Chapter 104: Highlight(6)
Chapter 104: Highlight(6)
As the trailer had promised, the Matrix Theater Troupe’s performance was a feast for the eyes and ears, boasting spectacular production and masterful direction.
First and foremost, the acting was superb. Since a play is performed live right in front of an audience, the sense of presence is vital, making the quality of acting paramount. In that regard, the actors were flawless.
Second was their level of preparation. As I mentioned before, I had added several illustrations to The Xenon Biography to make it easier to understand. Even though they were just basic depictions of character appearances, maps, and the steam locomotive, the Matrix Theater Troupe utilized them perfectly.
The actors playing Xenon, Mary, Jin, and Lily—all of them were spot on.
I don't know how they handled the makeup, but they looked exactly like the illustrations I’d drawn. Jin, in particular, had eyes of such a vivid crimson that I wondered if they had actually scouted a real demon. I even found myself questioning if colored contact lenses existed in this world.
Finally, there was the direction—the very foundation and identity of the Matrix Theater Troupe. While other troupes might manage decent acting and costumes, their directorial prowess was on another level entirely.
Clang! Shing!
"Whoa..."
Much like the sparring I had witnessed at the training grounds, the actors playing Xenon and Sacran were locked in a fierce battle behind the protective barrier.
While Xenon’s sword moved with flashy precision to pressure his opponent, Sacran’s massive scythe was concise, yet every single swing carried a lethal weight.
Watching a scene that felt like a real life-or-death struggle, I realized just how much effort they had put into this. They must have practiced these sequences more times than I could possibly imagine to get the timing that perfect.
If they were actually trying to kill each other, then they were just straight-up masochists.
"To think a human possesses such skill. Impressive. Who taught you?"
"There was someone. A master who left without even telling me his name."
After the combat—which felt both brief and eternal—the scene transitioned into a familiar moment from the book. Xenon spoke in a bright, light, yet pleasant tenor, while Sacran’s voice was aged and raspy, as if thick with phlegm.
In the original work, Sacran was described as having a somewhat unsettling voice. The troupe’s dedication to reflecting that detail perfectly was truly impressive.
Vroooom—
But that wasn't all. As if to prove this stage was a collaboration between the Lirus Orchestra and the Matrix Theater Troupe, the orchestra provided a live score for every major scene.
They had played a tense, driving piece during the fight just now, and I was surprised by how well it fit. Adding music to a scene that might have otherwise felt a bit plain created an incredible sense of immersion.
This was the result when two world-class masters collaborated on a single work.
As the original author... I couldn't be happier. I wondered if this was how it felt when The Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter were first adapted into films.
I grew curious to see if they could recreate the various spectacular scenes yet to come.
"Where did Sacran go?"
"He went that way! He said he felt a dense demonic energy...!"
"Dammit! Let's move!"
The performance was now racing toward its climax. It was the moment just before the entire nation of demons, the Devils, was nearly consumed by darkness due to the schemes of the demonic factions.
In this scene, Sacran uses his accumulated experience and foresight to reach the source of the darkness first, where he engages in a desperate struggle against a literal swarm of demons.
Xenon’s party arrives to help Sacran and the devil hunters, but the darkness grows beyond control, eventually forcing Sacran to make a grave decision...
"...Is that real magic?"
"I think so."
I had been looking forward to seeing how they would portray the swarming demons, and they had realized it perfectly. It looked as if a hole had been punched in the back of the plain; a massive black vortex appeared, and from it, demons—the kind you only see in ancient texts—came pouring out.
Perhaps due to practical limitations, there weren't enough to 'fill the sky' as described in the novel, and there was only one vortex. However, that single vortex was large enough to look like it might swallow the entire stage.
"That really is magic, isn't it?"
While Mari and I were lost in awe, Cecile seemed surprised in a different way. Hearing her, I turned to her with wide, questioning eyes.
"That's actual magic?"
"Yes. It's a type of illusion magic. It creates a desired phantom that moves as if it were real. However, because it's an illusion, it vanishes if it takes a certain amount of impact. Just like that."
Following her explanation, I looked back at the stage. Every time an actor struck one of the demons swarming like locusts, the creature dissipated into black smoke.
It seemed they were using illusion magic as a sort of live CG. But to hire a mage for a play—and one capable of producing such high-quality illusions at that?
The world is wide and full of eccentrics, but the mage behind this was certainly a unique individual.
"But for the illusions to turn into black smoke upon dissipation..."
Cecile muttered softly beside me, her expression turning serious. Glancing at her, I saw her tapping her cheek with a finger, as if she had realized something.
I was about to ask if she’d noticed something specific when—
"Aaaagh... Haaaaah!"
The agonizing, gravelly scream of an old man pierced my ears. I turned my head to see Sacran standing defiantly before the massive vortex that looked like a tear in space.
That scene... right. As the scale of the vortex becomes uncontrollable, Sacran absorbs it. In the original story, he used magic to fly into the air and suck in all the darkness.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
As Sacran began to absorb the vortex, a heavy drumbeat echoed, heightening the tension. If even I, the author, felt this tense, I could only imagine how the rest of the audience felt.
Sacran, a man who had dedicated his entire life to the demon race, was finally succumbing to the darkness and transforming into a demon himself.
Thud—
"Sacran!"
"Sacran! Are you alright?!"
Having absorbed all the energy from the vortex, Sacran fell to his knees. The rest of the party, who had been fighting the demons, rushed toward him as he collapsed, but...
"Stay back!"
Sacran’s voice thundered, shaking the very air. It was no longer his usual aged, raspy voice; it was distorted, laced with a static-like noise.
It seemed the members of the Matrix Theater Troupe even had the ability to modulate their voices in real-time. I couldn't help but think they were as brilliant as they were obsessive.
Still, the immersion was incredible, so I kept my thoughts to myself. Honestly, it was thrilling.
"Hunters... I always told you. Accept the darkness, but never let it rule you. And if you are ever consumed... always turn your blade toward that very darkness."
Sacran, who had been kneeling, slowly stood up and spoke to those behind him in a low, chanting tone. Along with his distorted voice, a dark aura began to seep from his body.
And most notably... demonic wings began to take shape on his back.
Ultimately unable to overcome the darkness, Sacran was turning into a demon. Sacran, the first leader of the devil hunters and a man of immense power.
As everyone held their breath, watching Sacran slowly transform, he stared blankly up at the sky before slowly turning around.
The horns sprouting from his head were massive and imposing, and his eyes glowed a blood-red, radiating an overwhelming pressure. He looked like a true demon incarnate.
"Why do you hesitate? Hunters. The darkness stands before you."
"..."
"Draw your weapons, now! This is my final command!"
At the mention of a 'final command,' Xenon and the hunters tightened their grips on their weapons, steeling their hearts. Their faces were a mix of tension, resolve, regret, and sorrow.
The man who was once their master, their comrade, and the man who had devoted his life to the demon race.
They had to kill him with their own hands.
"O Morphe..."
Finally, Sacran began his prayer.
"Grant us salvation."
Another tragedy was born.
Following the prayer, Sacran began to walk slowly toward the group. Whether he was moving slowly to delay the fight or because he was still struggling with the darkness within, one thing was certain.
On his face, which was clouded with solemnity, nothing remained but rage and hatred.
If they hesitated now, there would be no salvation—only a massacre.
"Aaaaaah!"
"No! Krot!"
Perhaps unable to accept that Sacran had become a demon, one of the hunters charged recklessly with a shout.
A comrade called his name from behind, but the hunter had already thrust his sword straight toward Sacran’s heart.
Or rather, he tried to.
Splat!
In the blink of an eye, Sacran’s arm impaled the hunter’s torso.
Crimson blood sprayed in all directions. The hunter flailed for a moment, skewered like a piece of meat, before going limp.
He was dead before he even hit the ground.
Whoosh—Thud!
Sacran swung his arm, tossing the hunter aside like trash. The corpse tumbled across the floor.
As one of their own was turned into a cold cadaver in an instant, the other hunters recoiled. They were hesitating, yes, but more than that, they were paralyzed by sheer terror.
Having witnessed Sacran’s martial prowess firsthand, they knew better than anyone that they could never defeat him. It was Sacran who had taught them how to use demonic power, and Sacran who had instilled their sense of duty.
These tangled, complex emotions kept them from stepping forward, despite Sacran’s orders.
But our protagonist, Xenon, was different. His expression hardened as he looked at Sacran and took a step forward.
"Xenon..."
"..."
The purple-haired woman, Mary, called his name softly, but Xenon ignored her and continued his steady march.
To bring peace to Sacran, the most human of them all, and to stop the powerful demon before him.
Our hero stepped forth.
"O Morphe..."
Drawing his sword, Xenon began a low chant.
"Grant this man rest."
The highlight of Volume 5 and the greatest scene in The Xenon Biography unfolded before our eyes.
Vroooom—
Simultaneously, the Lirus Orchestra began to play. Surprisingly, it was the intro and outro of the piece 'Life' that they had performed earlier.
The mournful notes of the strings, projected onto Sacran and the entire demon race, created an atmosphere that was both solemn and sorrowful. it emphasized the tragic nature of the demons, sending shivers down my spine.
The harmony between the greatest theater troupe and the greatest orchestra delivered an indescribable wave of emotion.
Usually, battle scenes are frantic and chaotic, but the fight between Sacran and Xenon felt strangely sad. In fact, it was hard to even call it a fight, as Xenon had no desire to kill Sacran—he only wanted to give him peace.
The reason Sacran’s weapon was a giant scythe, of all things, mirrored Xenon’s heart. Sacran viewed demons who had turned not as monsters, but as humans.
Therefore, killing them was akin to murder, and he was performing a sort of funeral rite.
'Damn. It’s a bit embarrassing to cry.'
Perhaps I had been sucked in because the scenes were so cinematic. As 'Life' played and the battle between Sacran and Xenon unfolded, I felt a lump in my throat.
In fact, though muffled by the music, I could hear sobbing coming from all around. I pinched the bridge of my nose and checked Cecile’s reaction. She was someone who had cried just from hearing the music alone.
So...
"Ugh... hic... Waaaaah..."
"..."
"It’s... it’s too sad... hic..."
She wasn't just crying; she was full-on wailing.
She was even biting down hard on the handkerchief I’d given her earlier.
'I’ll just leave her be.'
I turned my focus back to the performance.
*
While everyone was sobbing or shedding tears over Sacran’s sorrow...
There was someone watching the play not from the audience, but from above the stage. His name was Gartz, Cecile’s guard knight and a member of the Reapers.
He would have preferred to sit next to Cecile and watch, but the Reapers were bound by the rule of guarding from the shadows. Thus, he was floating in the air via magic, watching the performance from above.
"...It is sad."
Even a man who seemed devoid of emotion was still a demon. As the battle between Sacran and Xenon continued alongside the mournful music, Gartz wiped away the tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
As a member of the Reapers, the very inspiration for the devil hunters, he couldn't help but be more immersed than anyone else. It was a good thing no one was around; anyone who knew his usual stoic demeanor would have been shocked to see him crying.
But it wasn't just the demons; most of the people watching the performance were sobbing or grieving. It was a testament to the terrifying power of the play’s direction and delivery.
It would have been nice if the performance could have ended like this, but...
"...Hm?"
Gartz’s expression instantly hardened as someone tripped the security magic he had installed at the mansion. The fact that it was triggered wasn't the problem; the problem was that someone had intruded.
If it were Isaac’s family, he could have let it slide, but his entire family was currently here watching the play. That meant a stranger had broken in.
Even the knights dispatched from the Imperial Palace were strictly forbidden from entering the private bedrooms, so no one but an intruder would have tripped the security magic.
"...You son of a bitch."
Gartz spat out a heartfelt curse and flew toward the mansion.
The highlight was just about to begin, and he was dying to know who the hell had dared to interrupt this moment.