I Became A Playwright In Medieval Fantasy

Over the course of several performances, Exodus was alternately showcased.

And finally, once all the Paladins within the fortress had completed their viewing…

“Cough!”

“Damn it! Run away!”

“What the hell is wrong with those guys all of a sudden?!”

On the Northern Front, the desperate screams of the Demon Race unexpectedly began to echo.

Just a moment ago, the morale of the Paladin unit had been waning.

Yet their fighting spirit had suddenly surged explosively.

“Wooooooo-!!!”

Knights wielding swords and shields, maces and axes swarmed into the battlefield.

In their sturdy helmets, fanatic eyes, lit by fervor, blazed like flames.

In a frenzy nearly akin to possession, they chanted a single slogan repeatedly.

“Those with unwavering faith-!!”

“Split the sea with a staff-!!!”

“What, what kind of nonsense, Kuaaaack!!”

Uncertain of the Paladins’ intentions, the Demon soldiers could only run around in confusion and get slaughtered.

Of course, some units allowed the enemy to encircle them in their zeal.

In the excitement of slashing down foes, they had ventured too deep into enemy territory.

However, even when the Demon Race blocked their retreat, the Paladins were not afraid at all.

“Wooooo-!!”

“Chargeeeeer-!!!”

Instead, they competed to take the lead and charged straight into the encirclement.

They broke through the enemy formation with sheer force, recreating the miracle of the Red Sea.

In the original world where Phantom once lived, this crazy tactic was also known as the “Shimada Retreat.”

What made this possible was not overflowing courage or years of honed combat skills, but a simple slogan.

“Those with unwavering faith-!!”

“Split the sea with a staff-!!!”

As this bizarre track record accumulated and accumulated, the balance of war flipped completely opposite to just a few days prior.

Now, the Demon Race had to worry about being pushed back and losing their stronghold.

Thanks to this, the Demon leaders, who had thought they would soon break through the Iron Wall Fortress, could only be greatly flustered.

“Split the sea with a staff? What the hell is that nonsense!”

Bang! Slamming his fist on the conference table, the commander bellowed with rage.

His pitch-black eyes glinted with the unique trait of the Demon Race as he roared.

“Just two days ago they were all half-dead! So why have they suddenly turned into those killing machines?”

“I-I’m sorry. However, the officers have no way of knowing the exact circumstances…”

“Kugh, damn it!”

Unable to contain his frustration, the commander ground his teeth.

The staff’s unified estimate had been that southward advancement would surely be possible within the year.

Even the advisors known for their uncanny accuracy in plotting had all agreed on this!

What variable could have possibly intervened to ruin everything so thoroughly…?

At that moment, one of his aides suddenly remembered something and reported.

“Commander! According to intelligence, Saint Beatrice has visited the Iron Wall Fortress with someone!”

“Someone? Who the hell did she bring with her?”

“Um, that’s not certain, but… According to the informant, it seems she conducted some bizarre ritual! Mysterious music and singing have been flowing out of the fortress every day! There were even cries calling out to God!”

The Demon Race misunderstood the choir’s singing, the actors’ lines, and the Paladins’ cheers as some ominous ritual.

In fact, this misunderstanding wasn’t entirely unfounded.

Originally, plays stemmed from sacrificial rites aimed at communicating with nature and divine beings.

Ancient peoples sang and danced to praise the gods, hoping blessings would come.

These actions wishful of communal prosperity and peace gradually systematized and settled into the genre of theater.

Moreover, the Paladins who watched Exodus literally fell into frenzy, howling as if they were about to collapse!

Few would misunderstand this as conducting some suspicious ritual.

“A ritual? A ritual? No way…!”

The commander’s face darkened upon hearing his subordinate’s report.

Shaking his trembling fist in restrained anger, he muttered.

“Could it be that the humans have succeeded? Conducting ancient magic that binds one’s mind to behavior as desired?”

When he thought this, everything surprisingly made sense.

The older spells, intact from ancient times, were terrifyingly powerful.

There were tales of struggles to restore past magics practiced in Mage Towers.

But these techniques were not easy even for exceptional Demon mages to wield.

How much less are humans, a race with shorter lifespans and grossly lacking talents compared to the Demons?

Restoring ancient magic would take centuries, let alone merely mimicking it.

“…For now, we give up on this stronghold. Soon, the brainwashed Paladins will be reassembling and coming this way.”

Struggling to suppress his anger, the commander narrowed his eyes.

He turned to his subordinates and issued a solemn command.

“And quickly整理 the situation and report it to higher-ups! A heinous mage skilled in mind control has appeared among humans! We must quickly establish their identity and prepare a countermeasure!”

Phantom, who wrote the religious play Exodus at the request of Saint Beatrice.

Unbeknownst to him, he had become the greatest threat to the Demon Race.

“You’ve really worked hard, Phantom.”

On the day he safely returned to the capital after completing the Exodus performance schedule.

Saint Beatrice approached him with a gentle smile and bowed her head slightly.

“It seems I made the right choice by entrusting the task to you. The Northern Front will boast impenetrable defenses for at least a century now. The Paladins have fully regained their morale.”

“That’s a relief.”

I replied with a dazed smile.

Now, wherever I went, the Iron Wall Fortress resonated with nothing but Hallelujah! and Immanuel!.

Watching the Paladins overflowing with zeal made me slightly confused about whether I should be glad.

Especially the catchphrase they shouted as if brainwashed after witnessing Moses’ miracle was quite the sight.

“You can’t split the sea with a staff, you guys.”

They had blatantly encouraged such a mindset, and I was worried it was exceeding my expectations.

Was everyone just going to blindly believe in impossible miracles and end up harming themselves?

Would they recklessly leap off cliffs thinking they wouldn’t die, believing faith alone would save them?

“By the way, Phantom? Did you study theology in the past?”

“Theology?”

“You’ve creatively implemented miracles attributed to ancient saints more than I expected. Given how fragmentary the examples are, it’s likely knowledge not well known outside of priests who’ve studied the scriptures.”

Lost in foreboding thoughts, Saint Beatrice casually asked, her eyes wide as if she’d just remembered.

“Well, you see, the ancient saints are said to have called forth landslides and hurricanes by harnessing divine power, and brought earthquakes to bare ground.”

…Gasp?

“Existing natural elements fall under divine providence. Therefore, theoretically, it is possible to reconstruct such elements relying on faith. Of course, splitting the vast ocean like Moses would require a lot of divine power.”

“…”

“But then again, that’s all legends with uncertain records from ancient times. If such a feat were possible today, priests would be directly dispatched to subdue the Demons outside the fortress, wouldn’t they?”

“Hahaha, indeed.”

Landslides and hurricanes, and earthquakes too.

Scary, those ancient saints of this world. Even if they’re not quite at Moses’ level, they’re practically living nuclear weapons.

“…The pen is mightier than the sword,” Saint Beatrice commented while observing that day.

“In the fight between Moses with a staff and the Pharaoh with a sword, ultimately, it was Moses who prevailed. And the story of Moses performed miracles in reality too. While the power of swords should not be underestimated, at times, the seemingly insignificant pen turns out to be the mightiest one.”

Well, I hadn’t exactly written it with such profound thought. I merely recreated Moses’ actions in the Old Testament as they were.

Still, I didn’t dislike being treated like a renowned philosopher.

Everything from the choice of material to the final result was a series of coincidences, but isn’t it said that coincidences overlap to create inevitability?

“By the way, do you remember, Phantom?”

At that moment, Saint Beatrice clapped her hands as if she had just recalled something.

“If this work satisfied you, I promised to give you an additional reward beyond material ones, didn’t I?”

“Ah, yes. I remember that.”

“I will keep my promise. So please continue your creative work steadily from now on. Understood?”

“Of course. I will make sure to do that.”

Leaving behind the smiling Saint, I moved to the location of the teleportation device.

Having finished all my business in this cold and barren fortress.

I longed to return to the warm and cozy Bronde dormitory soon.

Phantom.

The man deeply etched in her heart by this one incident.

Reflecting on his name, Beatrice silently clutched the jeweled cross.

“So there was indeed an extraordinary reason.”

Now she realized why his soul manifested in a form she had never seen before.

He was the one who carried out the call of the divine with a pen.

Some spread miracles with the gospel, some through pilgrimage, and some with swords.

If one were to name it, Phantom is the savior spreading miracles with a sharp pen.

“Perhaps Moses might be more of a self-portrait beyond reinterpreting ancient saints.”

Moses and his staff, and Phantom and his fountain pen.

In truth, could the play Exodus itself not be a highly metaphorical representation of his own calling?

…If Phantom had heard that, it would be a logic leap that would truly knock him out, but for Saint Beatrice, it had already firmly settled into certainty.

“Merely capturing a few counterfeiters could hardly be considered an adequate reward.”

With a smile, Beatrice raised the corners of her mouth contentedly.

“The reward that befits you would surely be greater honor.”

“…What did you just say?”

“Um, well…”

A few days after returning from the Northern Iron Wall Fortress.

In a daze, as if he couldn’t grasp the reality, Maurice handed something over.

A small package had arrived from the Imperial Postal Service.

Unpacking it carefully with a letter opener, he spoke cautiously.

“It says you’ve officially registered as a candidate for the hero?”

Sparkle, sparkle. A finely crafted badge made of orichalcum, the most precious of metals.

On its surface, a quill symbol embossed alongside a line of text read:

The pen is mightier than the sword

‘Hero of the Pen’, Phantom

Wait, what in the world does a hero of the pen even do?

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