Chapter 172
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 172
After completing his treatment and returning to Kalamaph, Turan decided to focus his efforts once more on internal maintenance.
He didn't intend to root out spies from other families as he had before. Having done so quite recently, another sweep would likely yield diminishing returns. Moreover, conducting such crackdowns too frequently would be tantamount to signaling a lack of trust in his own vassals.
The core of this internal maintenance would be strengthening the bonds between members, relieving mental fatigue, and boosting morale. The method he chose was a medium he had long enjoyed: the theater.
"Alright, here it is. These are the troupes currently staying in Kalamaph. There are three of decent size, and about five that are essentially just acrobatics troupes."
Turan nodded as he scanned the list Asiz had compiled.
Kalamaph had once been far too underdeveloped to support a sophisticated theater scene, so one couldn't have expected resident troupes in the past. However, things were different now that it had become the base of the Parsha family. Followers naturally gravitated toward a city protected by a powerful mage; as people and resources gathered in a region made safer by their presence, culture was bound to flourish.
In fact, considering that even cities ruled by vassal families like the Berks in Arabion territory had several troupes each, one could say Kalamaph was still lacking.
"But what do you plan to have the troupes do?"
"A play, obviously. Here, take a look at the script first."
Asiz, who had been reading the parchment Turan handed him with a somewhat indifferent expression, gradually widened his eyes. Even for a seasoned theater enthusiast who had consumed countless plays over the decades, the plot structure was so novel and intriguing that he couldn't help but gasp.
"What is this? You didn't write this yourself, did you? The content deals with the recent wars... Did we have a playwright of this caliber in our neighborhood?"
"I’m the one who put it to paper, though I wouldn't say I 'created' it. Well? Does it look worth watching?"
"Worth watching? I’m itching to see it performed on stage myself! No, but to have this kind of talent for playwriting as well..."
"As I said, I didn't create it."
Turan possessed a vast array of talents, but to put it bluntly, his creative writing was third-rate at best. It was only natural, as he lacked exceptional flair for prose and had never practiced the craft of storytelling.
The script was actually a patchwork of famous modern plays combined with ancient classics found in the Library of Orem—specifically, those that had been lost to time due to various historical upheavals.
Of course, culture naturally evolves to become more provocative and engaging over time, but among those lost ancient classics, many were actually superior to modern works. This applied not just to the plot, but to theatrical techniques as well. This was because the foundation of current human literature was the old tales the Frea Divine Clan once told their kin, based on an era when culture had reached its absolute zenith.
At any rate, Turan had taken real events as the framework and crammed in every element he found entertaining from other works; it would have been stranger if it wasn't interesting. Additionally, it helped that the Librarian—a spirit who never slept—had used her peerless literary skill to weave the threads together.
I didn't actually expect it to turn out this well.
The thousands of years spent in the library had paid off. He remembered a passing comment that one of the Librarian's pastimes was mixing existing stories to craft new works. If an ordinary person is called a master after repeating a task for decades, how extraordinary must the skill of someone who had done the same for millennia be?
While perhaps not comparable to genius playwrights who could conceive of stories no one else had imagined, she was certainly a master chef when it came to blending existing ingredients into something delicious.
"Anyway, I’d like to get this on stage quickly. Is it possible?"
"Of course. Even if an anonymous playwright had sent this, they wouldn't have been able to resist staging it immediately. But if it’s a direct order from the Head of the Parsha family..."
A glimmer of life returned to Asiz’s face as he grinned. Though he had suppressed much of his true self while working as the Parsha steward after losing his parents, his fundamental love for the theater had never vanished.
*
When the troupe leaders heard that a script had been sent down directly from a Great Family—and that it was set against the backdrop of their own wars—they all had the same thought.
Here we go again...
It wasn't exactly a novel tactic for mage families to use theater to assert their superiority. Even 'Hero Keorn,' which had been popular in Arabion in the past, was created to boast, "Look, our knights were capable of killing nobles!" regarding a war that had ended with no clear winner.
However, as long as they were earning their bread in Kalamaph, they didn't dare disobey the orders of the Great Family Parsha. They bowed their heads, promising to practice and stage it as quickly as possible, but as they began to read, their eyes nearly popped out of their heads.
"My god, where did this come from?"
After delivering the script that had shocked everyone, the knight briefly conveyed the main house's intentions. In three weeks, the troupe that delivered the most exceptional performance would earn the right to stage the play at the Parsha estate in Kalamaph.
Along with a massive reward.
"Three weeks is too short..."
"Then that spot will go to another troupe."
"No, no! We can do it!"
They didn't even dare dream of becoming the exclusive troupe of a Great Family. Just having the label of being selected by the Parsha main house to perform before powerful mages would cause the troupe's prestige to skyrocket.
Furthermore—though it was little more than a delusion—if the Head of the Parsha family happened to attend and offer even a single word of praise...
'This troupe's performance is quite good.'
With that, even a typical knight wouldn't be able to treat them lightly. If the Head of a Great Family said their play was good, how could a mere knight dare to act superior?
For the next three weeks, all the major troupes in Kalamaph halted their existing performances and began a grueling competition of rehearsals. Naturally, the actors were just as motivated. The content of the play alone was enough to set the souls of those with artistic temperaments ablaze, and they had been promised an enormous reward upon success.
When the time was up, a young man identified as the steward of the Parsha family visited the three troupes, watched their performances, and selected one.
"Good. We will go with you."
"Oh...!"
"We did it!"
"We are the best troupe in Kalamaph—no, in the entire Gray Zone!"
"Naturally, there must be no mistakes. The Master of Parsha himself will be watching."
The celebratory mood was instantly dampened by the steward's calm warning. Only then did the reality sink in. They would be performing before one of the most powerful mages in the world, the ruler of a land where hundreds of thousands lived.
"Well, don't be too nervous. The Lord is not a difficult man. If you perform as well as you did just now, he will be more than satisfied."
*
"The family is putting on a play?"
"This is a first."
"Are you going?"
"He specifically asked us to attend, so of course. The order was for everyone to gather except those out on missions."
In the early evening, the mages of the Parsha family gathered at the Lord's summons in one of the underground training grounds that had been closed off recently. There, an improvised theater had been set up. The arrangement of tents, the stage, and the rows of chairs left no doubt as to its purpose.
Whether they had been summoned earlier or not, the family's executives and influential commoners were already seated on one side—owners of large merchant groups, heads of artisan guilds, and the like. While their status was lower than that of the mages, they were still people whom ordinary knights couldn't simply treat as underlings.
"Our seats are in the center."
"Please, sit first, Lord Rodel."
"Thank you."
To the eyes of commoners, they were all mages, but the hierarchy among them was strict. Knights yielded to nobles, and nobles yielded to more powerful nobles.
A moment later, once hundreds were seated, a young man appeared at the front of the theater. Upon seeing him, everyone rose as one to show their respect.
"Whoops."
"Stand up quickly, you idiot!"
Turan Parsha.
In an age where nearly a thousand years had passed since the last Great Family appeared, he was the founding sovereign who had elevated a new Great Family through sheer strength alone. That fact alone earned him everyone's respect, but for the mages who had fought alongside him, Turan's presence was even more special.
Many had had their lives saved by his hand during the life-and-death struggles of battle. To those who would have died of mortal wounds if not for a healer like him, Turan’s status was nothing short of divine.
"Thank you all for taking the time out of your busy schedules to be here. This play is for the heroes who have fought hard for our family and this land. Please, enjoy."
The sensation of his low voice, murmuring as if right next to each person's ear yet spreading throughout the entire theater, was truly mystical. After Turan exited, having showcased his skill, the play began shortly after.
A young male singer cried out in a deep bass, like a chant:
["O Goddess, sing of the rage—"]
The plot was simple—an ensemble drama set against the backdrop of the Parsha family’s three recent conflicts: the clashes with Arabion, Baraha, and the Carmine-Merfolk forces.
However, this play was far from a one-dimensional piece of propaganda that boringly depicted real events just to boast of Parsha's victory. The core theme of the story was the people of Parsha living through the time between those wars.
The tragic death of a young knight who had sworn to a commoner girl that he would return alive; the young Baraha nobles who, under a mad patriarch, hoped for a new sun only to be suppressed; the revenge of a noble who lost his family to the merfolk raiding the coast...
As these segments unfolded, the audience alternated between laughter and tears.
The reaction was particularly intense among the mages seated in the center, those who had personally participated in the wars. While for others these were stories of things that happened elsewhere, for them, these were events they and their comrades had experienced firsthand.
In the process, the thematic message the play intended to convey was unconsciously etched into their minds.
[We are righteous. Our wars were always justified. We have always been honorable.]
Other families often used state-sponsored plays for such manipulation, but the difference here was that the method was extremely sophisticated. Trying to hammer a message in openly only causes rejection, but subtly infusing it in a way that is hard to notice allows it to seep in without resistance.
The high quality of the play also increased immersion. Although the actors' performances were slightly lacking due to having only three weeks to practice, they had applied themselves so desperately during that time that there were no major flaws. Furthermore, Turan himself stepped in, using wind magic to carry the actors' voices and various sound effects throughout the theater, making it difficult even for those who had seen many plays to keep their wits about them.
When the final act ended, thunderous applause filled the theater.
"Magnificent!"
"Long live Parsha!"
As the audience, completely hooked by the propaganda play, cheered wildly, the actors who came out to bow also wore radiant smiles. While money played a large part in the profession of acting, the artistic euphoria of successfully pulling off a new play was no less significant.
The emotions they felt reached a peak when the gray-haired young man stepped onto the stage.
"M-My..."
The troupe leader, trying to say "My Lord," seemed unable to speak, as if his breath were caught in his throat. Turan placed a hand on his shoulder and said softly:
"It was a fine play."
"It is an honor... truly, nothing but an honor..."
They would have been satisfied if he had just sat far away and tossed out a "not bad," but to receive such lavish treatment? The actors looked at each other awkwardly as they watched their old troupe leader weep openly.
After dismissing the actors with a light gesture, Turan looked down at the audience and spoke.
"It seems everyone enjoyed the play."
The shouts of "Yes!" were filled with sincerity. They hadn't known what to expect when the Lord suddenly called them to watch a play, but they hadn't imagined it would be this entertaining.
No, it wasn't just entertaining. For those who had been living with a hole in their hearts after losing close friends or family in the recent battles, this play provided great comfort.
"As you can see, we have had a particularly difficult time over the past few months. And we will continue to face difficult times ahead. Our enemies are weaker than before, but they still endure, and they harbor deep grudges."
After letting the atmosphere settle, Turan looked around with a profound gaze.
"But I swear, I will give my life to protect this land and our families. For I am not a King, but the Head of this House, and you are not subjects, but family."
After drawing another round of emotional tears with his prepared speech, Turan began the event he had scheduled: the awarding of medals.
"Medals...?"
"What are those?"
In another world, medals were the product of complex social shifts like the fall of feudalism, but in this land, the concept was entirely foreign. None of the ancient Frea Divine Clan had conceived of the idea, and the people here lacked the inspiration to come up with it.
Turan had come across the concept almost by accident while pressuring the half-elves to think of a way to instill pride in his army. When he muttered about perhaps giving out souvenirs to commemorate battles, one of the half-elves mentioned that such a concept had once existed, allowing him to establish the idea.
Naturally, the medals prepared this time were primitive compared to those of highly developed civilized nations. They were simply metal symbols of specific battles to be pinned to clothing; there were no accompanying rewards, pensions, or special treatments prepared yet.
However, for those encountering the concept for the first time, that alone was enough.
"Benor Samik. Participated in the Arabion Defense and the Merfolk Battle... Here, I award you two medals."
"Rem Bigenel. Participated in the Baraha Liberation Battle. I award you one medal."
"Dakia Elsis. Since you participated in all three battles, I award you three medals..."
How could they not be moved when the Lord himself, who was like the heavens to them, called their names and pinned badges to their clothes?
Watching several of them shed tears of emotion, Turan was certain that the plan he had devised over the past few weeks had worked perfectly. Now, his sheepdogs were ready to tear into the enemy once more.