nobility of the British Empire is always the loyal sword of the royal family, the intellectual, and the shield that protects the empire!!

——This kind of thing, this kind of thing is not the right way!

An article defending the vulgar lower classes of the East End and criticizing the corruption of the aristocrats!

It was like Judas’ betrayal.

Many shuddered at the sense of betrayal, and Churchill was no different from them at first.

But no matter how much you think on the outside, your body is honest. He was already buying the next volume.

Then, on to the next book.

And from one day

──It is not the nobility that ＜Vincent Villiers＞ criticizes.

he got enlightenment

Just as Jesus Christ cleansed the temple of the fallen Jews with a whip, the realization that Hanslo Jin tried to enlighten the nobles with a whip called ＜Vincent Villiers＞.

──What ＜Vincent Villiers＞ criticizes are bob bugs like Gregory Villiers who are nobles but do not fulfill their responsibilities (noblesse oblige)! We must read Vincent Villiers and learn how to behave as nobles anew!

Some would call it an escape from reality, but Winston Churchill found peace of mind anyway.

And, with a refreshing mind, I bought ＜Temple Bar＞.

In order to even imitate Vincent Villiers, he began to learn dirty words such as ‘Farden English’ that can capture the hearts of the lower classes.

Yes, to be as smart as Vincent Villiers, as a visionary who reads the future, as a virtuous and competent aristocrat!

of course.

“Hoo-wook, whoo-wook…”

From the outside, he was just a bad-tempered student who was over-immersed in novels.

It’s as if he identified himself with the character…

It was the time when he was trembling and drawing his wonderful future today.

“Wee, Winston! Winston!!”

“What, what!! I don’t know knock, knock!!”

Winston shouted as he hurriedly put into his arms the so-called ‘Low Class Language Dictionary’ he had been studying.

Fortunately, his roommate didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey, look at this!!”

“No, this!!”

Instead, Winston had to open his eyes. More than that, it was because something important was unfolding before her eyes.

It’s no wonder that what the roommate brought was none other than the smuggled ＜Strand Magazine＞.

“No, where did you get such blasphemous things…! Hopefully hey!! Sherlockian, Genga captured by those miscellaneous things!!”

“Oh no! Can it be!! I just…!!”

“quiet!! hey! who isn’t there! Bring out this blasphemous heretic!!”

“Heretic!?”

At the same time, people wearing black hoods popped out from all over the dormitory.

Original Sandhurst.

The school, especially the cavalry department, which trains the proud army officers of the British Empire, was divided into two groups not too long ago.

It was none other than the magazines they read.

—How can a proud cadet from Sandhurst have his eyes on something like ＜Vincent Villiers＞ that demeans the dignity of aristocrats! It is clear that the magazine that should be provided in the dormitory is not ＜Temple Bar＞, but ＜Strand Magazine＞, which contains articles containing justice and wisdom like ＜Sherlock Holmes＞!

─Nobility in words, nobility! With such a high nose and no speed, wouldn’t the cavalrymen die in the Crimean War? It’s time to change! The courage of ＜Peter Perry＞ and the justice of ＜Vincent Villiers＞ are words that properly show the way the British Empire’s vested interests should go!

＜Strand Magazine＞ claimed by the fandom Sherlockian of ＜Sherlock Holmes＞.

And ＜Temple Bar＞ claimed by Hanslian, the fandom of ＜Peter Perry＞ and ＜Vincent Villiers＞.

Of the two most popular magazines in London, which one to choose was a big question for them.

‘Can’t I just buy both?’ The same gray neutrals have already been lynched and gone.

I had no choice but to pick one of the two to get through the strict dormitory rules anyway.

Of course, there were people who exchanged views behind the scenes, but… Originally, this was a battle of pride.

They are at an age when they pretend not to have seen them and want to persevere in their rightness.

Anyway, that long confrontation was short-lived.

The decision came out in a completely unexpected way.

─Oh my God!! ＜Sherlock Holmes＞ is finished like this. Nonsense!!

─Moriarty, Moriarty!! Where the hell did a guy like a horse bone with no roots come out of nowhere and kill Holmes!? This is clearly the work of the Hanslians!

—How ugly, Sherlockian bastards!! Accept defeat!!

The end of Sherlock Holmes.

With that, the Sherlockian faction that lost its center collapsed in an instant, and the Hanslians celebrated.

And their center, Winston Churchill declared.

─From now on, Sandhurst’s academic thesis is ＜Temple Bar＞! No objections!!

—But Winston, at first you didn’t abhor ＜Vincent Villiers＞ for blaspheming the nobility, and that Hanslo Jin couldn’t commit such a betrayal…

—My, when did I say that! What are you doing! Inquisitive! hit!

Burying the motives of knowing too much about himself, Winston Churchill, along with his fellow Hanslians, drank the tears of the losers.

I did.

“How dare you betray that history and bring ＜Strand Magazine＞ into this sacred dormitory!?”

“I’m a roommate, but I can’t forgive you!”

“Heresy burned at the stake! Burned at the stake!!”

“Hey, wait a minute!! wait for me! There is a reason I brought it!!”

Tied up by his colleagues and nearly crucified, Churchill’s roommate protested desperately.

“I can’t help it, it’s Jung, who was once my roommate. I will listen.”

“At one time, I’m still your roommate…”

“He has nothing to say! Hang!”

“sign! Look at the cover of this issue!!”

sign?

Winston Churchill had his eye on the cover. And I couldn’t help but be astonished to see the name shining proudly on the cover.

“······Hanslo Jin?”

“okay! Author Hanslo Jin started serialization in Strand Magazine too!”

“Oh, look! where!!”

The title is ＜Dawnbringer＞.

Winston Churchill quickly began to check the contents.

It was an action drama with the scent of a gothic novel, in which a one-armed fallen aristocrat tracks the events taking place in the back alleys of London and defends London from criminals, vampires, and werewolves.

“Oh, my God!”

“This is nonsense!”

“contents is?! What about the contents?!”

Winston Churchill, who opened the magazine in amazement, couldn’t help but be even more astonished.

More aristocratic than Vincent Villiers and as thrilling as Peter Perry.

An aristocrat who hid his true identity protects the big city of London heavily in the dark.

A one-armed aristocratic gentleman making a leap of trust, looking down on the night streets of London from the top of Big Ben, the tall clock!

How can you stand this!?

However, the problem is.

“Hey, why the hell is this from Strand Magazine!!”

＜Temple Bar＞ where ＜Vincent Villiers＞ is serialized.

＜Strand Magazine＞ where ＜Dawnbringer＞ is serialized.

Which one should I buy now?

Again the winds of war were blowing in Sandhurst.

***

“Ha-jaw, ha-jaw, ha-jaw…!”

A night where you can’t even see the stars properly.

From noble mtl dot com

Even the quiet kerosene lights sway, terribly black London. A woman ran through the streets of Whitechapel.

There is no purpose.

Even if there was, I forgot.

Now I just want to run away. I want to get away from this street That was the only thought.

The more you walk, the more you can’t see an inch ahead, as if you’re falling at the edge of a cliff. From this turbid darkness close to the abyss in the deep water.

but.

─Gureureung…

“Hee, hee hee!”

The woman drew in her breath at the sound of a low, cave-like cry.

No matter how much you run, run, run.

Those cries followed her.

As if he was chasing her even to the end of the world… as if he was trying to bite her neck with his teeth.

‘No, I can’t.’

I can’t die in a place like this.

already three.

At first, Janet in the basement of the room across from her was torn to pieces.

Next, Tana, a wandering gypsy, was bitten to death.

Bellado, a girl who was like a flower… Ah, I hate to think of that scene.

Anyway, she didn’t want to die like that.

Somehow, somehow, she would survive and hug her beloved son… But strangely, she couldn’t get out of the street.

The pitch-black darkness only changes its density to a turbid darkness.

In the dark, cave-like night view, when the woman lifted her bluish face and took a deep breath.

-Teouk.

“Hee, hee hee!”

“Madam, please calm down.”

A gentle voice tickled his ears, cutting through his own screams.

A low, warm baritone pleasant tones reached out to her.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Canis?”

“Eh, Ed, Baron Edmund?”

“That’s right. This is Edmond Earhart.”

Upon hearing the name clearly, Mrs. Canis could feel the warmth as if she had returned to her cradle.

London’s most famous prostitute, a ruined aristocrat whose name is forgotten, but also a rich man who knows no bounds.

Her husband would be jealous if he found out, but to Mrs. Canis, at this moment, he was more reassuring than anyone else.

“Help me too. Baron!”

“Oops.”

Edmund gave a charming wry smile.

That alone made Mrs. Canis feel a lot better, but after hearing the next one, she fell back into the abyss.

“sorry. It can’t be. ma’am.”

“What, what do you mean by that?”

“I’m here to help people.”

not a monster

The moment Edmund uttered those words, the night sky that blocked the light opened.

at the same time.

─Growl!!

Mrs. Canis, no, the werewolf in her body swung her huge, furry arm.

An arm of monstrous strength that could shatter a stone wall with just one swing struck the baron’s left arm like a thunderbolt.

however.

“I’m sorry—this left arm was already taken by someone else.”

Left arm exposed with tailcoat torn.

It was no longer made of the Lord’s creatures, human bones and flesh.

human creature. A metallic prosthetic arm (Automail) made of steel and gears was revealed.

The werewolf, who had been grinding his teeth, took a step back and glared at Edmund.

[under······! So, what can a piece of meat do!]

“Hmm, has the will already been eroded?”

Then there is no reason to hesitate.

Edmund said so and inputted a combination formula into his left arm.

And then.

“Transform.”

Clack, clap!

The steel plate of the prosthetic arm was opened, and the cogs unfolded.

The unfolded cogs cover the top of the tailcoat, creating a detailed outline like a mosaic.

Kiki-Ik-kkeok!

Like the weft and warp threads.

Just like magic and science intersect.

Gears are connected with gears, and mechanical devices sweep through the body like a single creature.

And it all ends in the blink of an eye.

Pushuuu—!

It seems to blow away the dirty dust around it at once.

A storm of steam was blown away and appeared in its place.

[Ego.]

A compilation of research hidden by Newton, a great scientist and alchemist, to protect the night streets of London.

He was the Dawnbringer.

[Count your sins.]