The Freed Slaves Are Obsessed-Chapter 162: Plagiarist Fairy Tale Author in a Game World (2)

A fairy tale.

Stories told while sitting on your mother’s lap as a child.

Fairy tales always begin the same way.

Once upon a time.

The moment those words appear, the noise of the world fades, and we’re invited into kingdoms that never existed or castles floating high in the sky.

A magic spell where the line between reality and fantasy blurs, transporting us to a world where the impossible becomes possible.

We dream with Cinderella’s glass slipper and learn about love through the Little Mermaid’s choices.

The Boy Who Cried Wolf teaches us not to lie, Jack’s theft of the giant’s treasure reveals a revolutionary mindset, and the three sister pigs surviving by outwitting a wolf show wisdom.

Fairy tales give us courage, move us to tears, and leave us with the gift of hope.

Even when children grow into adults, the stories they once heard continue to shine somewhere in their memories—like a warm ember kept alive in a world that’s grown cold.

And I was going to use that ember to move the dwarves.

“A fairy tale? I think I see what you’re getting at, but do you really think it’ll work?”

“Of course.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve already ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) seen it work.”

Ulbram looked puzzled.

To him, it probably seemed like I was brimming with baseless confidence. But I had my reasons.

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

It’s famous enough that almost no one on Earth doesn’t know it.

It’s been adapted into books, animations, and even live-action films, loved and adored by generations.

‘Though one of those live-action versions was a disaster.’

Black Snow White? Black Soil White?

Whatever. Not my problem.

I was already in this world by the time it premiered.

The important thing was that success was practically guaranteed as long as I didn’t mess it up.

All I had to do was tailor the story to fit the situation and distribute it to the dwarves.

Cultural diffusion.

I’d spark their imaginations.

Making a book wouldn’t be hard.

This wasn’t just any medieval world—it was a fantasy one with magic. And we were in Doomheim, the land of master craftsmen.

Producing books here was as easy as breathing.

*****

The dwarven heroes gathered to save Doomheim.

One of them was a scribe who’d write down the story I dictated.

Fairy tales didn’t need complex language or intricate plots, and someone who made a living from writing would do it far better than I could.

Another group was illustrators to create the pictures.

Words might suffice for ordinary books, but illustrations were the lifeblood of fairy tales.

I’d select artists whose style matched the tone I wanted.

The first step was finalizing the story.

Naturally, the base would be Snow White—the inspiration for Ashies.

A princess persecuted by her stepmother, repeatedly facing mortal danger but surviving with the help of dwarves.

With the dwarves playing the role of protectors, the story was sure to get a positive reaction.

‘But... something’s still missing.’

If I were a famous author, maybe the dwarves would be thrilled just to see their culture featured in my work.

But that wasn’t the case.

More importantly, this was a fairy tale.

While the Snow White story would feel fresh and interesting in this fantasy world, it lacked excitement for adults.

I needed something more provocative—something that would captivate both children and adult dwarves.

“This is the rough draft for the story. Write it like this.”

I handed the scribe a summary packed with a little extra spice. Since it was just a fairy tale, it barely filled two pages.

The scribe’s eyes widened as he read.

This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Then he glared at me.

“You’re seriously asking me to write this? This is an insult to dwarves! I agreed to help because Ulbram asked me, but this—I can’t do it!”

I slid a heavy pouch of coins across the table.

“You think I’ll sell my pride for a few coins?”

“It’s all gold.”

“For the princess? Fine! Sometimes, bonds matter more than pride. I’ll make it incredible!”

Artists, no matter the era, always struggled for money.

And this amount was too much to refuse.

The scribe left with the draft.

“Alright. Who’s up next for illustrations?”

I assigned the illustrators their task.

The theme—a lonely ice princess in a frozen castle.

Even with the same theme, artists interpret it differently. Maybe the scribe’s sudden enthusiasm motivated them because they were all working like mad to impress me.

Illustrations started pouring in one by one.

“Let’s see what we’ve got.”

I focused on two things:

As expected, the styles varied wildly.

Some had museum-like medieval aesthetics—safe, but uninspiring.

Others turned Ashies into a squat dwarf herself.

One made her look like a schoolgirl rushing to class with bread in her mouth.

And one—seriously—drew her as a hairy beast, like some rich guy’s questionable fetish.

I’d told them to draw Ashies, and they’d just done whatever the hell they wanted.

Luckily, one painting stood out.

Pastel tones, soft and sentimental. Even at a glance, it felt perfect for a fairy tale.

“Who made this one?”

“That’d be me.”

“Good. You’ll handle the book’s illustrations.”

“Understood.”

The rejected artists sighed in disappointment, but don’t get too upset, you bastards.

*****

The production process didn’t take long.

It wasn’t a sprawling novel—just a short fairy tale. And it wasn’t a fully illustrated comic either—just a few simple drawings to go with the text.

Once the craftsmen brought their drafts to me, all I had to do was request a few adjustments to make it feel more like a fairy tale.

I gathered the finished manuscripts and read through them.

“Hm...”

I could hear the craftsmen gulp nervously.

No matter how skilled someone is, presenting their work for review is always nerve-wracking. But the truth was, I didn’t know much about art—and these were Doomheim’s finest craftsmen.

To my untrained eye, the results looked flawless.

“It’s good. I’m satisfied.”

“Whew...”

The craftsmen breathed sighs of relief.

With the manuscripts done, it was time to turn them into books.

I gathered the printing press operators I had prepared in advance.

Printing presses weren’t strange in this world. In magical cities, books were copied with magic. And if dwarves could make enchanted swords, magical tools, and staffs, there was no way they couldn’t make a printing machine.

Of course, mass production would cost a fortune.

Fortunately, thanks to Rin, I had more than enough funds.

“Print enough for every household to get a copy.”

The paper we used came from tree bark. Producing parchment books would cost too much—and require slaughtering half the continent’s lambs.

I had no interest in becoming a mass murderer of sheep.

Besides, quality didn’t matter. These weren’t for nobles or libraries—just good enough to be readable.

Under my direction, every printing press in Doomheim began running 24/7.

*****

“Karami, sir. Here’s the finished product.”

The printing press worker handed me the book.

Thanks to pushing both the workers and machines to the limit, the books were rolling out quickly. With magic handling copying and binding, production was faster than I’d imagined.

I flipped through one of the books to check its quality. It wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t bad either.

“Good. Keep it going.”

I took a few copies and went to see Ulbram.

“So this is the fairy tale you mentioned?”

“Yes. It’s called ‘Snow White.’”

“Snow White, huh? I assume the title’s meant to remind readers of the princess. But it seems a little plain to capture people’s hearts.”

He wasn’t wrong.

The mass-produced books had rough, dark-brown wooden covers with no embellishments, making them look dull.

But that was the point.

I wasn’t aiming for flashy—just a quiet, nostalgic atmosphere. The plain wooden covers only emphasized the fairy tale’s charm.

“Take a few copies with you. The rest of you as well.”

“We’re getting them for free?”

“Of course. Please share them with others and help spread the word.”

I had put a lot of thought into distributing the books.

Time was the biggest issue.

Convincing the dwarves wouldn’t magically make Skadia drop dead. We also needed plans and preparations to fight her.

And there were places I needed to take Ashies before the battle.

But dumping the books on the masses all at once would kill the excitement.

I needed to create buzz—let a few people spread word of mouth and stir curiosity.

The more people craved the book, the more rewarding it would feel when they finally got their hands on it.

‘And I can recover some of the money by selling them later.’

So, I gave the books only to important figures.

I handed copies to Ulbram and the other leaders.

“Make sure to read them to your children too.”

The next day.

The dwarves who’d taken the books—including Ulbram—came to see me.

They looked angry, as if they were about to lodge formal complaints.

“Karami! What’s with that ending? My daughters bawled their eyes out after I read it to them!”

“And why are the elves the princess’s helpers while the dwarves are portrayed as cowards?”

The most effective way to provoke people?

Shatter their innocence.

And throw in a golden cup.