Harvey works masochistically every day.

Maybe it's very easy for ordinary people to want to create a novel, just use your brain and then move your fingers, the real situation is that creating a work is the pressure on the brain, the essence is no different from moving bricks, and the mental torture is even more unbearable. In the case of unsatisfactory creation, irritability and depression are like a poisonous snake entrenched in Harvey's heart, gnawing all patience, Harvey can't remember how many times he had the urge to flip the table in three days, and gritted his teeth again and again.

His rationality overcame his impulse, and he couldn't find any other way to raise money, so he had to write it down.

I don't know if this sense of grievance is similar to the protagonist who was framed and imprisoned, but when he writes about the torture and pain suffered by the protagonist Edmond, it is surprisingly smooth, and all the negative emotions are poured into his protagonist, through whom he "speaks" all his grievances.

In the bedroom, the pen in Harvey's hand turned quickly, and the fonts were connected together, making them less recognizable. His eyes sparkled, ignoring the sourness of his right hand, venting all his negative emotions, and he felt the thrill of creation for the first time! His protagonist, Edmond Dantès, is in prison for unprecedented suffering, being framed for his marriage and falling from the pinnacle of his life to the bottom, praying for hope every day, and the acting prosecutor who had promised him no news, and the prison inspector has not brought back any news.

As time passed, Dontès's heart fell into hell, and he despaired.

······

A lonely maddening prison, with only iron bars and the unchanging seascape outside, the smell of the sea breeze blowing through the narrow windows into the prison, leaving tears of remorse for the young sailor Edmond Dantès, who once considered himself a man. The new warden took office, and he thought it was too cumbersome to remember the names of the prisoners, so he simply replaced them with their cell numbers. This eerie prison has more than 100 rooms, and the inmates are named after their room numbers, and the unfortunate protagonist is no longer called Edmond Dantès, who is now the unnamed "Thirty-Four".

Thirty-four's wizened hands grabbed the window railing and roared: "Lord! Please tell me what I did wrong! Why let an innocent person, a person who is about to attain happiness, suffer such a catastrophe! ”

"No one! No one! No one came! Why should I be imprisoned in this small, filthy prison at the best moment of my life, when I am so tormented by loneliness that I am going mad, that I am going to spend the rest of my life in this gloomy corner? ”

"Spend the rest of your life here!?"

"I'm innocent, is that really the case? Or maybe I've committed some crime before I'm punished! ”

"That's not right! I didn't commit any crime! At that time, the Attorney of Villefort should have burned the letter handed over by His Majesty. ”

"Ahh If it weren't for that whistle-blowing letter, I would have married Mercertes by now, and we'd be happy, maybe have children..."

"Who is it!? Who is the whistleblower! ”

"I'm going to curse you! Curse you to hell! You will be guillotined! Your vile spirit will be spurned by all! Your filthy soul bears the fire of Purgatory forever! ”

An uncontrollable rage took over his mind, and Dantès slammed his body against the stone walls of the prison, cursing at God in his mouth, he had not taken care of his appearance for a long time, his hair and beard were long, and when the blood left on his forehead cursed God, he looked like he was possessed by the devil, so that the jailers who guarded him were so frightened that they turned away from him.

Dantès transferred his anger to everything around him, to himself, to every meaningless thing around him, like his tattered bed, like the cold stone walls, or the cool sea breeze blowing in through the window, and the letter of the whistleblower that the Prosecutor of Villefort had shown him resurfaced in his mind, the writing as blood-red as blood.

He waited in despair and numbness, his mind dulled by lack of communication, unable to even recognize whether it was God's retribution or the hatred of man that had pushed him into the abyss of misery.

······

When Edmond Dantès was preparing to commit suicide on a hunger strike in Dugu's prison, he heard a strange noise coming from the stone walls of the prison, and he talked to the mysterious prisoner, and Edmond Dantès, who had been lonely for too long, felt solace for the first time, and for him this was a ray of sunshine in the abyss of despair, saving him from the desperate situation of madness and loneliness.

The plot of the novel ends abruptly here, and there is no time for Harvey to write it down.

Three days after he began to write "The Count of Monte Cristo", Harvey's body collapsed in his bedroom seat, looking at the manuscript on the table with dull and tired eyes, because his eyes were bloodshot because he had stayed up all night, his right hand could not suppress trembling, and the skin of his palm was stained black with ink. For a long time, Harvey, who had been out of breath, trembled and packed up the manuscripts, he didn't even have the energy to confirm them, and after loading them in folders, he stood up on the table, and a feeling of dizziness rushed straight to his head, making him stumble and almost not fall.

His physique is only 9 points, which is worse than the average person, and he has been exhausted in the past few days for creation, and his physical strength and spirit are overdrawn to the limit.

After a moment's pause, Harvey went out and handed the manuscript to Shirley, ordering her to make a copy and submit it to Leonard. He collapsed on the bed, his upper and lower eyelids unbeatable, and every blink made him feel like he was going to fall into a deep sleep at any moment. When he handed the manuscript to Shirley, the mysterious attribute template in his mind sent him a little information, and there was a new change.

He was so tired that before going to bed, his consciousness called out the attribute panel in his mind to see the changes.

"Harvey Adrian

Constitution: 9

Intelligence: 12

Glamour: 10

Spirit: 12

Dexterity: 11

Energy: 3/10 (Extremely Weak)

Remaining distribution points: 0

Skill:

[Writing]

Level: C

Description: I am already a qualified writer, and even if there are many shortcomings, I can't hide the highlights of my work.

talent

【Magical Talents】

Level: D

Description: It seems that because of the caster's bloodline, he is closer to the aether element than ordinary people, and if he learns magic from a young age, he may be able to sense the spell net and become an official spellcaster.

Number of skill level increases remaining: 1. ”

"Skills seem to be active skills, and talents can be understood as passive skills, can you increase the skill level once?" Harvey, who was lying on the bed with his eyes squinted, muttered in his mind, and before he had time to think about the changes in the attribute panel, he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.