I Became A Playwright In Medieval Fantasy

“Fufu.”

Diana quietly chuckles as she reads the recent reply that flew in.

Phantom’s well-being, the challenges he faces in his work, and so on. Following the densely written letters on the paper, she mutters softly.

“What a rather cute guy he is.”

After the cosplay competition, they began exchanging letters sporadically. What started as a joke has now turned into quite a delightful communication. It even became a habit for her to count the days until the next reply would arrive after finishing a day.

…Of course, there was a completely different purpose for reading Phantom’s letters in detail.

“I thought he was just a robust scion of a martial family, but his writing is quite delicate? A guy who writes such beautiful letters must be good at playwriting too?”

The playwright’s letter, written in a round and meticulous handwriting.

Diana squints her lime-colored eyes, carefully dissecting each word.

Those who primarily train in martial arts typically neglect the details of literature. The imperial guards too wouldn’t bother trying to write beautifully unless it affected readability.

Considering this, the candidates for the great writer Phantom are indeed narrowing down.

A junior student who trains sincerely in martial arts to the point where calluses develop on his palms, yet writes beautifully enough to be identified.

“It’s a relief to hear you’re feeling better, Your Highness. Weren’t you somewhat low due to the sensational news that rattled the capital?”

Her ever-cautious aide gently inquires.

In response, Diana puts on a mischievous smirk and sets the letter she was reading onto the table.

“Low? What an exaggeration. That’s more like ‘I was slightly bothered,’ Franz.”

“Is that so? No matter how I see it, you seemed quite uncomfortable at that moment…”

“Shut it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Diana once again cut off her aide’s chatter with a smirk.

The headline she received from her subordinate just a while ago flashed in her mind. A massive article stating that Saint Beatrice recommended great writer Phantom as a ‘hero of the pen.’

Of course, she couldn’t care less whom the saint recommended as a hero. Finding a potential hero is a privilege only available to high-ranking officials in the imperial palace.

Yet, the very fact that the target was the playwright Phantom struck a peculiar, unsettling note in her.

“A feeling I haven’t felt in a while…”

It was a strange yet familiar emotion.

After some thought, Diana finally recalled the origin of that feeling.

Back in her childish days, when she temporarily felt that emotion after surrendering her favorite doll to her newly born little brother.

A sense of deprivation felt only when someone takes something you wanted right in front of you.

“Hmm.”

Saint Beatrice, huh.

On this day, Princess Diana was inexplicably offended by the saint.

<><><><><><>

“Great! It’s done!”

The rough draft I squeezed out during my spare time over the past few days. I set it down and wiped the sweat from my forehead.

The reason I chose Socrates for my script was simple. Socrates’s student, Plato, recorded his master’s life and philosophical thoughts in dialogues.

Isn’t that considered the origin of the literary genre called ‘legé drama’?

“Well, to start with, Socrates never left behind any writings of his own.”

He believed that relying on writing would weaken one’s intellect and spirit.

Once words are put to paper, the context disappears, and the true meaning vanishes.

Therefore, Socrates’s deeds and thoughts had to be completely discussed by his students.

The so-called dialogues.

A format highly similar to theatrical literature where countless figures of the time exchanged questions and answers without missing a beat.

“First, read this, Maurice. I’ll revise it further before publication.”

“Oh? Is this going ancient like Julius Caesar again? Seeing Athens, which is a democratic city-state, mentioned and primitive polytheism that mistakes spirits as divine beings…”

“Something like that.”

I tried to adapt any uncomfortable parts for otherworlders but skimmed over the more challenging sections with a casual “It’s just an ancient nation.”

Socrates was a philosopher who lived to reform Athens after being born there.

Without the democratic/polytheistic background of Athens, I couldn’t convey his essence properly.

For instance, just like the opening scene that kicks off the dialogues.

“Wow! The introduction is quite intriguing, isn’t it, Balthazar?”

Maurice’s eyes sparkle as he flips through the pages.

He glances at me and asks with a sly tone.

“In the Delphi Temple, he received a prophecy that no one in Athens is wiser than Socrates, right? Hehe, could it be that this protagonist defeats his enemies with intellect?”

“Who knows?”

I wasn’t particularly interested in philosophy, but I had read the records about Socrates over and over, finding them fascinating.

Compared to the stiff and dry philosophical texts, Plato’s writings certainly read like a play.

…However, even so, reproducing all 25 of Plato’s dialogues was impossible.

“A philosophical book is something that inherently contains profound and mysterious depth.”

I’m not a professional philosopher, nor was Plato, who was merely his student.

Hence, it’s absurd to claim that I can reproduce everything 100% or perfectly recreate them.

So I chose not to blindly replicate the dialogues as the standard method, but instead aimed to creatively reimagine the figure of Socrates, whom my previous life ‘Ha Eun-seong’ remembered and respected, in a theatrical way.

“…Hey. Is it really going to unfold like this?”

Maurice, who had been flipping through the pages, suddenly questions.

“Why? Does it seem lackluster?”

“No, that’s not it, but how should I put it…”

Maurice fidgets with his chin, struggling to articulate his thoughts.

After a moment of contemplation, he finally seemed to remember and opened his mouth.

“Isn’t it really vague? It’s just people exchanging questions, and the protagonist keeps nitpicking everything. If you just nitpick like this, who can say they know anything properly?”

“That’s right. That’s the crux of it.”

“Hmm?”

The dialogues I reconstructed lean more towards an educational lecture than a play.

I selected early dialogues of Plato that showcased his teacher’s life most vividly.

I intertwined these like threads into a single story, actively utilizing narration to add footnotes on his thoughts and character to aid understanding.

And, in truth, Socrates never presented specific ‘doctrines.’

If anything, his approach is closer to prompting others to “philosophize for themselves.”

“Read to the end and ponder over Socrates’s dialogues by yourself. Then you’ll see something different.”

Socrates never claimed he had knowledge. He never asserted that he was teaching anything.

What he pursued was the so-called knowledge of ignorance.

The only consistent truth Socrates taught was that he didn’t know anything.

To guide listeners away from superficial and subjective interpretations of ‘wisdom’ toward a more genuine understanding was the key.

“Tsk. Well, got it.”

Maurice responded, twisting his lips at my vague reply.

“Let’s read it to the end then. It’s not just anyone, it’s Balthazar’s script.”

And so, page by page, Maurice quietly continued to read.

As the content progressed.

“Hmm…”

His initially somewhat dissatisfied expression began to melt away.

The debates with Protagoras, who proclaimed humanity as the measure of all things.

The discussions with Gorgias, who argued the vanity of all existence.

The exploration of the true meaning of the virtue of moderation with Charmides.

The inquiry into what courage truly is with Laches.

The discussions on the genuine concept of piety with Euthyphro…

…Finally leading to Socrates’s trial and death in the trilogy of “Apology,” “Crito,” and “Phaedo.”

Thud!

“…”

Finally, after completing the reading, Maurice closes the script and cradles his chin.

He adopts a pose reminiscent of Auguste Rodin’s sculpture “The Thinker” as he falls into deep contemplation alone.

Meanwhile, I stretch, place my pen down, and lie back on the bed.

“Ugh, it’s late. If you’ve read it, let’s hit the hay.”

From groping knowledge in my head to summarizing and writing it out,

The energy I poured into this could rival that of writing three entire scripts, right?

“Hey. I’m going to sleep, okay? Aren’t you going to sleep, Maurice?”

“…”

Not a single movement from Maurice as I set my alarm and turned off the lights.

Though he appeared strangely serious this time, I didn’t think much of it.

‘He’ll probably just crash if he gets tired.’

With that thought, I buried my head in the pillow and fell into a sweet sleep for the first time in ages.

<><><><><><>

Rrrrring-!!

“Ugh, sleepy…”

The blaring sound of the alarm clock indicating morning has arrived, I reluctantly opened my eyes to greet the light creeping in through the window.

And then I noticed.

…Maurice, who had been sitting still in deep contemplation all night long.

“Hey, Maurice? Did you stay up all night?”

“Ah, you’re awake. My dear friend Balthazar.”

It was a question that was utterly absurd on many levels.

Maurice slowly relaxed from his thinker’s pose and turned to face me.

“I became curious all of a sudden. Have I truly lived my life pursuing the right virtues as a nobleman, the son of the Marquise de Lavallee, the lover of Julian, and simply as a man?”

“Huh? What?”

“Just now, my eyes have been opened anew. A person’s true worth comes not from their exterior or material possessions, but from the beauty of the soul within. It is my mission to devote my remaining youth to striving for a better soul.”

With an expression like that of a sage who has grasped something important.

Despite having dark circles under his eyes, his pupils sparkled like morning stars as he spoke.

“Thanks to you, I’ve finally realized how ignorant I truly was. Thank you, Balthazar. You are my most brilliant, just, and above all, my wisest friend.”

Maurice recited lines from Plato’s “Phaedo.”

It seemed the “Dialogues” had a significant impact on his thought process.

As the one who penned the “Dialogues,” I had just one response.

“Did you take some bad medicine or something?”

<><><><><><>

…Surprisingly, it wasn’t just Maurice who had taken bad medicine.

Using his connections, he actively contacted publishers, and just two days after the “Dialogues” was published.

Professor Prunel, known for strictly adhering to time and starting lectures promptly in the political history of the Empire, suddenly declared.

“Today, I, Prunel Lavize, have something to confess to you, students.”

“Confess?”

“Suddenly?”

The students buzz in confusion, unable to contain their surprise.

It was the first time Professor Prunel, who had always been strict and conservative, exhibited such a demeanor.

Regardless, Professor Prunel let out a heartfelt sigh and said to us.

“My entire life, I’ve been convinced without a doubt that I was a wise and intelligent person. Thus, I’ve easily looked down on others, never doubting my own brilliance. I was essentially the very definition of a pompous self-styled intellectual.”

Well, I knew that well.

Despite his outstanding achievements in his major, Prunel was notorious within Bronde Academy for being very rigid.

But what’s the big deal about mentioning this now?

“However, this one book has widened my narrow-minded thinking and rebuked my foolishness, transforming me into a new person!”

With an exclamation of reflection, he produced…

“Gah?!”

…Strikingly, it was an initial print of the “Dialogues” with the bald philosopher’s face prominently displayed on the cover.

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