I Became A Playwright In Medieval Fantasy-Chapter 40

Fluffy, the troupe leader, responded wittily to the answer from the audience.

“And our Wanderbühne’s bread and butter? It's our unparalleled puppet show, no matter where in the Empire we go! A vivid yet grotesque marionette play, that’s what it is!”

“Waaa-!!”

The atmosphere instantly heated up. Watching this, I could only blink in disbelief.

“...Is Wanderbühne’s puppet show really that impressive?”

“Impressive? It’s not something that can be summed up with such a simple word.”

The mood of the audience was more like they were about to watch a first-class circus rather than a mere puppet show.

Morris, sitting right next to me, chuckled and explained.

“Of course, it doesn't have as superior a script or direction as a masterpiece from the great Phantom. But instead, Wanderbühne is a troupe specialized in entertaining people's eyes.”

“How do you know so much? Have you seen it before?”

“I saw it once when we went on a family vacation to the West. Man, it was an incredible performance. I never thought a puppet show could be that thrilling.”

“I remember that. When we went to see Farewell to the Conqueror, you wouldn't stop talking about Wanderbühne the whole vacation, without even asking about how I was doing.”

Julian, sitting next to Morris, who wore a cute and freckled face with striking orange hair, wore a pouty expression at Morris’ boastful comments.

Grinning slyly, she then turned to Rosalyn, sitting on my other side.

“Even when we went to see Farewell to the Conqueror, Morris said he was jealous of Xiang Yu dating a meek girl like Yu Ji. Honestly, maybe he should just break up with me and find someone else. Right, Rosalyn?”

“Wh-what? Morris said that?”

“You're in the wrong, Morris. Apologize to your girlfriend.”

“No… It’s not that… I just wish Julian could tone down her temper a little. Originally, men prefer—ouch!”

Julian twisted Morris’ arm, causing him to yelp in pain, but it was clear their playful banter was nothing serious.

Watching their usual antics, I could only smirk.

“...Ugh.”

“Senior? Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah.”

Meanwhile, Rosalyn blushed again as Farewell to the Conqueror was mentioned. She turned so red I was genuinely worried she might have a fever.

At that moment, Fluffy pointed his staff’s crystal toward the tent’s ceiling and shouted.

“Now then, let’s begin! Wanderbühne’s secret show!”

Bang! Bang!

At his cue, the magic lanterns around the tent began to dim or go out one by one.

Then, a high-pitched falsetto laugh of a child rang out exaggeratedly.

And in the next moment, someone walked slowly to the center of the stage, illuminated by a spotlight.

[Hello, everyone? My name is Jonah! I’m a marionette born from the gallows where sinners were hanged! Nice to meet you!]

A strange puppet, its limbs tied to strings descending from the ceiling, appeared.

It resembled a nightmarish version of Pinocchio, its joints creaking as it spoke.

[But what should I do? Actually, I want to be a real boy, not a marionette! But to do that, I need to cut these strings and become free! Should I free myself, everyone?]

“Of course, Jonah!”

“Cut the strings with scissors and win your freedom!”

“Go for it!”

The audience eagerly cheered for the marionette boy’s challenge.

But on the contrary, my excitement quickly waned, and I relaxed.

‘Ugh, what is this? Just cutting some strings?’

I’d seen similar puppet shows often in my previous life.

They would cut the visible strings with scissors, but the puppeteer would continue controlling the puppet with invisible wires from above—a simple trick.

Yare yare. These primitive people in this fantasy world… getting all excited over such a cheap gimmick.

Feeling a bit smug with the “genius modern human” mentality, I relaxed into my seat.

[Really? You really think I should?]

Jonah, dancing in delight, clattered his limbs as he shouted.

Then, snip! The strings attached to his arms and legs were all cut at once.

[Ihihihi! I’m freeee-!!]

With a sinister laugh, Jonah vanished into the darkness.

Red and blue lights flashed dramatically, and the mood of the performance shifted sharply.

Sssssss! Ominous smoke drifted in, shrouding the stage in a deep, unsettling blue.

What unfolded before my eyes next was something I could never have imagined: a Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.

“Wh-what is this?!”

Monstrous puppets, the kind you’d only expect to see in the filmography of Guillermo del Toro, appeared.

Accompanied by eerie and unsettling music, they emerged, each performing their own one-act play.

And their methods were beyond anything I could have ever imagined.

Kya ha ha ha-!!

Krrr, krrrik! Krririk!

Massive bats and ghosts flew around the tent, just barely missing the audience’s heads as they let out strange, wailing cries.

I couldn’t even see where the puppeteers were hidden, yet somehow these things flew through the air.

But that was just the beginning.

Clang! Cling! Clang, Ka-ka-rak-!!

Heh heh heh-!!

Human-sized marionettes, wearing demon masks reminiscent of Japan’s oni and hannya, leaped across the stage, engaging in fierce sword battles.

Their flawless martial arts movements and the bright red blood splattering every time they were slashed made it hard to believe these were puppets and not real humans.

Kya ha ha ha ha-!!

At last, the final marionette, soaked in blood, laughed maniacally as it finished off the others, marking the end of that one-act play.

The ventriloquist act that followed was even more spine-chilling.

[Oh dear, Ronnie! You must be hungry! What would you like to eat?]

[I’m a ghoul who eats human flesh! Ronnie wants to eat people! The flesh of the living is the best!]

[Really? You want to eat people? How exactly would you like to eat them?]

A beastman ventriloquist, holding a tiny puppet, sat on stage, engaging in dialogue.

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At his question, the ghoul puppet, with its terrifying red maw, opened wide and shouted,

[Hahaha! Let’s cut them! Split them! Slash them! Slice them! Let’s sink our teeth into fresh meat!]

Of course, if this was all, it would have seemed mild compared to what had come before.

But in reality, this was the most terrifying performance so far.

[Cut them! Split them! Slash them! Slice them! Bite them!] [Cut them! Split them! Slash them! Slice them! Bite them!] [Cut them! Split them! Slash them! Slice them! Bite them!]

Suddenly, identical ghouls appeared from all corners of the now darkened stage, each ventriloquist puppet chanting in perfect unison.

There must have been at least dozens of them, and they all harmonized, chanting like a horrifying acapella of terror.

‘What is this? How are they doing this?’

Were there twin ventriloquists? Or was it just some kind of illusion magic?

The one-act puppet plays continued, each one unique and mesmerizing in its own grotesque way.

It was then that I realized the true reason behind Wanderbühne’s fame.

‘This… this is a grotesque show?!’

Grotesque.

A term born from strange, ancient images found in 16th-century Roman ruins.

Grotesque art was a style that simultaneously evoked fear, disgust, and otherworldly allure.

Since the medieval period, grotesque art had evolved, expanding from painting to literature, music, and other artistic fields.

Even film and theater embraced these themes in the 20th century, weaving dreamy, repulsive stories into their visual arts.

‘I never expected to see something like this from a traveling troupe in a medieval fantasy world.’

Perhaps it was because the church didn’t interfere much with artistic development here.

Despite how provocative the show was, there didn’t seem to be any censorship or restrictions.

Ironically, the shock factor made it perfect for short-term profits, which was crucial for a traveling troupe.

After all, well-made horror has always been popular, regardless of time or place.

“Mo-Morris! This is terrifying! What do we do?!”

“I-I’m scared too! Hold me, Julian!”

“But it’s so fun! I can’t take my eyes off of it!”

“Damn it! I feel the same way!”

What a sight.

The couple next to me clung to each other, trembling with fear yet unable to tear their eyes away.

Even Rosalyn was gripping my arm, trembling with fright.

“Eeek! Balthazar…!”

While I had developed a high tolerance for horror from my previous life, Rosalyn, a resident of this world, clearly hadn’t.

But the highlight of Wanderbühne’s show, the final act, was something even I nearly had a heart attack over.

Screech! Screech, screech!

“W-whoa!”

“Oh my God! Look at that!”

Cries of surprise and awe echoed through the tent.

A massive shadow stretched over the audience, reaching the ceiling of the tent.

It was an enormous puppet, the kind you’d expect to see in a street parade, grotesquely shaped like a giant from legend.

It lumbered toward the audience, its massive hand sweeping over the heads of the crowd.

And then, in the next moment—

“Kyaaa-!!”

Rosalyn, her face drained of all color, threw herself into my arms.

“Sob, sob… Balthazar…!!”

“It’s alright, Senior. I’m here. The play will be over soon, just hang in there.”

As she buried her face in my chest, trembling, I hugged her tightly, patting her back soothingly.

That reaction helped me swallow the curses that had been about to escape my lips.

‘Shit… I almost thought this was Attack on Titan for a moment!’

The puppet had that eerie, unnatural texture characteristic of a marionette, yet it moved with the vitality of a living being.

Without any prior warning, confronting something like this was more than terrifying—it was an entirely different level of shock.

My heart sank in my chest, leaving me gasping for breath.

At the same time, though, a brilliant idea flashed through my mind, filling me with genuine admiration and a smile.

‘With a troupe this talented, maybe they could actually pull it off.’

To recreate that ancient fear of something unknown—something incomprehensible and beyond human understanding.

The essence of mystical horror, combining grotesque visuals and dreamlike atmosphere.

“...The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear!”

And the oldest and strongest fear is the fear of the unknown!

I thought of the novelist who pioneered the genre of cosmic horror as I muttered to myself.

The fear of the abyss, the unknown, the demons lurking beyond comprehension—a timeless code of terror shared by Western society throughout the ages.

Though infamous for his racism and fascist sympathies, this man had nevertheless cast a long, shadowy legacy in the world of genre fiction.

As I spun these thoughts around in my head, my brain buzzed with inspiration.

In the past, Charlie Chaplin had shown the world of comedy with his outward expression.

Now, it was time to reveal the world of terror through the dark, introspective mind of a lifelong recluse.

Meanwhile, at that very moment, in a dark, ominous place, whose exact location was indiscernible...

Someone was being dragged, tightly bound to a rolling gurney.

The strange, grotesque creatures, stitched together from slabs of flesh, carried the man toward a dimly lit, secluded room.

“Let me go! Untie me this instant! Aaargh!”

The man thrashed desperately, trying to escape his restraints.

But no matter how much he struggled, the ropes were tied too tightly for him to break free.

As the monsters’ footsteps quickened, and the room drew nearer—

Ssssh! Ssssh!

Sliiice, sliiice...

The sound of flesh being cut and bones being sawed echoed sharply.

“Hiiik! Ahhh!”

The door flew open, and the monsters brought the terrified man to the center of the room.

As they stepped back, a figure wearing glasses emerged from the shadows.

“Already here? You brought me a new test subject? Good work. Now bring him over here.”

The figure, holding a bone saw dripping with blood and flesh, nonchalantly wiped the residue from his gloves as he spoke.

“Then, go and fetch two more test subjects. That should wrap up today’s work.”

“W-what is this?! You’re kidnapping random people off the street?! What kind of grudge do you have against me?!”

The monsters obeyed the shadowy figure’s command and left the room, leaving the bound man to scream in panic.

“A grudge? Oh, no. You seem to have misunderstood the situation.”

The figure let out a sly, mocking laugh.

“I don’t bear any grudge against you. I just needed a test subject. A fresh one, for my research into immortality. You just happened to be unlucky enough to get caught.”

“U-unlucky? You’re telling me this was just by chance?!”

“Exactly. But no need to feel so sorry for yourself.”

Ssssh!

A syringe designed for blood extraction and injecting drugs was brought out.

The figure added, as he injected the anesthetic,

“From now on, you’ll be contributing to the advancement of humanity. Instead of your body rotting away after death, you’ll be using it for something far more useful.”

Test subject, research into immortality, advancement of humanity, a useless body.

The barrage of ominous words made the man turn his head to examine the room’s surroundings.

And in the next moment, the blood drained from his already pale face.

“H-h-horrible...!”

Everywhere he looked, he saw it.

Limbs and organs, sliced and diced by sharp instruments, scattered around.

Jars filled with eyeballs and hearts, human skins peeled and spread out flat, and alchemical flasks bubbling with mysterious liquids.

“Now, don’t move. Struggling will only make it more painful.”

The shadow, holding a bloodstained scalpel, drew closer, speaking in a mocking tone.

As the man stared into the shadow’s gleaming glasses—gleaming like the eyes of a devil—he wet himself in terror.

Numb with fear, his tongue frozen, he managed to ask the one question that consumed his mind.

“W-who... who are you...?!”

“Me? My name is unnecessarily long, so there’s no need to know it.”

The figure let out a short, sinister laugh and answered,

“Just call me... ‘Doctor.’”