How To Live As A Writer In A Fantasy World

The result of the sorcery was somewhat ambiguous, but the summoning of the soul was successful.

Judging by the traces left behind by the soul, it was clear that it had indeed come here.

However, calling this a success felt too uncertain.

Normally, when a soul is summoned, it should remain in place, but this one left after uttering some incomprehensible words.

Usually, a summoned soul stays, converses with the summoner, or at least lingers. But this one just said its piece and left.

“That was always his way. Even before he passed, he would only say what he wanted and then leave,”

Father said, unfazed, even though it was like a storm had blown past.

He seemed indifferent, as if saying, “Come if you want; if not, don’t bother.”

Still, he couldn’t completely hide his bitterness.

Despite their strained relationship, the news of Grandfather’s passing must have been quite shocking.

Father mentioned that although Grandfather had a difficult temper, he was more dependable than anyone else.

As a warrior, Father said, he was likely the strongest there ever was.

For Father to say so, it was impossible to grasp how powerful he must have been.

“If only he had told us what he was doing when he passed, or at least explained why he came here… Sigh… How frustrating,” Father muttered.

“Maybe we just need to wait?” I suggested.

“For now, let’s do that. No point in dwelling on it endlessly. Anyway, Leona.”

“Yes, yes?”

Leona, who had conducted the ritual, responded with wide eyes, startled.

Father smiled gratefully, bowing his head slightly as he spoke in a gentle voice.

“Thank you. Though bittersweet, all the frustration has disappeared thanks to you.”

“Um… Do you really think that soul was your father?” Leona asked hesitantly.

“I can tell instinctively. Saying only what he wanted and then disappearing—it’s just like him.”

Father ruffled Leona’s hair with his large hand as he spoke, and she smiled at the gesture, her tail wagging cheerfully.

She seemed pleased by the praise.

Watching this scene warmly, I shifted my gaze to Ariel.

Ariel was the only one among us who had actually seen the soul, which we presumed to be Grandfather’s, but she couldn’t be certain.

“Ariel.”

“Yes?”

“The soul you saw earlier—did it have only a mouth, like the last one?”

Previously, a demon-worshiper’s soul had appeared with just a mouth and no other features, like a faceless spirit.

I was curious if Grandfather’s soul might have been the same.

Ariel tilted her head thoughtfully before responding in her cute voice,

“No? This time it had everything—eyes, nose, mouth, and even hair. Though it was all pure white.”

As soon as she explained, I checked the reactions of the others.

As expected, everyone’s attention turned to her.

Everyone here knew that Ariel could see souls and had once devoured the soul of a demon worshiper with relish.

Father, his expression growing serious, cautiously asked her,

“Can you describe what it looked like?”

“Umm…”

Ariel closed her eyes, concentrating as she searched for the right words.

Being only about a month old, she struggled to describe things with her limited vocabulary.

Just as Father seemed ready to give up, Ariel’s eyes lit up, and she called to me excitedly.

“Dad! Dad!”

“What is it?”

“Do you have this? This, this.”

She mimed drawing something, signaling that she wanted paper and a pen.

Understanding her intent, I handed her my magic pen and notebook.

With unexpected skill, Ariel began to draw.

Her strokes were smooth and precise, creating an image that was more than just a simple sketch—it was lifelike, detailed, and even had shading.

“Ariel?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever learned to draw before?”

“Never! I just drew what’s in my head.”

“Just drew it? Like that?”

“Yeah. It’s not hard.”

“Artists would cry if they heard that, kid.”

As Marie pointed out, Ariel’s drawing skill rivaled that of master artists.

If they saw it, they’d probably despair at their own life’s work.

Amused, I ruffled Ariel’s hair, and she hugged my leg tightly, smiling.

Her cuteness was overwhelming.

“…..”

Meanwhile, Father studied the drawing intensely, his brow furrowed in thought.

I walked over, carrying Ariel, to look at the picture with him.

The first thought that struck me when I saw it was, ‘His thighs were this thick?’

Though it depicted a spiritual form devoid of specific details, the proportions were striking—his thighs were thicker than a woman’s waist.

His upper body was equally massive, far beyond the realm of ordinary strength.

I felt bad saying this about Grandfather, but he resembled a scaled-down ogre, with a wild mane of hair like a lion’s, making him look beastly.

‘This looks like a body straight out of a martial arts comic.’

It’s not just a metaphor—it truly makes you wonder if such a body is even humanly possible.

Of course, my father also has an impressive physique, rivaling that of my grandfather depicted in the drawing.

It’s just not as noticeable because he rarely takes off his clothes, unlike in the illustration.

I scrutinized the figure in the drawing, presumed to be my grandfather, and then turned to look at my father.

Although his brows were still furrowed, his expression betrayed a sense of unease.

“Is this my grandfather?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Clark Michelle.”

Isaac and Clark—our names together sounded like the kind of duo who could slay monsters with nothing but a single tool.

But that aside, what exactly was Grandfather Clark doing when he passed away?

He was known as a wanderer, roaming the world.

It didn’t seem like he would die as an unknown drifter.

If he had, it would surely have been in a disaster-level incident.

As I gazed at the drawing, I tilted my head in thought.

‘What did he mean by ‘soon I’ll be going’?’

Could it mean his soul will return here again?

★★★

The investigation team, who had been probing a secret temple of demon worshippers, was caught in an unexpected chaos.

They had thoroughly prepared by sprinkling holy water everywhere and even enhancing it with divine power, just in case.

Skeletons and zombies, resurrected through unholy powers like necromancy, are naturally weak against divine forces.

At least, that’s how it should have been.

Clink!

A glass bottle filled with holy water hit a skeleton’s skull dead on.

The bottle shattered, and the contents spilled out.

The faint golden glow of the holy water testified to the power of Luminous within it.

[Ah.]

“What? Nothing happened!?”

“Bring more holy water!”

“Where’s the cleric? Start chanting now!”

However, the skeleton that had suddenly risen in the temple was unaffected.

The holy water simply trickled down its skull like sweat and stopped there.

The shattered glass lay pitifully on the floor, and the team that had thrown the bottle was left in utter shock.

What kind of skeleton was immune to divine power?

Moreover, what kind of being could even speak?

As everyone descended into panic at this unforeseen situation, the skeleton touched its smooth skull and looked at its own skeletal hand.

Only bones remained—proof of its death—yet strangely, it was alive.

[This feels… quite odd.]

Muttering to itself, the skeleton began moving its bony hand.

The first thing it grabbed was a sword embedded in its ribcage.

Clang!

The skeleton methodically started pulling out weapons lodged all over its body, one by one.

From the sheer number of weapons piercing it, it was clear how fierce a battle it had fought before death.

Some weapons had even struck fatal points, and its right arm bore signs of having been torn off by immense force.

Archaeologists had reattached it for preservation, further revealing its grim past.

Clatter.

Finally, it removed the sword embedded near its heart and looked forward.

Its gaze fell on the group that had thrown the holy water, now joined by reinforcements: knights, mages, and clerics.

It was clear they were hostile.

That was only natural, considering it had resurrected as a skeleton.

Still, conversation was necessary.

Clearing its non-existent throat as if out of habit from life, the skeleton began to speak politely.

[Excuse me. Could we talk for a moment—]

“There it is! Cleric, bless it quickly!”

[Wait, just listen—]

Flash!

Before it could finish, a cleric began chanting, unleashing a powerful blessing.

The sheer intensity of the cleric’s faith turned the entire temple golden.

“Divine punishment!”

Boom!

A golden pillar of light struck down on the skeleton’s head.

A normal skeleton would have been obliterated, but…

[Would you listen for a moment?]

“W-what!? Why isn’t it working!?”

Instead of destroying the skeleton, the divine power seemed to enhance its appearance, making its bones glisten even more.

As the team reeled in disbelief, the skeleton, now slightly irritated, spoke again, its voice calm yet exasperated.

[Let me ask you one question. Hawk Duker Michelle.]

“What…?”

[And Isaac Duker Michelle. Do you know where they are?]

Though it was a polite inquiry, the response was far from favorable.

“A demon worshipper’s trick! We must stop it at all costs!”

“Mages, prepare your spells! If necessary, collapse the temple to trap it!”

The reaction was understandable.

The skeleton had mentioned Isaac’s name, a clear indicator of its connection to demon worshippers.

From their perspective, it was a skeleton sent to kill Isaac, a threat that couldn’t be ignored.

[Good grief…]

Of course, for the skeleton—no, for Clark—it was an absurd misunderstanding.

As the team began preparing their weapons, Clark shook his head in resignation.

He had hoped for a peaceful resolution, but it seemed impossible.

[It can’t be helped.]

Gripping a double-edged axe in both hands, Clark faced the investigators.

Slowly, he lifted one leg.

Just as the team finished their preparations and launched their attack, Clark moved first.

Thud!

With his raised foot, he stomped the ground.

Boom!

A massive wave of earth surged upward like a tidal wave, engulfing the investigation team.