The Outcast Writer of a Martial Arts Visual Novel-Chapter 135: Uninvited Guest - 2

I knew a day like this would come eventually.

The protagonist of Storm of the Tang Clan is from the Sichuan Tang Clan. If anyone from the Sichuan Tang Clan read it, there was bound to be some kind of reaction.

Still, I didn’t think I needed to worry from the start.

I was in Yichang, Hubei Province. The Sichuan Tang Clan was in Chengdu, Sichuan Province. Sure, Sichuan borders Hubei to the west, but the actual distance between us was pretty significant.

My plan was simple—use the Sichuan Tang Clan as a narrative hook to raise reader interest and make the story feel grounded, then ride the wave of popularity. Only when Storm of the Tang Clan became so famous it echoed throughout all of Hubei would anyone from the Sichuan Tang Clan come looking.

That’s what I told myself.

Who would’ve thought this day would come so soon?

“What brings you here?” I asked with a smile, looking at the purple-haired man. Anyone could tell he was from the Sichuan Tang Clan.

“As a warrior of the Sichuan Tang Clan, I must identify the author of this novel, Storm of the Tang Clan.”

Just as I suspected—he was from the Sichuan Tang Clan.

At least he wasn’t barking orders like some rude martial artist. Still, there was something commanding about his tone.

His face wasn’t smiling or angry—just stiff. Hard to tell if he came with good intentions or not.

“I can’t reveal their identity.”

“You wrote a novel with the protagonist from the Sichuan Tang Clan, and now you say you can’t reveal who you are?”

Would you reveal it, in my place? The moment I declined, the warrior lowered his voice, and I could feel a strange pressure rolling off him. This bastard. One “no” and he’s already pressing me.

Judging by his demeanor, he didn’t come here with good intentions.

If I hadn’t been trained by a woman whose killing intent couldn’t be matched in all of Jungwon, I’d probably be trembling in fear just from this little pressure.

It’s not like I committed some grave crime or anything.

The protagonist of Storm of the Tang Clan isn’t some sleazy second-generation chaebol villain from a drama—he’s a righteous man of chivalry. And it’s not like I was the first author to write about a Tang Clan protagonist.

Granted, all the other Tang Clan stories featured gloomy, scheming protagonists and were boring as hell.

So what’s he so upset about? Is he pissed that I used a snake instead of a herbivore in the bedroom scene?

“The publisher of Storm of the Tang Clan is Daseogak. If there’s any issue, please direct it at me, not the author Ho-pil.”

“I already know everything.”

The man looked me up and down with a smile that said he’d done his homework.

Did he find out?

Feigning confusion, I began organizing books while inching toward the exit. Worst-case scenario, I’d bolt and scream.

Volume 3 of Storm of the Tang Clan suspended!

Daseogak Literary Society, assemble!

“What are you talking about?”

“The author Ho-pil—he’s from the Sichuan Tang Clan, isn’t he?”

“Haha, someone from the Sichuan Tang Clan?”

I let out a sigh of relief. So he doesn’t actually know. You’re wrong, buddy. But also... you’re kind of right.

“You can’t fool my eyes. There are details in this book that only someone from the Sichuan Tang Clan could possibly know.”

“Haha. Is that so?”

I kept up my clueless act.

“Are you really going to keep pretending?”

He pressed again, leaking more pressure.

What should I do? While I hesitated, I caught sight of Hwa-rin approaching with a tense face.

No. Don’t come over here.

I sent her a sharp glance, careful not to alert the martial artist. Hwa-rin stopped in her tracks.

Please, Hwa-rin. If you come over here, I’m dead. I widened my eyes slightly and flicked them toward the bookshelf—Hide. Now.

“Why do you keep looking behind you?”

The martial artist turned to glance over his shoulder. Luckily, Hwa-rin had already ducked behind a bookshelf, out of his line of sight.

“There’ve been a lot of book thieves lately,” I said smoothly.

“Ah. I see. Still, can you really not tell me? Ho-pil must be from the Sichuan Tang Clan.”

He pointed to the name "Ho-pil" on the book and pushed again.

“As the manager of Daseogak, I take full responsibility for all books printed here. If the content is a problem, please don’t target the author—come to me instead.”

I spoke like a noble merchant standing up to protect a well-meaning writer.

But seriously, what do you want with Ho-pil? You're not gonna drag him off for human experimentation, are you?

Today’s test is with pufferfish poison. Let’s see how many eggs a person can eat before they keel over. Yesterday, they made it to three. Let’s try five today. Oops. Dead again.

That little vision of being vivisected by the Tang Clan was enough to harden my resolve. I would never reveal Ho-pil’s identity.

“Hahahaha! ‘Target him,’ you say! You make it sound like the man’s a criminal!”

The martial artist’s sudden laugh caught me off guard.

Wait—so you weren’t planning on human experimentation?

“Then why are you looking for him?”

“I stumbled across this novel yesterday, and I was so moved, I had to come.”

“Is that so?”

“The Sichuan Tang Clan has been slandered for so long. Every time a protagonist from our clan appears, they’re some sneaky, scheming bastard. Do people think we’re part of the Demonic Sect or something? It made me so angry. But this book—this book brought me to tears.”

“Well, it’s true most Tang Clan protagonists haven’t exactly been the friendliest.”

I guess even in this world, it’s a cliché to assume every conspiracy has the Tang Clan behind it.

“But Storm of the Tang Clan is different. Tang Jeong is a true man of chivalry. The story is genuinely entertaining. And the level of detail—it’s obvious the writer’s from the Sichuan Tang Clan. I figured someone finally wrote this to break the stereotypes and defend our honor. That’s why I came. To find the author and show my support.”

“Haha. I see.”

“So—can you tell me who Ho-pil really is now?”

He smiled and asked again, but I couldn’t tell him. He could be sugar-coating everything now, but who knows what’s behind that grin?

“Ho-pil doesn’t wish to reveal their identity.”

“Hahaha! I understand. Of course they wouldn’t want to. If word got out they were writing a novel to glorify their own clan, it’d be so embarrassing! Hahaha!”

The man laughed heartily, craning his neck back like he’d just confirmed his own theory.

“Thank you for understanding.”

I gave a neutral response—neither confirming nor denying.

“This novel is just fantastic. The protagonist is charming. But I still don’t get how someone from the Sichuan Tang Clan—normally so... well, let’s just say not righteous—could come up with a story like this. Truly, they must be from our clan. There’s no other explanation...”

He kept going on about how much he loved the story. He must’ve been genuinely moved.

“I really should be heading upstairs.”

I finally played the busy card after listening to him ramble.

“Then let me ask you just one thing before you go.”

He grew serious as I turned to leave.

“Go ahead.”

Please don’t ask about my identity again.

“Ahem. So, I’m heading back to Sichuan soon... Would it be possible to get my hands on Volume 3 in advance?”

He looked away bashfully.

“Ah... Well...”

I gave him an awkward smile and gently shut it down.

“But I’m from the clan! Surely Ho-pil would be thrilled to let me read it first, right?”

“I’m sorry. As far as I know, Volume 3 hasn’t been completed yet.”

“What a shame. A real shame. Heading back without Volume 3... Well, no helping it. I’ll just have to buy extra copies of Volumes 1 and 2. Ring these up, please.”

He grabbed a few volumes and handed me one gold.

“I’ll get you your change—”

“No need. I don’t know who Ho-pil is, but let him know to buy himself a good drink with the rest. That novel brought me joy.”

With a bright smile, the man who had arrived like a storm at dawn left, leaving behind more change than the book was worth.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

--------

“Haa... That shaved ten years off my life.”

Late in the evening, after finishing work, I sat in a restaurant in Yichang. Using the change that man had given me, I ordered a nice meal as a kind of exorcism and finally let out a long, relieved sigh.

“You should’ve just called me,” Hwa-rin said, looking a bit annoyed.

“Why would I call you when I had everything under control?”

“It was dangerous.”

“It wasn’t. And the Ho-pil strategy worked just like I planned.”

Keeping the identity of Storm of the Tang Clan’s author, Ho-pil, a secret.

It wasn’t just because the situation was more entertaining that way—there were plenty of practical benefits to concealing Ho-pil’s identity.

Even if my circumstances had improved, I was still a black-haired barbarian.

There could be people who’d put on colored lenses just because Storm of the Tang Clan was written by someone like me.

Whether I used the pen name Ho-pil or something like Oyster Mushroom, this world had plenty of ridiculous pseudonyms already, so that wasn’t the issue. The real problem was that the one doing the writing was a black-haired barbarian. freeweɓnøvel.com

And the more famous Ho-pil became, the more trouble might come knocking.

If I were a noble, a pampered young master from a wealthy family, it might be fine. But as someone who looked easy to bully, the story was completely different.

By hiding my identity, I could avoid the kinds of threats or hassles like what happened today.

“Still...”

“For now, using Ho-pil and ‘the manager’ should be enough. I don’t want to sell you out just because some guy drops his voice a little.”

Throwing Hwa-rin under the bus was strictly a last resort.

Tang Hwa-rin was a victim of the Poisoned One ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) experiments. If word of her reached the wrong ears within the Tang Clan, someone working in the shadows might come looking. We had to avoid her name reaching the Sichuan Tang Clan at all costs.

If it ever came to the point where I had to pin things on Hwa-rin, not only would she be in danger, but so would I.

“Hmph. So you’re really thinking of me that much?” Hwa-rin let out a strange hum and smiled at my words, sounding oddly touched.

“Of course. I’m not the kind of guy who sells out his friends just because I feel threatened.”

When I’m in danger, what I need is quick thinking and wit—not a friend who cares about me.

“Yeah... I guess. We are friends.”

Hwa-rin trailed off with a strange look on her face. Something on her mind?

“Hey! If it isn’t the manager of Daseogak!”

Just as I was about to ask her what was wrong, some familiar faces appeared nearby.

“Aren’t you all from the Daseogak Literary Society? Out for a meal?”

“We gathered to have a drink and talk about Storm of the Tang Clan!”

“I see.”

Sharing drinks and chatting with like-minded people about a common interest—yeah, that sounded fun.

“It must be fate we met here. Why don’t you join us for a few drinks? Afterward, if you’re free, maybe we could swing by the Yogi Pavilion together...”

That was tempting.

“Hey, Yun-ho.”

Hwa-rin’s voice, low and sharp, cut in like a blade—sharper than the martial artist’s earlier.

“I have company,” I said quickly.

“Ahh, I see! The young lady of Daseogak herself is here. Hm. Well then! I’ll go grab a bottle—we can still share a few drinks!”

“Wait, hold on—!”

But I was too late. I couldn’t stop the guy from the Daseogak Literary Society as he ran off to fetch the booze.

*******

A guesthouse in Yichang.

The martial artist from the Sichuan Tang Clan who had visited Daseogak that morning returned to the inn where his group was staying.

“You’re just now getting back? Didn’t even eat lunch. Where’ve you been?”

Another man from the Tang Clan, hair also tinted purple, looked at him with a frown.

“I had something to take care of.”

“We’re already tense enough with this whole trip turning into a wild goose chase. What was so important? Don’t tell me you were out drinking from dawn.”

The other man furrowed his brows and scolded him.

“Of course not. And—heh—this trip wasn’t a waste after all.”

“Wait... You actually found what we were looking for here in Yichang?”

“No, not that. But I did find something miraculous. Something you wouldn’t find even if you scoured all of Jungwon.”

“What... what is it?”

The man who’d visited Daseogak stepped forward, pulled something from his robes, and spoke.

“Have you heard of this book shaking Yichang to its core? Storm of the Tang Clan?”

Storm of the Tang Clan.

And thus, not just one—but the entire Sichuan Tang Clan—was now aware of its existence.