The Frieden Family Mansion.

In my room, which is practically the second study of the mansion, there exists a hidden space. To be honest, it’s not well-hidden anyway, since there aren’t exactly many people coming over (unless you count the head wizard who occasionally pops in through the teleport gate). It’s more like it just occupies a whole side among the shelves filled with books.

Anyway, if you enter a few passwords at the entrance of the vault, which is fixed between the bookshelves, it opens.

When the vault door swings open, it reveals quite a spacious area.

It’s a magical engineering vault, a gift from Mr. Kindersley some time ago. Inside, countless manuscripts I’ve already “translated” are piled high.

As Sion walked in with me, he suddenly spoke up.

“If the followers of the Cult of Homer saw this vault, they’d light up like fireworks.”
“Uh, are they still at it?”

“They seem to be trying to rename themselves to the Frieden Order or the Ed Order lately.”
“Isn’t that a bit heretical…?”

“Apparently the church allows dual beliefs since it’s quite an unusual case.”
“Huh.”

In this world, being a “Transcendent” isn’t exactly the same as being a “Saint.”

The savior that came down to this land a thousand years ago wasn’t considered a transcendent either. While transcendent figures might have the credibility of having seen angels directly, their appearance is a matter of theological theories, not dogma. Proof of God is a secondary concern in faith, and there are even bishops among clergy who can’t handle “blessings” at all.

So just because I got recognized as a ‘Transcendent,’ that didn’t really justify anyone believing in me.

But the church just went ahead and accepted it anyway.

In fact, the church has become quite the laughingstock these days.

“The Holy See, the Imperial Anglican Church, the Haren Orthodox Church, the New Church—various churches are all debating your position. They say a unified council is scheduled at the ‘Holy Land’.”
“What’s the chaos about?”

“The Holy See claims that ‘transcendence’ isn’t a spiritual status but a secular one, so they won’t recognize it as a miracle, insisting on sticking to the traditional beatification process. Meanwhile, the Haren Orthodox Church wants to canonize you as a ‘Saint of Literature,’ and the priests of the New Church are arguing that it’d be proper to record your words as a secondary scripture.”
“And what about the Imperial Anglican Church?”

“Well, it’s a church of secular bishops, so they’ll probably back whatever political stance the Empire takes.”
“Aha.”

I can understand the church’s stance on not recognizing transcendence as a “spiritual status.” It wouldn’t make sense to canonize every wizard or alchemist who ever achieved transcendence without church approval. Still, they couldn’t exactly deny Homer’s sanctity, so to save face, they decided to treat it like some folk faith “dual belief” instead.

As for the Haren Orthodox Church, they’re followers of King Natae, so I guess that’s just Natae’s two cents.

And the New Church priests… hmm, did they really enjoy the consulting based on past life knowledge? Hard to say.

Anyway, I didn’t really have to sweat over it.

The church can handle its own business.

“Well, as long as they don’t demand me to attend the council in person, I’m all good.”
“If they ask you to be a witness, can you just decline?”

“The Vatican’s cool, but trekking to the Holy Land seems excessive. I’m not a pilgrim or anything.”
“Alright, if an invitation arrives from the Holy Land, I’ll handle the refusals.”

“Speaking of, I think I left a manuscript somewhere around here, but it’s buried under too many piles. Sion, could you help me look? One of the labels probably says ‘Kafka’.”
“Sure!”

There’s something far more significant than bickering over canonizations and beatifications.

Franz Kafka.

Or, to put it bluntly, existence and absurdity. It’s a massive symbol capable of broadening the boundaries of literature once again.

In the vast, contextless absurdity Kafka created, his stories and characters transcend any historical backdrop and exist universally. In some way, what he created is closer to myth than fiction. The writer who spun myths comparable to Greek tragedies was none other than ‘Franz Kafka.’

And then.

“Ah, I found it. Metamorphosis, trial, castle, den… are these the right manuscripts?”
“Uh-huh.”

“Mind if I ask what the contents of the manuscripts are?”
“Well… perhaps something cheerful and humorous?”
“Seems like a pretty light-hearted tale despite its title.”

“It all depends on how you see it.”

“Huh?”

Kafka’s work was, to borrow a phrase from Pulitzer winner Philip Roth, “a grotesquely funny collection of humor from a comedian named Kafka.”

Over-the-top symbolism and structured absurdity are the hallmarks of modern comedy, right?

Though often overshadowed by Kafka’s quirky vibe, his works actively employed allegory and “Jewish humor.” So if seen through Philip Roth’s lens, Kafka’s works unfold as extremely innovative humor collections.

Of course, I didn’t have to lay all this out long-windedly.

I just smirked and waved the manuscript about.

“Kafka is… just Kafka.”
“Huh? I’m not quite getting what you mean.”

“It is what it is.”

Endless interpretations and bizarrely potent symbols.

In the end, Kafka’s work can only be captured by describing it as “Kafkaesque.” It doesn’t matter how eloquently you dissect the absurdity of the transformation and the nonsensical trial; “Kafkaesque” is still the beat.

So, what could I possibly say?

Ultimately, it’s the reader who interprets the work anyway.

“If it aligns with their tastes, I bet there are quite a few who’d deem this ‘Metamorphosis’ as your ultimate novel?”
“Among your works, you mean?”

“Yep.”
“…Would it be alright if I read it first?”
“Phew, sure.”

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.
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[One morning, when Gregor Samsa awoke from a restless dream, he found he had transformed into a gigantic bug in his bed.]

.
.
.

One day, without any prior warning, Homer’s new work was stocked in every bookstore in the Empire.

Metamorphosis.

Even without a shred of promotional effort, the news about ‘Homer’s new work’ spread like wildfire across the Empire. Every literature enthusiast dashed to the bookstores to read Metamorphosis.

Some even borrowed copies from the Homer Foundation’s library.

And then.

Countless individuals witnessed the novel’s new world. They could clearly see the protagonist, trapped in the grand absurdity of reality, flailing around desperately.

“What on earth is this story about…?”
“Why did a man turn into a bug? What the heck is the meaning behind this?”

A nightmare with no clear boundaries with reality. The hapless protagonist wakes from an absurd dream, only to find himself still ensnared in that dream, suffering in a grim reality.

A Kafkaesque air. Ridiculously powerful language.

It’s a dream penned in prose—not just a whimsical and beautiful dream, but a nightmare that feels as cold and sharp as reality.

Countless readers quickly fell for that story.

“I’m not entirely certain what it means, but… it’s amusing!”
“Ugh… you’re so miserable… why on earth does a story like this even exist…?”

“Fuhaha! Ah, this is hilarious…?”
“What?”

Not long after Metamorphosis hit the shelves, critics—of course—rained down a storm of reviews.

Even if it’s a Transcendent, critics habitually deliver cold analyses and interpretations. Kafka, full of varying interpretations, was akin to a toy for them.

“The metaphor of Gregor’s transformation mirrors our lives. As it’s humanity’s fate to be abruptly born and then perish in a body that can neither labor nor speak, Gregor Samsa transitions from being a family pillar to a burden, eventually leading to his end—.”
“Isn’t this a symbolic depiction of a society that neglects individual inner identity and enforces a universal standard, all while an individual’s humanity is crushed underfoot and they’re reduced to a helpless entity due to external evaluations?”

New interpretations of ‘Metamorphosis’ poured in copiously, day by day.

A multitude of readers began quoting these reviews, extolling Metamorphosis. Literary critics were invited from all over the Empire, ushering in a second wave of glory for them.

That’s how profound the literary influence of Metamorphosis was.

Not surprisingly, it also produced a resonating impact within the artistic spheres beyond literature.

“A small person can tire as much as a great person does.”

“Though I’ve turned into a bug, if I’m needed, I’ll fight in this ugly form! Metamorphosis!”

There emerged realistic plays that reinterpreted the alienation and isolation in ‘Metamorphosis’ through a more grounded direction, and bizarre plays depicting Gregor Samsa protecting people using his bug powers sprang up thanks to some readers lamenting his demise.

This peculiar play, featuring a beetle safeguarding people, garnered remarkably odd popularity among some kids and a few adult men.

Anyhow.

Homer’s latest work left an enormous mark across various domains of the cultural arts.

And as for Homer himself, the author of the novel…

“I’ve just created a pill that transforms you into a beetle. Want to give it a shot?”
“No thanks.”

“Too bad!”
“Why on earth would you go and make something like that?”

I was left in shock while witnessing the alchemist’s monstrous creation in the Library of Transcendence.

“Because I was inspired!”
“…What about whipping up some medicine that’s actually beneficial for the world?”

“If someone were to tell Homer to produce only books that were ‘good for the world,’ would he do it?”
“Hmm.”

I mulled it over briefly before responding.

“No.”
“Haha!”

Prioritizing literature over the world.