History Makers

"The Northern Kingdom has fallen! The last rebel, Jacob Rosa, met an accidental death while laying down his arms in surrender!" "Extra! Extra! Lord Trump declares: The fall of the Northlands was the choice of history, the will of the people...!" "Marshal Duoluo issues a congratulatory address, praising the soldiers' fearlessness, displaying the splendor of the Kingdom of Cinders, and manifesting the mettle of the great red dragon's vassals...!" Newsboys called out their wares along the streets, weaving through the bustling, crowded thoroughfares. The war was finally over. Celebrations swept the Kingdom of Cinders, and the festive spirit was intoxicating. Even so, work could not grind to a halt; the so-called concept of rest simply did not exist. Flush with their spoils, soldiers indulged in massive spending sprees after the war. Domestic demand surged relentlessly, and orders fluttered in like an endless blizzard—factories even began working overtime around the clock to meet the demands of large-scale production. Yet this grueling pace brought more than just exhaustion; it brought wages far higher than normal. Prosperity flourished everywhere. The populace was suffering, yet rejoicing. In the kingdom's Propaganda Department, however, the players serving as scribes were not rejoicing at all. In fact, many were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Originally, their responsibilities had been confined to domestic propaganda within the kingdom's borders. Now, they had to cover all of Anzeta and conduct an intensive propaganda blitz across the newly conquered regions. Assignment slips and rejected drafts had piled into mountains. A player with the username Awoken from a Dream sat right in the middle of this chaotic office, the hand clutching his pen trembling uncontrollably. "Propaganda flyers for the Principality of Fano..." "Slogans for the Duchy of Swino, plus promotional material celebrating the war's victory..." "Damn it all, there's still sixty percent left! How the hell am I supposed to finish all this in a few days?" He slammed his pen down onto the desk. *I quit!* In the real world, Awoken from a Dream was merely an ordinary college student majoring in journalism. He enjoyed studying various history books in his spare time, and when he failed to find a job after graduation, he let loose entirely and immersed himself in this game. To earn Faction Contribution, he had joined the Propaganda Department and become one of the kingdom's scribes. There, he had finally tasted what having a real job felt like—even rising to become a senior official in the department, managing over a hundred scribes. He enjoyed plenty of perks and had ample bragging rights before rookie players, yet he was now firmly determined to step down from this post. He had logged on to play a game, not to work a nine-to-five. Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed from the magical communicator beside him—it was Trump, the Kingdom's Chief Minister. "Come to my office." "Yes, sir, right away!" Awoken from a Dream answered out of pure reflex. Yet he snapped back to his senses almost immediately—*Wait, wasn't I about to quit? Why am I still groveling like an obedient lackey?* *Fine! This is the perfect chance to hand in my resignation face-to-face.* With that thought in mind, he promptly climbed to the top floor along the familiar route, arrived at Trump's office door, and knocked tentatively. "Sir, I've arrived." "Enter." With a deep rumble, the heavy doors slowly swung open. Clutching his resignation letter, Awoken from a Dream stepped awkwardly into the palatial, cavernous office. "Sir, my workload lately has been completely exhausting, so I was hoping to—" Trump waved a hand, cutting him off. "I have seen every bit of your hard work and the contributions you have made to the kingdom. Remember, the kingdom will never mistreat anyone who works diligently." Awoken from a Dream stammered for a second, then steeled his resolve. "Sir, I..." His words choked in his throat once more. "Let us not dwell on that for now. I called you here on serious business. I have always been very satisfied with your propaganda work, but that is all superficial material—hardly enough to truly showcase your talents. "Recently, I discovered that certain malicious scoundrels have been concocting fabricated histories to slander and attack the kingdom, greatly tarnishing our reputation." Trump took a sip of water from the desk and continued, "Therefore, I intend to establish a new department: the Historical Compilation Department. "Its primary duty will be recording the glorious history of the kingdom and chronicling the realization of our grand blueprint." "..." Awoken from a Dream looked thoroughly dejected. Although he loved reading historical texts, he knew full well that compiling history was a monumental undertaking—by no means easier than his current workload. Yet Trump's tone shifted. "However... I will recruit specialized historians to compile and record the kingdom's official history. That is not the main responsibility of you Starfallen. "Your job will be to fabricate—no, to compile—little anecdotes that expose the true faces of our enemies. "It does not matter how absurd the plots or twists are. The main goal is to grab eyeballs and seize the public's attention—just like those entertaining quips and vignettes you wrote for the Kingdom Daily." Trump's voice sounded exceptionally calm, yet an undercurrent of suppressed fury ran beneath it. *Apocrypha? Unofficial scandals?* Awoken from a Dream's eyes instantly lit up. Now that was right up his alley! His previous duties had been mind-numbingly dull, consisting mostly of dry official announcements; writing humorous satirical pieces had been his only source of fun. The new post Trump was offering would give him free rein to unleash his "literary flair," tear away the hypocritical masks of their foes, and let loose completely. Official history was not necessarily true. But scandalous apocrypha was guaranteed to be wild. When the time came, he could write whatever he pleased. Not only would he rake in gold coins and Faction Contribution, but he could also indulge his own mischievous sense of humor. "Here are a few sample pieces from the south. You may use them as a reference." Illusory projections of floating text materialized in midair. *Too Horrific to Behold! Why Do Young Maidens Weep? Exposing the Cruel Atrocities of the Evil Red Dragon!* *Bestiality and Carnal Sin? An Investigative Look into the Utterly Depraved Monster Realm—The Rumored Kingdom of Cinders!* There was no author's byline on the original manuscripts, but the kingdom's secret agents had added the writer's identity at the bottom, highlighted prominently in red text: *Luton Sieg, former Viscount of the Northern United Kingdom, has fled to the Fadlan region.* After skimming through the projections, Awoken from a Dream felt an immediate surge of professional respect. The enemy was clearly no amateur. In an era that had never experienced an information explosion, this person had managed to cook up such sensational clickbait headlines. "Luton Sieg, is it...?" "Quite a formidable adversary." Awoken from a Dream murmured the name, a spark of competitive excitement gleaming in his eyes, itching for a contest. "Too bad for you, pal—your opponent is someone who lived through the internet age!" The gears of fate had begun to turn. Thousands of miles away, Luton Sieg had no inkling that he had been targeted by someone—and that this someone was a completely unhinged fabricator of scandalous lore. "Hehehe..." Awoken from a Dream let out an eerie, sinister chuckle, an eager grin spreading across his face. Wiping his gold-rimmed spectacles, Trump asked casually, "By the way, didn't you have something you wanted to discuss just now? "You may speak now." "Uh..." The grin froze instantly on Awoken from a Dream's face. He clutched his resignation letter tightly, stiffly stuffing it behind his back as cold sweat broke out across his forehead. "Nothing! Nothing at all, sir, you must have misunderstood! "Boss, I guarantee I'll get the job done!" Bowing and scraping, any notion of quitting vanished completely from his mind as he scurried out of the office like an escaping fugitive. ... Inside the lavish, cavernous office, Trump's expression soured. The floating text projections flickered into the air once more, but this time an additional line appeared—one that had previously been hidden. *Appointing a Greedy, Idiotic Ogre as Prime Minister? All They Know How to Do Is Brainlessly Shove Everything into Their Mouths!* *Exposing the Absurd Domestic Governance of the Kingdom of Cinders!* "Heh... heh..." "Courting death. You will pay for this." The ogre archmage clenched his fist so tightly that hairline fractures crept across the ornate wooden desk. Blue veins bulged across his forehead, and a savage, menacing grin stretched across his grotesque face.