“Oh-ho, Julius Caesar, huh? Is that the title of your next work?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Renoir.”

 

“That’s an interesting choice. I’m assuming the protagonist is a historical figure from ancient times?”

 

“You could say that.”

 

From a medieval perspective, ancient Rome was the distant past. And Julius Caesar, who laid the foundations of the Roman Empire, was a figure shrouded in legend.

 

Thankfully, this world also had its own version of a glorious, ancient civilization, similar to Rome. Because of this, Mr. Renoir could grasp the historical setting within the script of <Julius Caesar> without much difficulty.

 

“Oh-ho, hmmm! Ohhh! This part is the best! No, cancel that! This part is the most excellent! No, no, cancel that too! Every scene is a masterpiece!”

 

Mr. Renoir devoured the script, muttering to himself and getting increasingly excited with each page he turned. He would be playing the lead role of Caesar, so his enthusiasm was understandable.

 

“…My goodness, Phantom! This work rivals <Admiral Lee>!”

 

With a thud, Renoir closed the script and exclaimed.

 

He rubbed his bearded chin and added in a serious tone.

 

“No, in some ways, it’s a masterpiece that surpasses <Admiral Lee>! Caesar’s rise to power, his struggles, his victories, and his tragic downfall! All of these elements are interwoven so perfectly to create a complete and satisfying narrative! It’s like his tragic death… ties everything together.”

 

I could see why he felt that way.

 

After realizing that the audience in this world had a higher tolerance for sad endings than I had expected, I had deliberately written the play as a classic tragedy.

 

Tragedy was one of the oldest genres of storytelling, going back to the origins of art itself. The golden age of ancient Greek culture was marked by tragic plays that depicted the lives and deaths of mythical heroes.

 

The great Athenian philosopher Aristotle, in his treatise Poetics, defined tragedy as follows—

 

Tragedy, then, is an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a certain magnitude; in language embellished with each kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds being found in separate parts of the play; in the form of action, not of narrative; through pity and fear effecting the proper purgation of these emotions.

 

In that sense, there was no one more fitting for a tragic play than Julius Caesar. Even Shakespeare, one of the greatest writers in the English language, had written a tragedy based on his life.

 

“Thank you for the praise. Let’s start preparing the stage set immediately. Since His Majesty the Emperor will be attending, everything must be prepared to perfection.”

 

Theater was a collaborative art form. It required more than just script and acting. Everything had to be carefully considered, from the direction to the costumes, the props, the makeup…

 

And <Julius Caesar> was set against the backdrop of Rome, the cradle of European civilization. To do it justice, we had to prepare items ranging from everyday clothes like togas and tunics to the Lorica Segmentata of Roman Legionnaires.

 

‘The expenses will be considerable, but with the sponsorship funds from the royal family, it should be manageable.’

 

After all, the sponsorship funds are not meant to be pocketed; they serve as seed money for creating more outstanding works.

 

The Imperial donation had been so generous that staging a single play wouldn’t strain our finances.

 

Thus, I was deep in thought about the designs to send to the high-end costume shop in the capital, with which the Killgrewber Theater Company had an exclusive contract.

 

“Hmm, this is all very good, but…” Mr. Renoir said, flipping to a page near the middle of the script. He sounded a little dubious.

 

“This section, the one you’re calling the ‘Gallic Wars’… Do we really have to cast orcs for the roles of the villain, Vercingetorix, and his subordinates?”

 

“Yes. I’m very particular about this part. Please follow my vision.”

 

One of the most critical aspects of constructing a theater set is realism.

 

To fully immerse the audience in the story, the onstage reality must evoke real-world associations.

 

In a world where elves, dwarves, and dragons exist, the appearance of other races also plays a crucial role in the realism.

 

And in this world, the Orcs were the closest equivalents to the Celts of Gaul.

 

A savage warrior race, both despised and feared by the Romans.

 

Considering the aspect of realism, no one fits the role of the villains in the Gallic Wars better than the orcs.

 

But Mr. Renoir didn’t seem convinced.

 

“But His Majesty the Emperor himself will be attending! Are you suggesting we let those crude, violent orcs perform on stage? Savages who belong in labor camps or fighting pits, not in a theater…”

 

“Trust me. Casting orcs as Vercingetorix and his Gallic warriors is the best choice.”

 

“Uh, um… Alright. I’ll trust your artistic judgment. After all, it was your expertise that ensured the success of <Admiral Lee>.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Orcs typically lived in small tribes outside the boundaries of civilization. But there were quite a few who lived in the capital, seeking employment or citizenship.

 

We would hold proper auditions and choose the most suitable orcs for the role of Vercingetorix and his subordinates.

 

‘A Hero shines brightest when he has a worthy opponent.’

 

If the role of the antagonist is half-baked, it renders the protagonist’s struggles equally half-baked.

 

Vercingetorix was an extraordinary leader who almost succeeded in repelling Caesar’s invasion of Gaul.

 

To bring the story to life, I couldn’t settle for just any orc in this pivotal role.

 

 

 

✧❅✦❅✧

 

 

 

A short while later, on the exclusive stage of the Killgrewber Theater Company…

 

“Next!”

 

“Uh, m-my brothers of Gaul. Fight for freedom with m-me…”

 

“Thank you. Next!”

 

“I, I surrender! Just spare the lives of my brethren!”

 

“Next!”

 

Orc laborers, recruited from nearby docks with the cooperation of the city council, were auditioning for a role in the Phantom writer’s upcoming play.

 

For the role of Vercingetorix.

 

To ensure that the Emperor’s family would be treated to a flawless masterpiece.

 

Mr. Renoir, the theater manager, and I, the playwright, were overseeing the auditions.

 

About an hour into the process…

 

“Phantom, are you sure we should keep going? There were a few decent candidates. We could just choose one of them. Or we could revise the casting and look for a human actor…”

 

Mr. Renoir sounded bored. He clearly didn’t understand why I was so insistent on casting an orc.

 

I could sympathize with his frustration.

 

Most orcs in the Imperial Capital were laborers who had come seeking employment.

 

They were like the construction workers you might encounter back in Korea, strong and hardworking, but not exactly known for their artistic talents.

 

It was natural for Mr. Renoir to see this whole audition process as a waste of time.

 

Nonetheless, I was resolute.

 

“No, it has to be an Orc actor to fit my vision.”

 

The Emperor himself would be attending the play. I had to give it my all. 

 

And that meant paying attention to every detail. If I wanted to capture the raw, gritty atmosphere of the Gallic Wars, I needed a race that was as savage and masculine as Orcs.

 

Besides, Vercingetorix was the main villain of the Gallic Wars, a pivotal character in the play. He didn’t need to be a brilliant actor, but he had to have charisma, a presence that could captivate the audience.

 

‘Among all these laborers, there’s bound to be one, somewhere.’

 

You never knew where you might find a diamond in the rough.

 

“Next. Next.” 

 

So we continued, next, and then next.

 

Auditioning one by one.

 

“Hmm?”

 

A hulking Orc, radiating confidence, strode onto the stage. He towered over us, nostrils flaring, as he looked down at Mr. Renoir and me.

 

“Ah, contestant number 28. Your name is Bokio, correct?”

 

“That is correct. I have been summoned to assist with the Killgrewber Theater Company’s production.”

 

His voice was surprisingly refined, a stark contrast to his rough appearance. I stared at his broad shoulders, his rock-hard physique, momentarily speechless. His height and imposing stature were certainly impressive. But what really caught my eye was his face.

 

Unlike most Orcs, he was handsome. Ruggedly handsome, radiating a sense of raw masculinity and charisma.

 

 

 

✧❅✦❅✧

 

 

 

Even before the audition had properly begun, based on his sheer appearance alone, he was already scoring high marks, easily earning at least 50 points.

 

“Alright. Let’s get straight to the point and start the audition.”

 

Still, what really mattered on stage was realistic acting.

 

Curious to see how well he would embody the role, I gave him directions.

 

“Please read the scene where Vercingetorix addresses his compatriots. It’s the part where everyone gathers before the altar to steel themselves against Caesar’s forthcoming invasion.”

 

“Understood.”

 

Ahem, ahem. At my words, Bokio lightly cleared his throat to prepare. 

 

As he took a moment to collect his breath and immerse himself, his eyes widened menacingly.

 

“My brothers of Gaul! Let us stand firm against the invader, Caesar!”

 

……Gasp.

 

Bokio’s thunderous cry resonated like a clap of thunder, causing me to hold my breath and widen my eyes in astonishment.

 

His deep, powerful voice, characteristic of orcs, amplified a natural intensity that he exuded without any formal training, and it was truly astounding.

 

“Rome may rob us of our lives, but it cannot steal our freedom!”

 

Following the script’s direction, he raised his fist and bellowed.

 

“We will stand as free men against the invaders, and we will die as free men! Rise up, my precious brothers! Caesar will rue the day he set foot in Gaul…!!”

 

His powerful shout reverberated throughout the entire theater.

 

As the echoes faded, all that remained were Mr. Renoir’s and my own muted breaths.

 

“…What do you think, Mr. Renoir?”

 

Mr. Renoir, the veteran actor, was speechless, his eyes wide with astonishment. 

 

I swallowed dryly and asked while glancing at him.

 

“Good heavens.”

 

Mr. Renoir let out a long breath and then uttered a single exclamation of awe.

 

Turning to me, he gave a delightful smile.

 

“I believe we’ve just found our Vercingetorix, Phantom.”

 

 

 

✧❅✦❅✧

 

 

 

“Alright, everyone, line up! The play will begin soon!”

 

“The talk of the town, the next play by Phantom, the writer of <Admiral Lee>! He has returned triumphantly with <Julius Caesar>!”

 

“His Majesty the Emperor himself is scheduled to attend! Her Highness the Princess and His Highness the Prince will be accompanying him!”

 

The fateful day the curtain was to rise on <Julius Caesar>.

 

The front of the Killgrewber Theater Company was packed with people.

 

From dignified guests with properly purchased tickets, to street spectators who just wanted to see the Emperor’s family, countless citizens, regardless of their status, gathered. The theater entrance had truly become a battlefield for everyone.

 

“Hey, stop pushing! It’s not like the play is only showing for a day or two!”

 

“This is a play that His Majesty the Emperor will personally attend! I must secure a spot to make an impression!”

 

“Lord Cherny! Please, maintain your dignity!! To think a nobleman would cut in line, aren’t you ashamed?”

 

“Ah, shut up! You think I don’t know you secretly bought tickets from a scalper? Ever since you whined about missing <Admiral Lee>, it was obvious!”

 

The noisy chatter of the people gathered.

 

It was a testament to the fervor <Julius Caesar> had ignited in the capital.

 

And today, the Killgrewber Theater Company will be performing <Julius Caesar> for the first time.

 

I, too, was pacing in front of the theater, dressed in formal attire.

 

“Balthazar! Over here, over here!”

 

“Senior Wenford!”

 

A woman with red hair waved cheerfully from afar.

 

I smiled and walked towards her with measured steps

 

Dressed in an elegant outing dress, white gloves on her hands, and a necklace around her neck, she was a picture of beauty.

 

Thanks to her father, Sir Wenford’s rapid rise, Rosalyn Wenford had been elevated to the status of a duchess.

 

 

 

— End of Chapter —