Sylph chose cowardice.
Roland chose courage.
Just as Sylph was frantically summoning the court physician to save the teacher, Roland was pounding the table, roaring at the bald editor:
"Sir Byron, don't tell me the prize money hasn't arrived yet."
The training session ended quickly today. Margaret was pleased with Roland's progress and gave him more free time.
Relieved, Roland immediately went to Collins Publishers to find Chief Editor Byron to claim the prize, but Byron evaded skillfully with both soft and hard tactics.
Ordinary people would probably leave timidly, fearing repercussions, but Roland didn't care.
He had been rejected by Byron countless times; what could be worse than this?
In this world, one pound of gold coin is equivalent to 7.5 grams of gold, with strong purchasing power. His prize money could buy four houses in the bustling district of the Imperial Capital.
With this money, does he care if the publisher won't accept his manuscript?
Even if Sussex doesn't accept it, he can entrust Alina to publish it in the Jin Yuan Kingdom. By then, he would be a returning overseas artist, and his status would skyrocket.
In any case, today's prize must be claimed!
Faced with the aggressive Roland, Byron was startled and didn't even dare to make eye contact, but he still wouldn't budge.
"Roland, this is the Royal Essay Award; the prize money doesn't arrive that quickly. Moreover, the literary bigwigs are not satisfied with the essay results."
Under Roland's murderous gaze, Byron took Roland to his private office and whispered:
"Roland, you've offended a lot of people, do you know that?"
"I haven't done anything wrong. If anyone is offended, they should look for the reason within themselves."
Byron reached out to pat Roland's shoulder and whispered with earnestness:
"Roland, unless you can fly out of Sussex, you must abide by the rules. In the literary world, it's not just about talent, but also about social etiquette. Many bigwigs participated in this essay contest, yet an unknown young person like you won the championship. Can they accept this?"
Roland thought to himself that he won the championship through his own abilities. If it weren't for Count Sif's explanation, he might not have even survived; if he doesn't take this championship, who deserves it?
He didn't immediately slam the table in retaliation, after all he wanted to know who the enemies were and understand their true thoughts. So he whispered:
"Sir Byron, what do you mean?"
Seeing Roland calm down, Byron whispered, "I have no opinion; who wins doesn't matter to me. I'm thinking of your welfare."
"For a young and talented person like you, you need the passage of time. A distinguished guest suggested as long as you voluntarily relinquish your essay ranking..."
Roland squinted but didn't speak.
The main course was coming.
Byron lightly coughed and whispered, "The champion of the essay will be invited to attend the Royal Arts Salon, a very high-level event where cabinet ministers and the speaker will be present."
"You don't even know gentlemanly etiquette; attending will only embarrass yourself. Your embarrassment aside, it will be a disgrace to Her Majesty the Empress."
Byron chuckled and whispered, "You know what? Her Majesty the Empress is not yet of age, she's at a stubborn age; embarrassing her, what would happen?"
"Becomes resentful, maybe even lose one's head," Roland followed his words.
Byron slapped his thigh, chuckling:
"You get it. Her Majesty the Empress is sensitive; your novel already displeased her. If you disgrace her again, it will be a double humiliation. Even for venting anger, your fate won't be good."
"So..."
"What are the benefits of voluntarily giving up the championship?" Roland asked bluntly.
Byron was taken aback.
That esteemed guest did prepare benefits, but he didn't expect Roland to be so direct.
He awkwardly chuckled, then playfully said, "Roland, I told you before your novel is worldly, but you didn't believe it. What kind of literary scholar talks about money all day?"
Roland glared at him, and sneered, "Who recognized me as a literary scholar, you?"
Byron was speechless for a moment.
Indeed, they never considered Roland as one of their own, yet they tried to bind him with their rules. Wasn't that sheer folly?
Byron softly coughed and said, "Roland, if you insist on the prize, the most likely outcome is being stuffed in a sack and thrown into the Tamas River with a rock. It's common here."
Roland remained noncommittal.
But those were meaningless words before; he's been waiting for a "but."
Seeing Roland unmoved, Byron realized this guy wasn't easy to fool, so he gave up the scare-then-persuade strategy and said directly:
"I know you want the prize to buy a house. That esteemed guest respects your talent and request, willing to give you 150 pounds as compensation, enough to buy a house with some extra."
Roland's eyes widened at Byron, asking surprisingly:
"Do you mean I give up the 500-pound prize, the championship glory, the opportunity to attend the Royal Arts Salon, just for 150 pounds?"
He stared at Byron like he was an idiot, making the bald editor's face slightly flushed.
Of course, the guest prepared more than just this.
He just wanted to keep a large part, leaving Roland with a "taste" — was that too much?
Don't push your luck!
Byron glared back unyieldingly, looking Roland in the eyes.
His meaning was clear.
Kid, don't push it. You're lucky to taste the soup, and you want to take the whole pot?
Seeing Byron unwilling to relent, Roland stood up directly.
"Roland, where do you think you're going?"
"Nothing, just heading to Sheffield Palace to find the Minister of Internal Affairs for the prize."
Seeing Roland really about to leave, Byron hurriedly blocked his path.
The fat man now moved agilely like an athlete.
"Don't go, let's talk it over."
"Since it's a business deal, it must follow commercial rules; otherwise, there's no room for discussion."
Roland sneered, "The championship prize is mine, no doubt. If we're talking business, the guest needs to compensate me additionally for the loss of honor."
Byron, frustrated by Roland's unyielding attitude, gritted his teeth and threatened:
"Roland, I'm telling you, there are only a few teachers in the Imperial Capital who can teach nobility etiquette, and none of them will teach you, even with money! Even if they were willing, a few days would still be insufficient."
"You are bound to make a fool of yourself!"
Roland's mouth curled with a contemptuous sneer.
The etiquette teachers outside don't teach him, so what about those inside the Imperial Palace?
He snorted lightly, dismissively saying, "Whether I can find a teacher is my business. What we're discussing now is how much the champion's glory is worth in money."
Byron's old face turned red, but he ultimately couldn't match Roland's disdainful gaze.
He knew very well that Roland wasn't the kind of rookie who'd wet his pants at just being scared a little.
He also knew that if he didn't come up with a reasonable price, Roland would never accept the deal.
Thinking that he could have made a huge profit, but was forced by Roland to make only a small gain, Byron's heart was bleeding.
Gritting his teeth, he said, "A total of eight hundred pounds, that's the bottom line!"
"I will only consider it for two thousand pounds, and remember, that's just considering. I will outright reject any insulting offer below this amount," Roland said in a deep voice.
Of course, he didn't accept the deal.
Accepting the deal would be insulting Count Sif's goodwill; absolutely not.
But that didn't mean he couldn't have some fun with the other party.
Seeing Roland's arrogant attitude, Byron was so angry he almost had a brain hemorrhage.
If he accepted Roland's exorbitant price, he would end up losing two hundred pounds.
He did indeed have money, but he only liked to suck blood, not bleed.
Byron, embarrassed and enraged, lowered his voice and said, "Roland, the esteemed guest only offered one thousand pounds."
"One thousand five hundred pounds. Otherwise, I'll go to Sheffield Palace myself to claim the prize."
After a slight pause, Roland said in a deep voice, "Anything below this price is an insult to the champion's glory and this wonderful novel."
Byron almost had a brain hemorrhage.
There was only one sentence written, and he asked for thirteen sets of houses in the Imperial Capital Core District; why don't you just go rob them?
Even though he was almost fainting from anger, Byron knew that Roland, young and arrogant, would not easily compromise.
Since he wasn't scared from the beginning, the result was already destined.
He stared fixedly at Roland.
If anger could kill, Roland would have died thirteen times.
Finally, under Roland's 'take it or leave it' gaze, Byron compromised.
This way, he could at least get a small commission.
"One thousand five hundred pounds, with a five hundred pound deposit upfront, and the remainder after the deed is done!"
Roland stood up and started to walk out straight away.
Byron stopped him, angrily asking, "What exactly do you want?"
"Give it all to me."
Byron was speechless.
His chubby face twisted and twitched with anger, but he still gritted his teeth and opened the safe, taking out a large bag of gold coins and handing it to Roland.
Just as Roland was about to reach out, he pushed the contract over.
"Sign it!"
Roland took a quick look. It was a secret contract. Once signed, it meant he voluntarily gave up the writing contest championship.
And he would receive fifteen hundred pounds of gold coins as compensation.
This was quite reasonable.
Roland quickly signed his name.
"Deal, pleasure doing business with you."
Byron said nothing with a dark face, watching Roland leave with a trace of ridicule in his eyes.
Young people are indeed greedy enough.
It's just uncertain whether they'll live to spend this money.
Leaving the publisher, Roland whistled, almost unable to hold back laughter.
He did indeed sign to give up the championship.
But he knew very well that someone would definitely try to reclaim this money by force.
The Empire tacitly approves of private contracts, but there are legal constraints. If one party uses violence to endanger the other party's personal safety, the contract becomes void, and the compensation specified in the contract must be paid as compensation.
This law comes from the previous Jinquehua Kingdom, very ancient, and after the Sussex Empire sank the Duke of Jinquehua Dynasty, they retained some laws, of which this is one.
Professional lawyers may not know this.
But Roland knew.
These fifteen hundred pounds he was determined to get.
Since it's already a life-and-death struggle, there's no need to be polite with the enemy.
Just as he was about to leave, the newspaper boy appeared again.
"Sir, would you like to buy a newspaper?"
"Which newspaper?"
"The Sussex Sun's writing contest special, one shilling!"
"Why don't you go rob... wait, it's the Sun?"
Roland took out a silver coin, handed it to the newsboy, and grabbed the newspaper.
Got to admit, even if the Sun's news is wild, sometimes it's very accurate.
He opened the newspaper, reading it as he walked.
This special edition was very detailed. Not only did it publish exciting excerpts from the award-winning works, but also included brief introductions and interviews with these famous writers.
Roland patiently flipped through it, looking forward to seeing the champion's masterpiece.
However, all he saw was a line of small text, rendering him speechless.
"The champion of the writing contest will be announced live at the Royal Literary Salon. Stay tuned."
As expected from the Sun. No wonder it's called a tabloid.
Bah!
Roland laughed, tore the newspaper into pieces, and tossed it into the trash can.
A beautiful day, except for the shilling silver coin that was wasted.