I Became A Playwright In Medieval Fantasy-Chapter 27

“Cough cough! What the hell? Mint chocolate?! Who threw toothpaste at me?!”

“Argh, dammit! Raisins?! I don’t care if this is war, this is too far, you bastards!”

“Eek! Why would anyone put coconut cream in bread?! It tastes like dirty dishwater!”

The sweet smell of sugar wafted through the air as a full-blown cake war unfolded before me, leaving me speechless.

“I don’t get it. Is this really worth getting that worked up over?”

“Isn’t it obvious? They just can’t accept the idea that their favorite work might objectively be inferior to someone else’s favorite.”

“I mean, can’t it be? Is it really that important? They’re all Phantom’s plays anyway.”

“Of course, it’s important. No fan is going to sit there and smile while someone belittles the work they love. The problem is, they try to elevate their own favorite by tearing others down.”

“Ugh, seriously.”

Criticism wasn’t meant to be used for mudslinging between fans.

As the legendary director Orson Welles once said, “Criticism is the essence of creation.” By examining and evaluating works from multiple perspectives, criticism paves the way for even better creations in the future.

In fact, criticism has grown alongside art itself, like twins, ever since the emergence of art.

In Ancient Greece, philosophers like Aristotle set standards for critique in his Poetics, examining good versus evil, high versus low, big versus small, from various angles.

And yet, here they were, abusing such a noble practice just to rank works. Tsk, tsk.

“Plus, academy students love heroes more than anything, right?”

Maurice shrugged, looking a bit exasperated as he continued.

“So, it was only a matter of time before this kind of petty conflict blew up. Whoever’s work features the greatest hero is clearly superior, or something like that.”

A war over which hero was better, huh?

If I looked at it that way, I could understand why Chaplin Comedy and The Dialogues weren’t on the list. Chaplin Comedy was a light-hearted series, not an epic tale of heroes, and The Dialogues was a philosophical docudrama, simply chronicling the life of a philosopher.

“Oh, right. Apparently, both the Imperial Princess and Senior Rosalyn are involved too. The princess is said to favor Caesar, the lover of Cleopatra, while Senior Rosalyn backs Moses, who earned Phantom the title of Hero of the Pen.”

Maurice, ever so smug, wiggled his eyebrows at me as he spoke, his tone sly.

“So, what are you gonna do? If you side with one, you’ll surely get the cold shoulder from the other. This is why you shouldn’t try to hold flowers in both hands, you playboy.”

“Shut up.”

Maurice always had this thing about treating me like a harem master. Both of them were galaxies away from being anything more than acquaintances, let alone romantic interests.

Anyway, I had to find a way to cool down the craziness out there.

“Does Caesar look like a joke to you? He won over the Emperor and changed the Imperial traditions! The level of social impact is on a completely different scale!”

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“And thanks to Admiral Yi, the Wenford family returned to politics, the Imperial Knights’ combat power skyrocketed, and naval tactics have improved too, haven’t they?”

“Thanks to Exodus, Phantom became a Hero of the Pen candidate! All of you who failed to produce a Hero Candidate, kindly shut up!”

There’s a well-known problem in philosophy called the “Socratic Question.”

In short, it’s a debate about what Socrates really thought and who he really was.

Even though Socrates was the mentor of Plato, the father of Western philosophy, Socrates never left behind any written works himself. Thus, for centuries, scholars have fiercely debated what truly constituted his beliefs.

Even his contemporaries couldn’t agree on what their master truly meant, each presenting their own interpretations.

What was happening now was essentially the same thing, just with Phantom and his works in place of Socrates.

“So, what are you going to do? You could step in and settle this once and for all.”

Maurice’s suggestion that I play referee.

But I immediately shot it down.

‘No way. Siding with one fanbase in a fandom war only makes things worse.’

Hardly anyone is willing to graciously accept defeat, especially when pride is on the line.

Besides, the question of which work is better is entirely subjective.

Even the author has no business stepping in to declare one work superior.

“…I’m a Hero of the Pen candidate now, right? Then I’ll settle this with my pen.”

With that, I stretched lazily.

I’d been brainstorming ideas for my next play anyway. Since the audience was so obsessed with heroes, why not give them what they want—a new hero story to settle this war once and for all.

A hero that everyone, young and old, could rally behind.

“Is that all you have to say, General?”

“S-sorry, but please, listen to me! This is no small matter that can be overlooked—”

“Enough. There’s no value in hearing any more.”

In the icy, frigid north of the continent, where the winds cut like knives, a general was being interrogated in the dark stronghold of the demons, who were building their forces.

The Demon Lord, seated on a throne burning like hellfire, personally oversaw the inquiry.

It was all because of the sudden surge in morale among the paladins of the impregnable fortress, following Phantom’s performance of Exodus. They had crushed the demons and halted their southern advance, and now, the general was being held accountable for the disgraceful defeat.

“When you mentioned a Hero Candidate, I initially thought one of the Sword Candidates had unexpectedly visited the northern fortress.”

The Demon Lord sneered, looking down with a twisted expression.

“Although they’re still a fledgling, a Hero Candidate is a Hero Candidate. If that half-elf wench had shown up, boosting the paladins' morale and combat strength, I might’ve believed you.”

Heroes are always a nuisance.

Even though the Demon King had vanished from the world, humanity had not forgotten the fear he once inspired. They continued to unearth new champions, ensuring the name of “Hero” lived on.

Among the current candidates, the one the demons were most wary of was the Sword Candidate, a half-breed born of a human and an elf, rumored to possess extraordinary potential in swordsmanship.

Although, it was said that she had not yet fully blossomed.

But what the general was muttering now was far too absurd.

“A pen? A Hero Candidate of the pen?”

The general stammered, too ashamed to even raise his head, while the Demon Lord’s voice dripped with fury as he shot back.

“Are you making a joke at my expense, General?