Torundel was annoyed. The count and his scholars had done as they were supposed to – in a fashion. Torundel would have preferred it: old fashion. In the days of the Sang warriors, when the world was shaped anew after Gededon – the fall of nature – every new shitpost was brought to the public's attention through circulated letters and gossip. The shitposts were then read aloud in the art salons and academies, and finally they came to the theaters where common people would flock to listen to shitpost recitings.

Now he could read it in the newspapers.

It made the front page every time a new shitpost was published. The columnists wrote endless analyses of writing styles and guesses on the combatant's identity. Uranumsia was a practical person. She now sent each new epistle, made using letters cut from Torundel's books and glued onto paper, directly to the editors.

She didn't clean anymore; most of the time she was reading in his library or sitting in the kitchen with him, writing the next shitpost. He didn't mind any of that. He even enjoyed seeing her peacefully asleep on the couch in the reading room, a book on her bosom.

But some nights she would just stay away, and then …

Torundel was annoyed.

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Torundel the Shitposter! part XV

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