Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: The Die Has Been Cast
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⚙ DRAMATIC ANNOUNCEMENT ⚙ "...The die has already been cast!" Right after the intermission that had dragged on for a full 30 minutes finally came to an end.
The performance of Julius Caesar resumed on the stage of the Killigrew Theater.
The Rubicon River was depicted using stage devices enhanced with magic.
Leading his legions across it, Renua—as Caesar—roared out majestically.
"If I cross this river, the human world will be plunged into misery. If I do not cross, I myself shall perish! Forward! To the realm where the gods await! To the place where our enemies—who defiled our honor—lie in wait!" While Caesar was away on campaign, Rome's triumvirate had already reached its breaking point.
Crassus, envious of Caesar's military achievements, had marched off to Parthia and met his end there.
Pompey, meanwhile, had secretly colluded with the Senate and turned his back on Caesar entirely.
In the end, Caesar—leading his army right up to the gates of Rome—faced a fateful decision.
The Rubicon marked the final boundary between Rome proper and its provinces.
Thus, there was an unwritten rule that generals returning from campaign must disarm before this river.
Crossing the Rubicon without disarming and entering Rome? That meant nothing less than a coup d'état.
And Caesar had boldly chosen the path of coup.
What followed was the so-called "Caesar's Civil War"—the de facto end of the Roman Republic.
In this war, he crushed his rival Pompey, who had the Senate's backing, and ascended to the pinnacle of power.
"I have come! I have seen! I have conquered!" Vēnī. Vīdī. Vīcī!
A triumphant parade accompanied by Caesar's most famous line.
Afterward, Caesar generously forgave his surviving enemies and enacted sweeping reforms across all sectors of society.
Maintaining a forward-looking vision, he reshaped the mere city-state of Rome into the great empire remembered by modern people.
Caesar was undoubtedly a man of grand ambition, hungry for power.
Yet he pursued it not for personal greed, but to serve the public good of Rome.
Caesar's ambitions were always intertwined with the lofty ideals of Rome's reform and revival.
But even the reign of such a hero did not last long.
Upon becoming dictator for life, Caesar wielded power indistinguishable from that of an emperor.
The Senate senators, fearing his unstoppable advance, secretly plotted his assassination.
And so came the fateful day: March 15, 44 BC.
As Caesar arrived for the Senate meeting, assassins surrounded him, daggers in hand.
"Slay the tyrant!" "For Rome!" "For the Republic!" 💥 FATAL STRIKE! 💥 "Gahk!"
Sharp blades rained down on him from all sides without respite.
Stabbed countless times, Caesar let out a bloodcurdling scream.
At the same time, the audience in the seats began shrieking in horror.
"Ca-Caesar!"
"What the hell?! What's happening all of a sudden?!"
"No! Caesar! Rome's hero!"
The audience had surely expected him to escape his enemies' plots unscathed once more.
But alas, the time had come for the protagonist's luck to run dry.
The moment the final assassin appeared, shock washed over both Caesar's face and those of the audience.
"Brutus... you too?" Marcus Junius Brutus—his adopted son, whom he cherished like his own flesh and blood.
He appeared and plunged a cold dagger into Caesar's chest without hesitation.
Stab!
"Kyaaah!!"
"Go-God!"
As prop blood spurted from the actor's solar plexus, tearing screams echoed from the audience.
The instantaneous shift in the assassination scene left the crowd unable to process it, frozen in shock.
Yet even as the audience's time stood still, the clock on stage ticked relentlessly onward.
"Brutus... oh, Brutus..." With bloodshot eyes, Caesar slowly raised his arm.
His hand soon rested atop Brutus's face—the one who had stabbed him.
But the emotion on the hero's face was not resentment.
Not bone-chilling betrayal, nor disappointment or rage.
Tears welled up in the actor's eyes, glistening softly.
A single tear traced down his cheek as Caesar whispered quietly.
"I'm... sorry..." With those words, he collapsed with a thud onto the marble floor.
Wounds from stabs and slashes covered his body.
Vast amounts of blood poured from them.
The audience, having witnessed the entire scene, finally snapped back to reality.
"Ahh, Caesar... Caesar..."
"He truly was a great hero. Even forgiving the traitor who killed him."
In truth, the final stabbing by Brutus involved quite a bit of dramatization.
Brutus wasn't actually Caesar's adopted son in real life, nor did Caesar apologize to him on his deathbed.
And that famous last line, "Et tu, Brute?" was itself a fictional addition from Shakespeare's play.
Yet this subtle alteration evoked two crucial emotions vital for the story's progression.
Admiration for Caesar, who loved his adopted son to the very end even as he was slain.
And fury toward Brutus, who coldly assassinated such a father figure.
"Citizens of Rome! Hear the words of I, Brutus!" With the assassination complete, Brutus stepped before the Roman citizens, raising the dagger he had used.
The leader who had guided Rome with the fervent support of the common folk in life.
Shaking his bloodstained robes, he proclaimed his justification in a voice thick with grief.
Why he had assassinated his adoptive father, Caesar.
Why that assassination was a patriotic act of salvation for Rome.
"I loved Caesar! But I loved Rome more, and the Republic more than the tyrant! Thus, with tears in my eyes, I slew the one I loved most, who sought to become dictator!" The Roman citizens—played by extras—fell into utter chaos upon hearing his speech.
It sounded so plausible at first glance, its logic impeccably structured.
But the audience knew better.
"That... that shameless wretch...!"
"How dare you spout such nonsense after killing that great hero?!"
"Grrrh, Brutus! You bastard!"
A quiet boil beneath the surface—the righteous anger of spectators who had cheered and empathized with the protagonist throughout the show, only to lose him now.
And this was precisely the moment to unleash the satisfying payback.
Cleverly mimicking the staging from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, England's great bard.
"Shut your sly mouth, Brutus!" In an instant, a man appeared opposite Brutus.
Marcus Antonius—Caesar's loyal aide, who had faithfully supported him all along.
"Behold, citizens of Rome! See what our hero Caesar left as his final will!" He unfurled the prop will and shouted.
The extras playing Roman citizens then chorused its contents aloud.
Upon his death, Caesar bequeathed all his lands to the citizens of Rome.
And from his vast fortune, he paid out 75 drachmas in silver to every citizen.
75 drachmas was equivalent to nearly two months' salary for a modern civil servant.
That alone was enough to reverse the mood branding Caesar a selfish tyrant.
But Antonius's speech was far from over.
"Citizens, hear me! The three-inch tongue of Brutus, who decried Caesar as a tyrant and justified the assassination—what hides beneath it?!" Brutus staggered back, his face pale with panic.
Pointing straight at him, Antonius declared sharply.
"Ambition! That's its true nature—filthy, ugly, pitch-black ambition!" "Citizens of Rome! They are no liberators who slew a tyrant! They are mere murderers who killed a hero for their own selfish desires!" Antonius's stirring speech flipped the bewildered citizens' hearts in an instant.
At that cue, a massive roar erupted from the audience seats.
"Well said! Bravo, Antonius-!!"
"Boo! You vile scum, Brutus!"
"Bring back Caesar, Brutus! Bring him back right now!!"
"Execute him! Execute that bastard now! Give him the drawn-and-quartered punishment and tear him to shreds-!!"
A spectacular sight: everyone leaping to their feet, jeering and roaring at Brutus.
Even though most were upper-class nobles and tycoons, they forgot all decorum and raised veins in fury.
Without the armed guards maintaining order, they might have stormed the stage right then.
Requesting extra stage security from the imperial side as a precaution had truly been a stroke of genius.
'If not, the actor playing Brutus would've already been trampled to death by the audience by now.'
Overzealous audiences killing actors happened often enough in real history.
Like in China, where spectators murdered a storyteller for portraying the Romance of the Three Kingdoms villain Cao Cao too convincingly.
Or in Joseon, where the masses killed a pansori singer for nailing the villain Kim Ja-jeom in The Tale of Im Kyung-up.
Anyway, the rest of the play proceeded smoothly and at breakneck speed, thankfully.
It showed the pathetic ends of Brutus and his fellow assassins who fled after killing Caesar.
Then Caesar's hidden successor, Octavian, emerged to inherit power, bringing the curtain down.
"Hero of Rome, Caesar! Rest in eternal peace!" A beautiful laurel crown symbolizing the Emperor of Rome.
Placing it upon his head, the actor playing Octavian proclaimed.
"I, Octavian, shall become emperor and carry on Caesar's legacy! Blessings upon you, great Rome! May you be remembered forever, great Caesar!" "Woooah-!!"
"Great Caesar-!!"
A competent successor inheriting the unparalleled hero and completing his feats—an ending that delivered ultimate catharsis.
The audience rose in ecstatic frenzy, showering standing ovations.
Of course, in actual history, Octavian never declared himself emperor.
Quite the opposite—he spent his life calling himself Princeps, "first citizen," and posing as the Republic's guardian.
But in this world, Octavian was just another fictional creation by playwright Phantom.
No one would complain about such minor tweaks.
"Caesar! Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!"
Even during the curtain call, as actors came out for final bows, the chants showed no sign of stopping.
Regardless of age or gender, everyone screamed the protagonist's name with "weeb" energy from another world.
My neighbor, Senior Rosalyn, who had watched the play beside me, was no exception.
Though, if I had to point out one difference from the regular audience...
"Kyaaah, Phantom! Phaaantom-!!"
...She clapped fervently while ecstatically calling the playwright's name?
Watching her bubbly(?) enthusiasm, a twinge of unease suddenly sprouted in me.
'Hold on. This isn't just an issue for the imperial family...'
Her eyes gleamed with bliss bordering on rapture.
A passion utterly at odds with her usual calm, pure demeanor.
It even carried a faint whiff of "mad" obsession, or so it seemed—not that I'm imagining things.
What if she figured out I'm Phantom too?
How would Senior Rosalyn transform then?
'I want to repay you for saving my father, Balthazar. So don't ever leave this basement, okay?'
'Balthazar? Why do you keep trying to run? Just stay by my side and write forever...?'
'Right! You don't need legs anyway, do you? Hands are enough to hold a pen, Balthazar!'
"..."
Pfft, I've watched too many movies.
No matter how extreme her fandom gets.
Our kind, considerate Senior Rosalyn wouldn't do something like that, right? Hahaha.
...Probably.