Chapter 374: The Maker of History
“Northern Kingdom falls! Last Rebel Jacob Rosa dies unexpectedly while surrendering!”
“Extra! Extra! Lord Lanpu declares: The fall of the Northern Regions was inevitable—history’s will, the people’s choice!”
“Marshal Dolo issues a celebratory watch speech, praising the soldiers’ fearless valor, proclaiming they’ve embodied the spirit of the Kingdom of Ashen, the might of the Great Red Dragon’s Chosen!”
Newsboys shouted through the bustling streets, their voices weaving through the crowd. The war was over.
Within the Kingdom of Ashen, the entire nation erupted in celebration—festive, jubilant, alive with fire and song. Yet despite the revelry, work never ceased. True rest was a myth.
After the war, soldiers indulged in their spoils, spending wildly. Demand in the Royal Realm skyrocketed. Orders poured in like snowflakes in an endless blizzard—factories pushed beyond capacity, workers laboring through the night, machines grinding nonstop.
This brought not just exhaustion, but unprecedented wages—higher than ever before. The kingdom thrived in chaos, a golden fever sweeping through every district.
People suffered, yes—but they also reveled in the rush of prosperity.
Yet in the Propaganda Department of the kingdom, the scribes were not celebrating. They were crumbling.
Once responsible only for internal messaging, they now bore the burden of broadcasting across the entire Anzeta region—flooded with new conquests demanding relentless propaganda. Task orders piled high. Drafts rejected by the thousands stacked like mountains.
Among them sat the player known as 【Mei Meng Chu Xing】, hunched over a desk in utter disarray. His hand trembled as he gripped his quill.
“Flyer for the Duchy of Phano.”
“Slogan for Swinno Duchy, plus war victory promotion.”
“Damn it—still 60% left! How the hell can I finish this in days?”
He slammed the pen down.
No more.
Mei Meng Chu Xing wasn’t a warrior, nor a noble. In reality, he was just a common journalism major, a graduate with no job, who had escaped into the game world to live out his dreams. He’d joined the Propaganda Department for faction contribution, rising to become a senior scribe officer—running a team of over a hundred scribes, enjoying perks, bragging rights.
But now, he was done.
He came here to play, not to work.
Just then, a familiar chime rang from the nearby Magic Communication Device—the voice of the Kingdom’s Chief Minister, Lanpu.
“Come to my office.”
“Yes, Leadership. I’m on my way.”
The words slipped out automatically. But then he froze.
Wait… I was about to quit! Why am I still obeying like a servant?
Perfect. This was the moment. He’d tell him face to face.
He climbed the grand staircase to the top floor with practiced ease, then knocked softly on the heavy door.
“Leadership, I’m here.”
“Enter.”
The massive door groaned open, revealing a chamber so vast it felt like a palace.
Mei Meng Chu Xing clutched his resignation letter, stepping in with tight shoulders and a trembling hand.
“Leadership, I’ve been working too hard lately—I think I need to—”
Lanpu waved a hand, cutting him off.
“I’ve seen your Contribution Points. I’ve seen your effort. Remember—this kingdom never forgets those who work hard.”
Mei Meng Chu Xing opened his mouth, then closed it. He steeled himself. “Leadership, I—”
The words choked in his throat.
“Not now. I have something important to discuss. I’ve been thoroughly satisfied with your work—your messages, your tone, your flair. But all that is surface-level. It’s not enough to showcase your true talent.”
He took a sip of water, then continued.
“Recently, I discovered certain malicious individuals—traitors, hiding in the shadows—spreading fabricated histories to slander and undermine our kingdom. They’re poisoning the people’s perception, damaging our reputation.”
He set the cup down.
“So I’ve prepared to establish a new department—The Historical Compilation Department.”
“To record our glorious past. To chronicle the fulfillment of our grand design.”
Mei Meng Chu Xing’s expression drooped.
He loved history. But compiling it? That was a mountain of labor—no easier than the work he already had.
But Lanpu shifted tone.
“However… I’ll bring in professional historians to handle the official records. Your role—Stellarfallen—is different.”
“You’ll craft… wild stories. Not the truth. Not the facts. Just stories—outrageous, absurd, sensational. Anything that grabs attention.”
“Make them wild. Make them unbelievable. But make them unforgettable. Like the little satirical pieces you write in the Kingdom Daily.”
His voice was calm. Too calm.
But beneath it pulsed something darker—something like fire restrained.
Wild History?
Mei Meng Chu Xing’s eyes lit up.
This was his dream.
His previous work had been dull—dry, official prose. Only when writing satire did he feel alive.
Now, this new role was his chance—unleash his creativity, tear off the masks of lies, and write whatever he wanted. He could make up legends. He could invent scandals. He could write for gold, for fame, for faction points—and worst of all, for pure, unfiltered fun.
History doesn’t have to be real.
But Wild History? Wild History has to be wild.
He grinned.
Lanpu gestured. A shimmering hologram floated into the air, displaying sample texts.
> "Unbearable Tragedy! Why Did the Maiden Cry? Exposing the Cruelty of the Evil Red Dragon!"
> "Human-Beast Bestiality? Investigating the Corrupt, Degenerate Realm of Monsters—The Alleged Kingdom of Ashen!"
No names were attached. But the kingdom’s spies had already traced the authors—red letters marking them in the corner.
> "Luton Sieg, former Viscount of the Northern Union Kingdom—now fled to the Fadalan Region."
Mei Meng Chu Xing stared, then blinked.
Impressive.
In an age before information explosions, before the internet, this was brilliant—clever, shocking, irresistible.
“Luton Sieg…” he murmured.
“Such a formidable opponent…”
A spark of excitement flared in his eyes. A hunter spotting prey.
“But you’ve met your match… me.”
Fate began to turn.
Far away, in a distant land, Luton Sieg had no idea he was already being hunted. And worse—he was being hunted by someone utterly mad, someone who thrived on crafting Wild History.
“Hahaha…” Mei Meng Chu Xing chuckled, a grin spreading across his face, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Lanpu adjusted his golden-rimmed glasses, then casually asked, “Oh, by the way… what was it you wanted to say earlier?”
“Now… you can speak.”
Mei Meng Chu Xing’s smile froze.
His hand tightened around the resignation letter. He shoved it behind his back, cold sweat breaking across his forehead.
“N-nothing, nothing at all, Leadership! You must’ve misunderstood!”
“I promise—I’ll complete the task!”
He bowed, scraped, and bolted from the office like a man escaping a prison.
…
Back in the golden-glory chamber, Lanpu’s expression darkened.
The holographic texts reappeared in the air—this time, with a new line, hidden before.
> "Appointing a greedy, stupid Ogre as Chancellor? They’d just stuff everything into their mouths like mindless beasts!"
> "Exposing the Absurdity of the Kingdom of Ashen’s Internal Affairs!"
Lanpu’s lips curled into a thin smile.
“Hmph.”
“Foolish wretch. You’ll pay for this.”
The Ogre Magus clenched his fist. The ornate wooden table cracked beneath his grip. Veins bulged on his forehead. His grotesque face twisted into a snarl.
You will pay.
(End of Chapter)
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