Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: The Hero of the Pen
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📰 Extra! Extra! "Saintess Beatrice has nominated playwright Phantom as a hero candidate!" This blockbuster news sent the entire Holy Empire into a frenzy.
The word that the great master Phantom had become a hero candidate spread like wildfire.
"What? A hero candidate?"
"I heard the candidate's title is Hero of the Pen or something? The man who wields a fountain pen to work miracles."
"Pfft! A hero candidate with a nickname like Hero of the Pen? What a hilariously spot-on naming sense!"
In truth, the 'heroes' of this world weren't just sword-wielding warriors battling the Demon King.
That might have been the case once upon a time, but now that the Demon King had been sealed away long ago, it was little more than an honorary title.
As such, the concept of a hero had evolved with the changing times over the past few centuries.
Now, a hero was someone blessed by the gods, capable of performing great miracles.
In other words, it referred to superhumans who positively guided the world.
Be it swordsmanship, magic, scholarship, or anything else.
It was a term reserved for the rare few who steadily amassed world-shaking achievements in their fields.
And Saintess Beatrice, who was already renowned for her ability to peer into people's souls, had personally selected Phantom.
That alone was enough to unleash massive repercussions.
The first to feel the impact were the unscrupulous theater troupes that had been half-heartedly ripping off Chaplin Comedies.
"Ugh! You script thieves! Pack it up!"
"Copying comedies written by the Hero of the Pen outright? Have you no shame?!"
"Get lost! The Ten Plagues are coming for your troupe too!"
A barrage of jeers rained down alongside rotten fruits and vegetables.
It was just a candidate nomination, but the reaction was as if he'd already been crowned a full-fledged hero.
Most troupes scrambled to shut down operations and issue apologies.
They couldn't fool the discerning eyes of those who'd seen the real Chaplin Comedies.
Of course, some felt uneasy about calling cheap gags plagiarism.
The view that imitating frivolous, comical popular plays wasn't a big deal still lingered in the industry.
Some even hypocritically complained that Phantom was abusing his hero candidate status to muddy the arts and overreach into personal freedoms.
But such gripes were futile under the watchful eyes of the vigilant churches.
"The Lord said, 'Thou shalt not steal.'"
During Sunday mass, a young priest solemnly recited the scripture, pointing at the cross.
"The works drawn by the Hero of the Pen candidate with his pen are precious gifts bestowed upon him by the Lord. To copy them recklessly is to steal from the hero candidate himself. No true believer can tolerate such a thing."
The Killigrew Theater Company had returned to the capital after their northern tour and staged a full run of Exodus.
With a choir from a nearby church providing support, the fervor was intense—and the ripple effects lingered.
As a grand religious play penned by the great master himself, the capital's priests had pooled funds to attend en masse.
In particular, the young, passionate apprentice priests became Phantom's fervent supporters.
They were captivated by how it transformed the Celestial Faith's core doctrine—'God loves you and is always watching over you'—into a grand, meticulously symbolic epic.
And when word spread that its creator had been nominated as a hero candidate by the saintess herself...
Not to mention rumors that the protagonist Moses might be a self-portrait of the hero candidate...
The excitement spread uncontrollably.
"Hallelujah! The Lord saves the faithful! Fear not!"
"'I shall be your voice, so advance without hesitation!' What line captures God's love better?"
"Moses is the hero candidate's self-portrait and the ideal embodiment of a priest's virtues! This is the model for priests that the hero candidate wants us to follow!"
They believed Exodus concretely symbolized the virtues of the Celestial Faith.
Unyielding faith, the responsibility every priest must bear, indomitable will, and courage.
It was a masterpiece that clearly answered 'How should a Celestial Faith believer live?' through a fictional tale.
...And the more radical priests put these ideas into action.
They left their churches to seek out the suffering poor, like the Hebrews.
They tended to lepers cast out like slaves and labored manually to help them.
Some even braved life-threatening dangers to venture into remote wildernesses beyond civilization for missionary work.
These zealous priests needed no material rewards or physical comforts.
All they required was the gospel of love from the scriptures—and lives that put it into practice.
"Everyone, take up your staffs! We too shall wield them to spread the Celestial God's love and miracles!"
"Hosanna! Like Moses, let us lead the starving, oppressed people to the land flowing with milk and honey!"
These new priests, centered on poverty, action, and the gospel as absolute value, formed networks and held religious gatherings funded by their own donations.
However, the impact of Exodus wasn't limited to religious circles.
"Hey, did you catch that? The Egypt in Exodus is the same as in Julius Caesar?"
"Of course. I've looked into it thoroughly."
"Oh my god. Does that mean the worlds of these two masterpieces are connected...?"
Of course, when staging Exodus, the Killigrew Theater Company had quickly clarified publicly.
The 'Egypts' in the two plays were distinct nations, with no story connections.
Cleopatra in Julius Caesar was a helpful ally to the protagonist despite being a pagan.
In contrast, the Pharaoh in Exodus was the ultimate villain, blasphemous to the core.
Drawing a clear line here was a wise move to avoid future issues.
Still, they couldn't stop people's imaginations from running wild.
"Check this out! Here's my idea—what do you think? Moses, receiving a divine revelation, goes to Rome and strikes the traitor Brutus with lightning to save Caesar!"
"Nah, that's too childish. How about this? Egypt's Queen Cleopatra faces the Ten Plagues, converts to the Celestial Faith, and is reborn as a saintess aiding Caesar!"
"Or a story where the parted Red Sea wipes out Emperor Octavianus's fleet? The baffled emperor invades Egypt in rage, punishing Pharaoh even more harshly, haha!"
As Phantom's catalog grew, fan clubs began popping up here and there.
Centered around them, fans' 'What if' scenarios slowly blossomed.
As long as they didn't publish for profit, wild speculation and creation were free.
Some chased happy endings, others romance or satisfying revenge, twisting the frameworks of their beloved works.
Gradually, the scale of these creations grew, and clubs started exchanging ideas.
Thus, secondary creation culture truly began to flourish in the Holy Empire. ◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Hey. Hero of the Pen."
"Shut it before I stab you with this pen."
"Heh heh."
Morris crossed his arms, chuckling smugly.
His smug face just made me sigh deeply.
Anyway, assignments had to be turned in, so I cleared my mind and focused on scribbling with my quill.
"At least you're just a candidate for now. You're the type who hates fuss, right?"
"Heroes are honorary these days anyway. It's basically the saintess endorsing my writing—that's all."
Hero of the Pen or whatever, it was a ridiculous title, but nothing would really change.
'It's basically like a Nobel Prize in Literature nomination.'
Does getting nominated for a Nobel drastically alter your life?
You just keep writing as a more spotlighted, honored author.
So, nominating me only as a candidate without pushing harder was the saintess's consideration.
A way of saying: Don't get tangled in messes, just keep doing what great masters do.
Dodge the pesky duties, cherry-pick the prestige.
...Yeah, thinking of it that way, I was grateful.
Anyway.
"Ow, my back."
Even as a hero candidate from a noble house, I'd been glued to my desk lately, kneading my spine and groaning.
After Admiral Li came Caesar, Charlie Chaplin, and now Moses performances.
In a normal world, a semester would've flown by, but things were different here.
A year in this world was noticeably longer than on real-world Earth.
Something science kids back home would spit blood denying—a bizarre trait.
'I was pretty thrown off when I first reincarnated too.'
It was like severe jet lag; everything felt off.
You'd expect crawling by now, but still stuck in the cradle.
Time to be a proper boy, but babbling and on mush.
Growth and aging were overwhelmingly slower than Earth's, throwing body-mind balance into chaos at times—I thought I'd go mad.
So despite cranking out massive work by Earth standards, not that much time had passed here.
Days were about Earth-length, though.
But with longer semesters came brutal workloads.
"So? Got plans for the next work, Hero of the Pen?"
Morris perched on his bed, probing.
How long since he saw Exodus live, and he was already fishing.
Normally I'd snap at him, but I was tapped out.
"Dunno. Assignments, studies—mountains to climb."
"Want help? I'm done with mine. Use my notes if needed."
"Nah. Professor Prunel is a stickler. One whiff of help, and zero."
The empire's political history class—infamous for boredom.
We groaned like credits were the enemy, graduation a prison.
"Sigh, still gotta write something."
When opportunity knocks, seize it.
Spotlight on Phantom was burdensome, but cash piling in Balthazar's accounts? Adorable.
So before popularity faded or hotshots outshone me, I wanted to churn out works.
'But fact is, no time for a full play.'
Plays aren't just typed scripts.
Acting, props, costumes, sets, etc.—endless coordination till ready.
Was there a shortcut? Skip the hassle, whip out a work quick?
"...Ah!"
An idea flashed like lightning.
I set down my quill and turned to Morris.
"Hey, Morris. As a marquis's son, you got publishing connections, right?"
"Publishing? Sure. Why?"
"After assignments, thinking closet drama this time."
"Closet drama? What's that?"
"It exists."
Closet drama (Lesedrama)—in Hanja, 'chamber play' or 'study drama'.
A genre written to be read like a book, not performed.
Ideal for writers constrained by stage limits or production quirks.
The master of this was France's Alfred de Musset.
After his debut Night in Venice flopped, he pivoted to closet dramas.
Precise psychology, complex expression, romantic prose—Musset's hallmarks.
To unleash his wild creativity fully, no stage constraints.
And for biography-based closet drama, one figure stood out.
"Know thyself!"
"Know what?"
"It exists."
Not his invention, but a phrase he cherished lifelong.
I stretched, invoking the ugly philosopher root of midwifery, dialectics, Western rationalism.
"You're my friend, but seriously inexplicable."
Morris gawked at the orichalcum medal on my desk.
Pricier than double-weight precious metals.
"Got a ring with the imperial seal, saintess nominates you hero. Next, prince consort? You're right age, and Her Highness is marriage-ready."
"Pass. Prince consort? I'd rather drop dead."
I'd met her at the cosplay contest—she was terrifying.
A kitsune who'd gut you if you blinked?
No way she'd eye a mere playwright.
Heck, good if she wasn't grudge-holding over ignored fan letters.
"We're exchanging letters lately—don't rile her."
"Ah, those lovey-dovey notes between Phantom and the princess? Inspected 'em—riveting."
"'Love letters' my ass."
Post-fan meet, the princess started proper correspondence.
Just check-ins, nothing grand, but kinda burdensome.
Felt like payback for ghosting her fan letter?
Subtle digs in every one kept me on edge.
Last one teased: 'Took no court post but hero nod proudly? Feeling slighted.'
'I didn't even ask for the nomination.'
And with the saintess backing it, who refuses?
"Balthazar, you're overthinking negatively. Looks like she's into you."
"...Dating Julian fill your head with honey? Where's the flirting?"
"Sigh, whatever. Dense idiot. Good scripts wasted, tsk tsk."