I Became A Playwright In Medieval Fantasy-Chapter 26

If it were only temporary, I might’ve tried it without hesitation, but the fact that the effects are permanent makes me a bit hesitant to take a sip.

I mean, what if some weird side effect makes me end up with twelve fingers or… something else doubling up down there? How could I possibly live with that?

“No, no, it’ll be fine. I trust that old alchemist, at least.”

I’ve heard he’s a top scholar in alchemy, someone who boasts unparalleled expertise. If someone like that vouches for its efficacy and safety, then nothing bad should happen, right?

Pop!

I uncorked the vial, eager to see what kind of effect it would have.

Then, without hesitation, I gulped it down.

“So? Feel anything different?”

“Ugh… I’m not sure.”

First of all, it tastes awful. It’s red, so I thought maybe it would taste like strawberries or something, but no.

On top of that, I don’t feel any immediate physical changes. Instead, I’m just left with a bitter aftertaste, which only makes me feel more uncomfortable.

‘What’s going on here? Why is nothing happening?’

Don’t tell me he put his reputation on the line and scammed me?

It’s not April Fool’s Day, so he wouldn’t pull a prank like this, right?

Bzzzzzzz!

“Huh? Wait, what?”

“What the—?! What’s happening?!”

Maurice and I both screamed at the same time.

A strange light was shining from my chest, similar to the divine glow seen when priests channel holy power.

Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the light faded.

“…What the hell?”

I looked down at myself, confused.

I felt a bit healthier than before, sure. But other than that, nothing seemed all that different.

What exactly was supposed to change?

While pondering this, I kept inspecting my body.

“!”

In that moment, I instinctively realized what effect the Philosopher’s Stone had on me.

“Maurice, give me some paper and a pen. Now.”

“Huh? Why all of a sudden?”

Though confused, my friend complied, handing me the writing supplies.

Stretching to warm up, I grabbed the pen and brought it to the paper.

Scratch, scratch, scratch!

I began writing at lightning speed, as if I knew exactly what words to write from the very beginning, without any hesitation.

“All done! Finished the report!”

“Wha—?! Already?!”

Maurice stared in disbelief at the pile of smoking papers, glancing back and forth between me and the report, his face blank with shock.

“Wait, you’ve already done all the research, but still… How is that even possible? That report should’ve taken hours to finish, and you’re telling me you did it in less than ten minutes?”

“Yep. Looks like the Philosopher’s Stone really did change something about me.”

It was said that the stone alters its user, granting them mysterious abilities.

‘I’ve been swamped lately, juggling reports, studies, and playwriting. No wonder I’ve barely had a moment to breathe.’

Maurice had helped me manage, but how many nights had I stayed up, losing sleep over it all? There were times when I genuinely wondered if I’d collapse from exhaustion.

It seems like the Philosopher’s Stone recognized my ‘functional needs’ and adjusted accordingly.

Now, I might be able to churn out scripts in no time, just by sitting down and writing.

Of course, it still depends on the wealth of knowledge in my head and the flashes of inspiration, but…

“What about anything else? Do you feel any other differences?”

“Other differences?”

“Yeah, sure, writing fast is cool and all, but come on. This is the legendary Philosopher’s Stone we’re talking about. I doubt the changes stop there.”

Other differences, huh?

Honestly, I did feel like there was more to it, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it yet. The writing ability was obvious, but the rest? Not so much.

Maybe the real changes will take longer to show, like something that develops over time?

Perhaps the skill I’ve gained now is just the tip of the iceberg.

Over time, more transformations might occur in sequence?

“Hah, only you, Phantom, would get an ability related to writing. Soon enough, you’ll truly live up to your nickname, the Hero of the Pen. Maybe you’ll even transcend in some extraordinary way!”

“We’ll see about that.”

What exactly does it mean to be worthy of the title ‘Hero of the Pen’?

Is it like an alchemist from some anime who shoots fire with a pen? Or maybe I’ll start casting spells with a brush like a character from a learning manga?

Or, who knows, I might become like DC Comics’ Green Lantern, bringing my imagination to life with a pen?

Now that would certainly make life interesting.

“By the way, you still have half left. What are you going to do with the rest?”

“Hmm, good point. What should I do with it?”

There was still half the potion sloshing around in the vial.

But I had no intention of drinking the rest. Something about it just screamed danger. It’s like my survival instincts were telling me that any more of the stone could be life-threatening.

So I casually suggested to Maurice, “Why don’t you try it? You’ve helped me so much already.”

He had been my assistant, ensuring I could focus entirely on my writing. He deserved at least some reward for all his hard work, right?

But Maurice flatly refused, much to my surprise.

“No thanks. I’m perfectly happy with who I am. I have no desire to take some potion and turn into something else.”

“Really? Fair enough.”

Now that I thought about it, Maurice had always been confident, with strong self-esteem. His positive mindset made him a great companion, never a dull moment around him.

This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.

Even if I found his golden-boy charisma a bit annoying, I decided not to press the issue any further.

Besides, it’s not like I need to get rid of it right away.

‘Who knows, it might come in handy someday.’

I opened the drawer, stored the remaining potion safely inside, and locked it tight.

Just then—

“WAAAAAH!!”

Suddenly, a loud shout echoed through the dormitory hallways, as if a full-blown war had broken out.

What the hell? Are the academy kids at it again, drunk and having pillow fights?

It wouldn’t be the first time young students got wasted and caused a ruckus.

I was about to ignore it when I heard—

“Anyone who’s read Phantom’s latest work, come out! We’re about to start the rating war!”

“…What?” A war?

“I swear! From today onward, we refuse to be called the same Bronde students as those barbarians who lack even the slightest sense of taste!”

“Yeah! It’s war! Let’s show those uncultured fools the bitter truth!”

“…Wait, what’s going on here?”

I leaned on the railing of the dorm balcony, which had a great view, and asked Maurice, who let out a wry laugh.

“Remember that new play you just released, The Dialogues?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, some students were so inspired by it that they set up a public review board. They didn’t just want to consume the culture, they wanted to analyze and critique it on a deeper level. I think they called it ‘Rotten Melon’ or something.”

…Rotten Melon? Seriously? Is this the fantasy world’s version of Rotten Tomatoes?

These academy weirdos… When did they even come up with that?

“But in the process of critiquing, they started disagreeing. That disagreement turned into rivalry, and then the rivalry escalated into a full-blown fight where they began sabotaging each other’s ratings.”

“Rating sabotage?”

“Yeah. They started manipulating the scores on the review board, boosting their favorite works and trashing the others. But, you know what they say—play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Eventually, it all came to light, and now…”

“Yeah, I get the picture.”

I snorted and leaned out over the balcony.

The sun had long set, and the full moon now hung in the evening sky. Down below, the academy grounds were lit by magical lamps, and three groups of students were busy roaring at one another.

A red flag with a laurel wreath. A blue flag with a turtle ship. And a green flag with a staff.

The students, having chosen their sides, glared at each other, as if they were about to engage in an all-out brawl.