008 Turning Point
Derek leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch, his eyes drifting toward the side table where two modestly bound books lay wrapped in a red ribbon. Next to them, propped against the wall, was a rectangular object draped with plain linen. Something about the careful way Ron had placed it there piqued his curiosity. With a tilt of his head and the tone of a casual question hiding genuine interest, he asked, “What’s that?”
Ron, seated across from him, reached for the cloth. “A painting.”
With a swift tug, the linen was pulled away, revealing a canvas painted in deliberate strokes and vibrant colors. A young boy with tousled blonde hair clung to a rocky cliff, his hand stretching upward toward a wooden sword embedded precariously in the stone. The composition was dramatic, the lighting intentional, and the tension clear as day.
Derek squinted at it, not out of disapproval, but because art was never quite his field. He'd seen enough of it… his wife was an alumna of the College of the Arts, after all… and he’d endured more than one gallery visit at her insistence. This piece wasn’t refined or rich in symbolism. Still, it was eye-catching in its simplicity. It carried an obvious message, one that didn’t need an overeducated scholar to interpret: a desperate boy reaching for something beyond his current grasp.
“It’s good,” Derek admitted aloud, then frowned. “Too clear, maybe. There’s no hidden message or subtext, like the types nobles like to bicker over. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was some political crap. The blonde hair—symbol of nobility. The wooden sword—maybe a commentary on their lack of real power? And the cliff, maybe… their fragile standing?” He gave Ron a skeptical glance. “This isn’t some satire on the royal family, is it? You know… child heirs murdering each other over the throne?”
“No! It’s not satire!” Ron leaned forward, slightly panicked, waving his hands in defense. “It’s… just a scene. A moment in the story. You know, like a… medieval book cover. Or something like it.”
Derek chuckled at Ron’s awkward explanation, though he appreciated the honesty. “Book cover, huh?” he echoed, his eyes drifting back toward the wrapped books. Ron handed him one.
“Try reading a few pages,” Ron said, the edge in his voice betraying a mixture of hope and anxiety. “I want to know what you think.”
Derek turned the book over in his hands a few times before opening it. The calligraphy was neat, well-spaced, and easy to follow. It wasn’t masterful, not like the gold-trimmed manuscripts of noble archives, but it had a kind of charm that felt… earnest. He began reading.
The story introduced a nameless boy. The first few pages offered more questions than answers… what was this “System”? Why did it talk to him? Why was the sword embedded in a cliff in the first place? Yet Derek found himself reading faster, not out of obligation, but out of genuine intrigue.
A few minutes passed in silence before he glanced up at Ron, eyes sharper now.
“This thing… the ‘System’… it’s like magic, but not really? I’ve never seen that before.” Derek flipped a page, nodding. “And the Paladin… it’s not some divine appointment by the Church, but something the sword chooses?”
“More or less,” Ron said, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s triggered by personal growth… by sacrifice. By moments that define the wielder’s path.”
Derek looked impressed despite himself. “You know,” he muttered, still reading, “I thought you were joking earlier when you said you were writing. But this… this has teeth. It’s new. Strange, but strangely familiar, too.” He leaned back, flipping another page. “The way the boy gets stronger by earning these points—‘experience,’ right? It’s kind of like a merc’s journey, really. We start as nothing, take quests, kill monsters, and eventually we’re someone. You’ve turned it into a… structured thing.”
“That's the idea,” Ron replied. “It’s how I always saw it in my head… back then.”
Derek nodded slowly, his tone more serious. “You’ve got something here, Ron. It’s rough around the edges, but it’s real.” He tapped the page. “This Paladin System, this whole book… it might actually speak to more people than you think.”
Ron leaned back in his seat with a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “So, would you buy it off my hands?”
Derek raised an eyebrow, curious. “How much?”
Ron glanced at the book, shrugged, and admitted, “I don’t know the price…”
A bark of laughter escaped Derek’s chest. “Hah! That’s not how you sell a book, you fool.”
Without missing a beat, Ron reached forward and snatched the book out of Derek’s hands.
“Hey!” Derek protested, half-rising. “I wasn’t finished!”
Ron held the book close, mock thoughtful. “On second thought, I’ve decided not to sell it to you. If you really want it, make me an offer.”
Derek stared at him for a moment, then grinned. “Now that’s the Ron I knew.”
It hadn’t been a long companionship… three years at most… but Derek remembered it well. Their time together in the adventuring circuit had been filled with strange requests, near-death missions, and a lot of drunken evenings around the campfire. Despite Ron’s awkwardness and quirks, he had been one of the few adventurers Derek considered sincere. Maybe too sincere, at times, but it made him trustworthy. It was a rare quality.
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With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Derek leaned forward. “How about this… I let you marry my eldest daughter, and I get to read that book.”
Ron blinked. Once. Twice. Then confusion crept into his face, slowly turning into suspicion, and finally blooming into full-blown disbelief. “Are you crazy, old man? You’re going to give me your daughter… just because you want to finish reading a book?”
Actually, it wasn’t the worst idea Derek ever had.
It wasn’t that he didn’t have standards for his daughter’s marriage… far from it… but the truth was most of the suitors vying for her hand were strangers with lofty ambitions and even loftier egos. Ron, on the other hand, was someone Derek had fought beside. He knew the man was literate, disciplined, cautious, and perhaps most importantly, not interested in power for its own sake. A writer didn’t climb the social ladder. A writer carved a place in it. That kind of ambition, tempered by realism, was something Derek respected.
He leaned back and folded his arms. “You’re capable. You’ve got your own land. You’re not greedy, and you’re not reckless. That’s more than I can say for half the noble brats trying to worm into my family. What do you say?”
Ron didn’t even hesitate. “No.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Derek sat up straighter, caught entirely off guard. “Huh?”
Ron waved a hand lazily, completely unbothered. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“That’s… unexpected,” Derek muttered. “Don’t be so hasty! At least meet her first. She’s really pretty, you know?”
Ron arched a brow. “How old is she?”
“Eighteen,” Derek answered without missing a beat. “Today’s her coming-of-age ceremony, actually. That’s what this ball is for.”
Ron nodded slowly, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mind a pretty wife, but I’d rather have one who can offer me more than affection. Wisdom, life experience… maybe someone closer to my age. Or older.”
“Older?” Derek repeated in disbelief, blinking like he’d just been slapped with a frozen fish.
Yes, this was exactly the same Ron he knew.
The same guy who insisted on taking a full bath every day, even when inns charged a week’s wages for clean water. The same guy who complained loudly about anyone using reverse handgrips with their daggers, calling it “theatre for fools.” The same guy who intentionally remained a D-rank adventurer because moving up the ranks meant mandatory subjugation quests, some were suicidal missions that adventurers had no choice but to accept.
“Stars above…” Derek muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples.
Ron was completely unfazed as he flipped through the pages of his book as though they hadn’t just been discussing the prospect of marriage.
Derek sighed, realizing with a strange mix of amusement and admiration that his old comrade hadn’t changed a bit.
“Still the most eccentric bastard I know,” he said fondly, half to himself.
And maybe that’s what made Ron so damn interesting.
Ron added. “I don’t think it is right to decide your daughter’s love life, though.”
Speaking of love life…
The door creaked open, and Diane stepped into the room with a tray balanced in her hands. She moved with grace, her presence every bit as captivating as it had been when Derek first laid eyes on her. More than a decade had passed since their wedding, yet she still looked like the same young woman who had turned his world upside down. He remembered that night clearly… he had been twenty, she eighteen… and their first days of marriage had blurred together in a haze of passion and discovery. Before they even understood the rhythm of married life, she was already with child.
“I brought some tea,” Diane said, her voice calm and warm. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
Ron, caught mid-thought, quickly stood and offered a courteous nod. “Thank you for the tea, Lady Harle.”
Diane chuckled softly. “There’s no need to be stiff with me. We’re in a private room, and my husband is an old friend of yours. Please, call me Diane. Honestly, I prefer speaking casually. I may be a noble now, but the habits of a commoner never truly leave.”
Ron eased back into his seat, visibly more relaxed. “Then… Diane it is. I’m glad to be here.”
Derek took a sip of his tea, sighing at the warmth that spread down his throat. The quiet didn’t last long.
“Your book is quite interesting,” Diane said suddenly, setting her teacup down with a delicate clink. “It was a surprise to learn that the villain at the end of the story turned out to be the protagonist’s father.”
Derek choked. His tea sprayed across the table… and directly into Ron’s face.
“Derek!” Diane snapped, her tone sharp with embarrassment. “That’s unbecoming of you!”
But Derek was too busy slamming his cup down to care. “You just spoiled the whole damn thing! I was enjoying it, damn it!”
Ron blinked, drenched, and dabbed his face with a napkin while trying not to laugh. It wasn’t a surprise that Diane had finished reading the book so quickly. She had always dabbled in minor information magic, allowing her to process written material at an alarming pace… something Derek, despite his latent adventurer reflexes, could never compete with.
Diane’s eyes narrowed. “Is that how you talk to your wife, Derek Harle? You’d better choose your words carefully.”
“But… you spoiled the twist!” Derek protested like a petulant child. “The twist!”
Ron cleared his throat awkwardly. “There are still a few other twists in there… I think you’ll enjoy them.”
Diane didn’t even look at him. “Stay out of this, Sir Retsej.”
There was something wicked in her smile as she turned back to her husband. “I do apologize, dear. It was an honest mistake. But to make it up to you…”
She leaned in and whispered something into Derek’s ear, low and conspiratorial.
The effect was immediate as Derek’s ears turned red, and his posture straightened like a guilty schoolboy. “Really? You’ll let me do that tonight?”
“Only,” Diane added in a voice as sweet as poison, “if you behave during our daughter’s coming-of-age ceremony. And by behave, I mean not embarrassing me, or I’ll spoil every remaining twist in that book. I’ll even go as far as revealing every juicy detail you haven’t gotten to. I’ll scorch and salt the earth, Derek.”
“You are so bad,” Derek muttered, slumping.
It was the usual carrot and shtick of Diane.
Ron coughed again, deliberately. “Right… I think I’d rather not be a third wheel. May I leave now?”
“Not just yet,” Diane said, her tone shifting back to formal business. “We still need to discuss the terms of your publication.”
Ron straightened, curious.
“The Harle family is prepared to become your official patron,” she continued. “We will handle advertisement and cover the costs of copying and distributing your book across our network. In exchange, we ask for exclusivity. That means all copies of your debut work will pass through us first.”
Ron blinked. “You’d fund the entire distribution?”
“Yes. We believe your book deserves proper recognition, not some obscure shelf in a dusty stall. If we delay your debut a bit, we can present it with the flourish it deserves. A launch worthy of a rising author.”
Derek finally recovered his composure and leaned forward. “She’s serious, Ron. This could set you up for life.”
Ron considered the offer. He looked at the painting once again… the cliff, the wooden sword, the boy reaching up, and wondered if he had ever dreamed this far ahead. This would be a very special turning point in Ron's life. Whether he makes or breaks it, only the future could tell.