The Outcast Writer of a Martial Arts Visual Novel

“I need to draw a line on the wood, so hold the end of the string tight.”

This was awesome.

Totally awesome.

Starting the next day, my job shifted from carrying heavy materials to assisting the master carpenter.

Though it was still manual labor, it was less physically demanding and paid more.

“Yes, I’ll hold it tightly!”

I placed the string I had received at the end of a piece of construction wood. As I positioned it, the master carpenter began to draw lines on the wood with a chalk line.

“How dare a barbarian work with a master carpenter…”

“How can someone who rarely accepts apprentices work with such a barbarian?”

It was natural for people to be unhappy about a barbarian like me assisting the master carpenter. But what could I do?

Did you guys have a stronger connection than the carpenter line? Social life was all about connections.

Of course, relying solely on connections and acting recklessly could turn me into a dismissed porter of the carpenter’s party. I definitely didn’t want to go back to carrying materials.

I had to work smart so that the carpenters would regret and obsess over my absence if I disappeared.

“Who sharpened all these tools?”

One of the carpenters, noticing the tools sharpened as if new, remarked.

“Huh? Mine’s sharpened too. I was thinking of getting a new chisel since it wasn’t cutting well.”

“Did the foreman call a sharpener to do all this?”

“That guy? He’s crazy about money. No way he would spend on a sharpener for this.”

“I did it.”

I stepped forward and spoke.

“You, a barbarian?”

“Yes. I heard you complaining about the tools not working well yesterday, so I got up early this morning and sharpened them.”

“You did all these by yourself?”

One of the carpenters asked in surprise.

Sharpening tools didn’t take much time because their blades weren’t large. It was a bit bothersome to wake up at dawn, though.

“I couldn’t have done it as well as this.”

“Well done.”

“For a barbarian, you’re quite skilled.”

The carpenters, who initially looked down on me, grudgingly complimented me after they inspected the tools.

“Hehehe. This is just the beginning.”

“I’ve brought water here in advance!”

“I’ve organized the sawdust and wood waste over there!!”

As I took care of all the visible chores, the carpenters’ perception of me gradually started to change.

It felt great to gain their favor with such manageable tasks.

Just like my daytime job, telling stories at night wasn’t too difficult.

They were all part of a divorce series.

A kind husband and a wicked wife. Just vary the wicked wife’s repertoire. The child they thought was theirs turns out to be from an affair, the wife donates money to another man, or the wife constantly hinders her husband’s future.

“That damned woman, even worse than yesterday.”

“Today, she seems crazier, doesn’t she?”

“Why does each day bring a worse woman?”

Just provide an initial variation of the wicked wife and change the successful outcomes slightly.

Success after divorce with a princess’s consort, a genius craftsman, or by passing the imperial examination. Stories were easily created when the runaway wife regretted her actions after the husband’s splendid success.

“The barbarian sure tells amazing stories.”

“We would’ve spent a lot of money to hear these in the market.”

“Every story told by the storytellers is the same. But this barbarian always brings something new.”

The uncles were extremely satisfied. I was too, as my work was easy and all I had to do was talk. My stories even started spreading, leading to this:

“I’ll buy you a drink of rice wine once I’m done with work!”

“Are you crazy? Why sell that spot for just rice wine?”

“You know how much I love those storyteller’s tales, and you still say that?”

Since only a limited number of people could enter the lodging, there were even those who tried to buy a spot in my room.

Originally intended as a specific lodging, it gradually became a place where everyone, except the master carpenter, changed nightly. I worried about repeating the same stories, but fortunately, people didn’t seem to tire of them.

“Hey, Korean storyteller, come sit with us and have some food. I’ll give you extra meat dishes. Tell us a story.”

“Storyteller, can you make room in your quarters? I’ve brought some sweets.”

As my reputation grew, even the carpenters who had looked down on me surrendered their pride and sought me out.

“Barbarian, you’re a storyteller, aren’t you? Tell us one of those divorce stories.”

“Indeed. We miss out on them at night due to work, but we’ve heard your stories are entertaining.”

“Certainly, I’ll tell you. Let me just finish my meal quickly, and then I’ll share the story of a genius carpenter after his divorce.”

“Thanks, junior.”

After sharing a story from the divorce series at lunchtime, I went from being labeled a barbarian to becoming the carpenters’ junior.

A few days later,

I had become a respected Korean storyteller, no longer merely a black-haired barbarian facing discrimination.

“Wow, our junior, how are you so strong?”

“Did the master carpenter pick you for your strength? Good at both storytelling and working, you’re like a special junior.”

I had volunteered to hammer a large beam into a pillar with a hefty mallet, and thanks to the skills I had honed, I completed the task with ease.

The work that was supposed to be done by today was finished in the morning because of my efforts.

So, what should I naturally do next? Relax and enjoy myself!

It seemed that taking a break after strenuous manual labor was a universal norm. Thanks to this, I managed to rest on the grass after lunch, and the carpenters, in great spirits, commended me.

“I just naturally became physically stronger as I roamed around from a young age.”

“Really? Are all people from Goryeo that strong?”

It was not Goryeo; it was Made in Joseon, guys.

But I didn’t want to ruin the camaraderie we had developed, so I just muttered to myself.

“It’s not just him. Look at the foreman’s wife.”

“What? Is the foreman’s wife Korean?”

What? So they were calling me a black-haired barbarian because of that?

“No. The foreman’s wife ran away with a black-haired barbarian. She deceived him so well, took all his money, and flew away with that barbarian.”

“…”

Good grief.

“There’s a famous saying: A woman who leaves for a black-haired man never returns.”

That saying seemed a bit different from what I remembered.

“That’s right. He should have noticed when his wife was getting too close to that black-haired guy. Who wouldn’t fall for such a person?”

“Look at our junior. If he pitched a tent in the morning, he could hold up the beam on top of it.”

The carpenters looked at me with a mix of envy and admiration.

It was embarrassing when they looked at me with those eyes.

I thought I was pretty solid. Maybe they had put such settings in Korean visual novels.

“The foreman also heard about junior’s divorce story. Now he’s going crazy, saying he’ll remarry a young woman.”

“He’d be lucky to do that.”

“He thinks he’s the main character of the story, huh? Hehe.”

We spent a leisurely afternoon mocking the foreman with questionable character.

Work was like an arrow that was shot.

It was tough at the start, but once it became routine, you suddenly found yourself at the destination. The same was true for the construction site work. Initially, adapting among the people was tough, but once I adapted, it suddenly came to an end.

“Master Carpenter, thanks to you, I was able to work comfortably.”

The reason I could work easily without much difficulty was entirely thanks to the Master Carpenter.

“Is that my doing? It’s thanks to your entertaining stories. I enjoyed working here because of them.”

The Master Carpenter received my gratitude with a pleased smile.

“Junior! Why not just come with us to another site and work together?”

“Our junior seems capable enough to learn carpentry. How about it?”

“Master Carpenter, isn’t our junior worth teaching?”

“Well, that’s true. How about it? Do you want to work under me?”

The Master Carpenter stroked his beard, pretending to think, then made me an offer.

It was a very tempting offer.

Following the Master Carpenter would mean not going hungry.

A few days ago, I would have accepted without hesitation.

“I really appreciate the offer, but I have something else I want to try.”

“There aren’t many jobs a barbarian can do on their own here in the Central Plains. May I know what you want to do?”

“I want to become a storyteller.”

This was the conclusion I had reached after several days and nights of deliberation.

I couldn’t return to Joseon or to the Moyong Family. I had to live out my life here in the Central Plains.

To survive, I needed to earn money.

But there were limited jobs available for a discriminated barbarian. I had barely scraped by, but now I needed to break free from such a situation.

What was my job before I was reincarnated here?

A web novel author.

But there were significant problems with selling books here for money.

Firstly, I didn’t have the money to make books.

Having barely managed to feed myself, I couldn’t afford ink or to produce books.

Secondly, there was no guarantee that anyone would buy a book by a barbarian.

It wasn’t that I lacked confidence in my novels. But considering the discrimination I had faced over the past year, it was hard to imagine bookstores selling my work.

Thirdly, this world lacked copyright laws.

Even if I wrote an interesting book, the profits wouldn’t fully come to me. It would only fatten those who illegally reproduced it.

To make money from writing books in this world, certain conditions were necessary. You needed the ability to mass-produce the first edition and have the means to protect your intellectual property rights.

As a black-haired barbarian in the Central Plains, there were too many obstacles to making money from books.

But not for a storyteller.

A black-haired barbarian might face discrimination, but a foreign storyteller was met with respect.

Exotic tales from distant lands. As long as I narrated them compellingly with a bit of theatrics, someone would pay attention. My provocative stories were certainly more fascinating than the tedious novels that circulated here.

If I played my cards right, I could definitely make a living in the martial arts world.

“A storyteller? Yes, you could pull it off. I’ve encountered many storytellers, but you’re the most captivating by far.”

“Yes. Over the past few days, I’ve experimented and grown confident. I’m grateful for your proposal, but I wish to pursue storytelling.”

Would I come to regret this choice? Doubt lingered even as I voiced my decision. I wouldn’t starve if I stuck with carpentry in this realm. Yet, I would always be just a barbarian carpenter—an eternal outsider.

It was better to choose a path where my identity as a barbarian could be an asset.

“Extend your hand for a moment.”

“Yes? Alright.”

As I reached out, the Master Carpenter handed me a small pouch.

“What’s this?”

“You’ve graced us with your valuable stories each evening, and it wouldn’t be right if we compensated you solely as a carpenter’s apprentice. Thus, the workers and I put together a payment for your tales. I pitched in a fair share as well.”

This was unexpected income. I had only shared stories to lighten my workload, yet here I was receiving additional payment for them…

The prejudice I had endured for a year.

This was the first genuine gesture of kindness I had experienced in that time.

“……”

For a moment, emotion clogged my throat. My hands shook. It was a modest pouch, but it carried a weight beyond measure. My heart swelled with this unforeseen kindness, making it hard to catch my breath.

“Now that I think about it, since you’ve chosen to become a storyteller, am I your first patron? What an honor.”

“The honor is truly mine.”

“I know the struggle of a barbarian trying to make it in the Central Plains. But with your gift for storytelling, you’re bound to thrive here. I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll give it my all.”

“Good. If you’re going to be a storyteller, head to Chilgok County. There’s a cloth merchant by the name of Wang on the market street. He’s a friend of mine. Mention my name, and he’ll provide a place for you to tell your stories.”

“Thank you so much. I don’t know how to repay this kindness.”

“It’s not kindness. I’ve merely paid what your stories are worth. They were truly entertaining. Now, I must attend to some paperwork. You go ahead.”

“Yes, I’ll be on my way.”

I left the construction site amid the workers’ farewells, making my way toward Chilgok County.

Chilgok County.

I hope it proved to be a good place to start my life as a storyteller.