TL: Prepare for a bomb of 12 chapters, a history about me, and some response to criticism.
Regarding my history, criticism, and the future
First of all, let me give you a little bit of my background, starting from my first translation. I can’t exactly remember when it is, but I think it’s around 2005 or 2006 and did some Chinese to English manga translation.
I continued translating on and off, moving on to visual novel scripts and even Korean-drama (Chinese to English subs). Ultimately I went on to TL Mushoku Tensei (MT).
Words can’t describe how good I felt about that novel when I first started. The more I translated, the more I felt inspired to go back to pursue the dream I wanted to have ever since I was a child. At some point, I stopped translating that JP series and worked a lot more in my previous company to save up money to go back to art school.
I went for the art school’s interview. What you guys might not know is how I actually failed art miserably when I was a teenager, and quite frankly I wasn’t sure what to expect with this, but I was riding on a high from MT.
Rudeus changed himself from a hikkimori to someone considerably better than his previous self, and I kind of feel that change comes from within.
A year later, fast forward to end 2016, I passed the course and got a pretty decent nearly all B in my grades, while keeping my other translated series around. Truth be told, I feel I am more of a balanced Nanahoshi. I don’t quite have the aptitude for art (and quite rightly failed during my teens). Fortunately, I was good enough in analyzing to create a set of rules to make up for the lack of talent, and certain aspects of art don’t require you to be really skilled at it.
Anyways, during the last few months of my course, I had to kind of concentrate on my art and translated less. My final project turned out okay, and I went on to plan several things for my webnovels. I first started translating more chapters during the few months and lazed around during the months after. That art course is a pretty hardcore crash course that drained my energy and mind like crazy.
Fast forward again, and I decided to create a new website so that readers can get the Previous/Next Button they really wanted to have months ago. I had no idea what to do in the default wordpress to make that work, and I ultimately end up going meh, let’s create a brand new website.
It was another draining episode, but I finally did it.
When I was done with that website, it became end April 2017. Holy shit. Time to consider what I’m going to do now. Obviously get a job, right? But what about the readers? I thought for a while and I created a patreon for the biggest series that I have, which is TAS, and gave it a 1 month trial. Outcome? I didn’t meet even my first goal.
And to be honest? I am relieved.
I went to an art school in order to get into that career, and translating is just a hobby. But I am keeping you guys in mind, and I tried setting up a position where I draw as a hobby while I make TAS as a full-time job. One of the readers and even my brother pointed out that I should not be doing this. I think my lecturers will be shaking their heads if they find out what I’m doing.
Anyways, over and done with, the schedule is pretty fixed. I decided to treat my translation as a part-time job, while getting ready to create new artworks to put inside my portfolio and work full-time.
Now I can finally get to the part as to why I’m writing this much.
For those who you who have already read the top stickied post, please feel free to skip what I have written here, otherwise, you can kind of read on to read this full response on a particular NUF review from Justbin.
There is a particular user in novelupdates called justbin who reviewed on the series. Now, there are quite a number of things that I’m not happy with, but I let it slide and I didn’t intend to respond. However, there’s this particular statement that I’m utterly pissed off at, and thus I need to respond to him properly.
‘The novel is good, I would be happy if someone else took up this project, even if the translation is not upto snuff or have errors in grammar but at least releases in a good schedule.’ – justbin
I’m going to give everyone a few analogies.
Imagine you’re a customer at a restaurant who ordered a medium-rare steak. The waiter serves you your dish.
By justbin’s analogy, your steak is now charred on the outside and raw in the inside. He’s okay with it, are you?
Let’s have another analogy. Imagine you are there to buy a brand new car from a salesman. He introduces you to a Mazda or Ford, for example.
By justbin’s analogy, your car comes now with scratches and dents. He’s okay with it, are you?
This particular bit of insult to both me and the author deserves my proper and full attention and to sticky my response for at least a month.
Dear justbin, do you know what this means? You are encouraging translators to translate for the purpose of money. You want fast releases at the cost of quality so you can satisfy your own greed for reading more than 100 chapters per year? My, my, my.
‘I get it that the translator is an artist and thinks that translating is just a chore, but to pick a novel, get money from people for promising release of the chapters and dropping it when the person has no need of cash anymore.’ – justbin
That notion of ‘Man, this dip$hit translator got like $150 and stops translating full time,’ makes me roll my eyes at the level of scumbag personality that you have, but okay. We translators don’t owe you anything, just FYI. I’m delaying and risking my career in order to bring the readers chapters at a full-time speed with that plan, but since I got a total of $150 worth of patreon supporters, it means that I simply can’t sustain a full time position on it. Maybe some of us needs to have a proper life.
‘translator is obviously mercenary and requests donations for chapters frequently, but doesn’t put in the time to edit work that is being paid for’ + ‘6 chapters/month…. that is $hit tier speed, especially for a novel that has Patreon. The person clearly picks the novel to translate only when in need of some pocket change, has clearly shown with their recent comments that translating is beneath them’. – jink & justbin (who is referring to Jink’s comment)
If I turn on ads, I might probably reach that kind of ‘pocket change’ and pay for the above three things, but that’s an ethics issue isn’t it? I have not been given permission to translate them, and I don’t feel happy to have ads on the website because of said reason. I refused to join groups. I’m asking for genuine support and giving back my thanks by translating a new chapter. And to make up for that Engrish (partially affected because I was studying in art school back then and had less time to edit), I’m now going back to edit old chapters to a proper state.
Let me be clear. My art school’s diploma cost the government (thank you, taxpayers’ money) and me approximately 25000 USD. Every bit of my share, has been paid for with money that I earned with my previous job. I have no debts, I’m qualified to work in the industry, and I should have applied for a job many months ago if not for the consideration for my readers.
That $150-200 per month in the past that I received from donators simply pays for my electric/internet bills, coffee, as well as my light novels/artbooks (thank you, truly). There are 0 ads. That’s it. Believe me when I say I could have gotten way more money by working instead of translating.
I know most of you guys will ask me to ignore them, but I personally think that I need to explain every single point. People don’t know what’s happening behind the scenes. At some point, it’s surely going to snowball, and I’m going to get accused of being a money-grubber of $150-200 at some point in time yet again.
And if you are here because you want a faster translator to replace a slower translator so you can read more chapters— I have no words for you.
The Future ahead
So what’s going to happen in the next 1-2 years? I’m going to find a job and get some art XP. By the time I’m done, I might choose to freelance, or still stay on with my job, or concentrate full-time on TAS. There might be more readers a year later for me to consider doing TAS full time, either because I’m good enough with my art to draw new readers in, or the crowd simply becomes bigger.
Finally, the next ETA date for TAS update is July 15. You can blame justbin, since I don’t want to satisfy him by having a regular schedule for this month. I’ll be working on the past chapters during this time.
TL: Chapter 1/12 batch.
Chapter 155 – Breaking Dawn (8)
============== Raban’s POV ==============
A bright light shot straight into the air and illuminated the vast land, originating from the ruins near the southern inner gate. The varying intensity of the light made it appear ethereal.
Raban, the commander of the Firebrand Mercenaries, wore an aloof expression. His rippling muscles gave him a hard rigid outline that kept dancing from the light. He was a massive man who wielded a greatsword with a carved devil for a hilt, standing motionlessly in the night. His gaze was not on the light but the scenery outside the city.
The darkness seemed to form a black line over the horizon, and the night fog had created a thin mist in between the city and the forest. It seemed like nothing was out of the ordinary, but there was a constant shuffling sound of leaves being swept up by thousands of footsteps moving rhythmically.
The oddity of the inhuman noises was terrifying enough for one to feel like they came from hell.
A large army was moving towards the city.
Raban was not Aouine’s knight. He was formerly part of Karsuk’s forces; a retired cavalryman who had fought against Madara, but he acted like a knight to gain an advantage over the other mercenaries.
When he listened to the sounds with his eyes closed, he was almost certain they were Madara’s army. An endless amount of skeletons like a sea, shuffling across the ground row after row. The noise wormed into his ears and heart.
Fire torches began to emerge in the darkness like stars coming out during the night. They shimmered in the fog like ghost-fire, causing the mercenaries to grip their weapons subconsciously with solemn expressions.
They got into a formation and stood atop the city walls in silence, and held their breaths as the skeletons’ shuffling noises became louder.
Madara’s undead army finally appeared one by one, emerging past the swirling fog.
A few of Raban’s close subordinates stood behind him, including a few wizards. They were the ‘brains’ of the mercenaries, in charge of handling the strategies and tactics used. They were hesitant whether this battle was worth fighting for. The largest reason was not to offend the young noble, but when they saw the skeletons appearing like a tidal wave, they drew in a cold breath.
Madara. A blooming rose with all its brilliance and thorns in the darkness. It was an irresistible aura like the scent of death visiting upon one’s eventual demise—
“Commander?” A wizard with a pale-looking face asked quietly under his hood.
Raban did not answer.
“Commander, the number of undead enemies appears to be at least a few thousands,” He said: “Our total numbers with the stray sellswords around us are less than two hundred. These sellswords are also men who can hardly be trusted, even more so for that noble. Are we truly going to fight to our deaths for a single promise made to him? Even if all our brothers are to meet their demise?”
“And where are we to run to if we flee?” Raban turned around and glanced coolly at him: “I am far more familiar with the undead than you are. This city is already beset with the undead. I have learned my lesson in Karsuk. Never guess how many undead there are because their numbers far surpass your imagination.”
His eyes went back to the scenery: “However, while their numbers are indeed numerous, they are skeletons which are raised from the graves recently. If we hold our position till daylight comes they will fall back.”
“But—”
Raban raised his hand and interrupted the wizard: “Our only hope lies with that young noble. Two Gold-ranked fighters are enough to lead us out of this siege. Prepare your magic signals. Tell him he has two hours, the Firebrand mercenaries will not retreat even unto our deaths—”
He yelled to another person: “Raise our Warflags, even if we are going to face death itself, I want to see them flying in the dawn—”
He spat onto the ground. He was confident of what he knew about Brendel’s plan: “Since that young noble wants me to defend this position till dawn breaks, it means that he has a miracle up his sleeves. I want to see how the first light of dawn breaks this impossible darkness.”
[If he’s capable of doing it I don’t even mind giving up my position.]
The wizards glanced at each other with troubled looks. There were two hours left before dawn broke.
============ Medissa’s POV ===========
[Ancestral Citizen?]
Medissa’s movements have stopped moving. Her brows were knitted together as she shifted the lance in her hands. Every nerve in her body was on alert as she glared at the undead general. There was a pair of silver-colored scales woven onto his black robes, and his body gave out a chilling dread about him.
She did not know what he meant exactly by the two words. Before the Wise Kings ruled in the old eras, there was a mythical legend of a heroic knight leading a group of men and women out of Mother Marsha’s protection, defeated the entity known as the ‘Final Calamity,’ The Twilight Dragon, which marked the beginning of the Era of Chaos.
Ancestral Citizens— this title was given to the men and women of varying races who fought the Twilight Dragon.
The Golden Lineage had all but died out, with the exception of the Dragon race, becoming mere legends. The Silver Lineage was the proud existences in the Era of Chaos, but they were nearly wiped out in the battle against the the Dragon of Darkness. Most of these races had already disappeared or became obscure existences.
How could an Ancestral Citizen, an existence as old as the Golden Lineage still be around?
[Unless my Lord is a dragon.]
The Elven Princess immediately shook her head. Even a new-born dragon would not be as weak as her Lord, she thought, before she suddenly blushed and felt as though she had slighted him. She quickly apologized in her heart and refuted his words: “What nonsense are you spouting?”
Iamas’s eyes suddenly lit up with golden flames behind his mask. He was holding on to his scythe without moving but that strange glint made her feel slightly odd, and she hurriedly blinked. She was afraid she was being charmed, but his response was an echoing laughter:
“My words are exactly what they meant, and you understand it well.”
“Stop your lies!” Medissa glanced at her surroundings. The strength of the Undead General in front of her was far beyond her imagination, and she had to act carefully.
However, once she stopped moving, the mercenaries’ assault had also started to stagnate. She could not make a decision whether she should ask Brendel for reinforcements. There was a thick layer of smoke and dust forming over the location where Kabias and Brendel had fought, and she did not know what was happening there.
She was afraid of distracting him in his fight.
But this stalemate would not be in her favor if the undead general fought back against the mercenaries. She bit her faint silver lips and tried to delay for time: “The Golden Lineage is lost to the ages. There are no Ancestral Citizens, save for the dragons, left walking in this continent.”
Iamas gave a faint smile with a calm reply: “Indeed. The citizens of the Golden Lineage are considered Ancestral Citizens, but young Elven child, you forget there is the existence of the ‘Great Fool.'”
She could not help but laugh at the impossible idea: “The Dragon of Darkness? That’s far too funny. You believe my Lord is the Dragon of Darkness? Is there a point to that lie? No one will believe it—”
“No at all,” Iamas shook his head: “But a legend runs in Madara. ‘The Master of Darkness will return, its eyes sees through hearts, its mind knowing all things.’ Surely you have heard of that legend? It’s the Black Prophecy of Miirna’s citizens after all. They are a sworn enemy of your race, is it not?”
“And what of it?”
“I have merely met a certain witch in Fortress Riedon,” Iamas said nonchalantly: “As you well know, the witches are sensitive to the Powers of Darkness compared to ordinary people.”
“And you have forgotten that the Dragon of Darkness is the greatest enemy of our race. Compared to the witches, we are far more familiar with the scent of Darkness. The Black Prophecy also has this passage: ‘The Darkness will be born from no mortals, and the Glorious Races will expire amongst the flames.’ My Lord is a human, a descendant of the King of Flames, Gatel. He is a descendant of the Glorious Races, do you deny that point?” ()
“That is true.” Iamas raised his scythe and placed it over his shoulder, nodding.
“Stop trying to sow discord between us, undead. Who exactly are you?” Her opponent seemed to be satisfied with her attempts to delay the battle, and she started to become restless. Perhaps it was a trap after all, and he was waiting for reinforcements. She decided to attack him, and if she did not gain an advantage, she would request aid from Brendel.
“I already told you my name, Iamas. I am the Scales of War and the Judge of Fairness—”
The undead general placed one hand on his chest and bowed slightly.
“The inciter and instigator, you meant to say,” Medissa shouted as she raised her lance, but her opponent was even faster than she was. She had barely begun to urge her unicorn forward when he had already swung his scythe forward.
A dark beam of energy shot towards her.
She immediately shifted her unicorn’s direction, but the edge of the blast had reached her. Her armor pieces immediately exploded with light as they fended off the blow, causing a blast of powerful wind to spread in all directions. The mercenaries near her stumbled backward.
She released a soft groan as she received considerable damage from it.
“Your Soul Energy is very impressive. As expected from an Elven Spirit—”
Iamas raised his hand as he spoke. The squadron of Bonethorn Skeletons took out their bone spears and entered into an attacking stance. The mercenaries who had lost their footings were in no condition to defend against their strikes properly. Medissa, who was still trying to recover from the damage, instantly panicked when she realized the situation they were in.
“Stop—” She said through gritted teeth.
Iamas’s hand lowered mercilessly.
The air vibrated and whistled as rows of bone spears flew towards them, the noise echoing through the vicinity.
Her panic turned into determination.
“Ptyoona!” She roared in ancient Elven, as she released the spell ‘Spirit Wings.’
Her voice pierced through the entire battlefield, creating countless Soul Fire to emerge around her before it spread out with blinding speed into a gigantic pair of wings. A translucent web of crystalline hexagons filled up the entire street in the blink of an eye. The bone spears fell like rain from the sky smashed into the shield, reverberating loudly as they tried to force their way through, but it continued to hold up and ultimately turned them into ashes.
The mercenaries looked up in shock as the light brightened their faces, but they quickly realized they were saved.
Iamas looked on calmly, his golden irises shimmering: “An ancient technique from the Silver Elves—”
He smiled as he laid his scythe horizontally across his mount.
Medissa had no protection once the Soul Fire extended outwards—