Extra, extra! Read all about it!

Saint Beatrice nominates the playwright Phantom as a Hero Candidate!"

News that stirred the entire Holy Empire: the great playwright Phantom had been nominated as a Hero Candidate, and the information spread rapidly.

"What? A Hero Candidate?"

"I heard his title is ‘Hero of the Pen.’ A man who performs miracles with his pen, they say!"

"Ha! A Hero Candidate with the title ‘Hero of the Pen’? What a clever name!"

In truth, the term "Hero" in this world didn’t necessarily refer to someone wielding a sword to fight a Demon King. Once, it might have meant that, but with the Demon King sealed long ago, the title had evolved into something more honorary.

Over the centuries, the concept of a Hero adapted to the times. Now, a Hero was someone blessed by the gods, capable of performing great miracles—someone who led the world forward with their extraordinary talents. Be it through sword, magic, knowledge, or any other field, only a rare few who built monumental achievements were recognized as such.

And Saint Beatrice, who was widely rumored to see into people’s souls, had personally selected Phantom. The impact of this news was explosive.

The first to feel the effects were the unscrupulous theater troupes that had been poorly copying Chaplain Comedy.

"Boo! You plagiarists! Stop this nonsense!"

"How dare you imitate the work of the Hero of the Pen! Don’t you have any shame?"

"Get lost! You’ll be cursed with the ten plagues for stealing his play!"

Along with the booing came a barrage of rotten fruit and vegetables. Although Phantom had only been registered as a candidate, people were already reacting as if he had become a full-fledged Hero.

Because of this, many of the guilty troupes quickly shut down their productions and rushed to issue apologies. They couldn’t fool the discerning audience, who had seen Chaplain Comedy firsthand.

Of course, some critics grumbled about the accusations of plagiarism over mere comedy. The idea that Phantom was using his Hero Candidate status to stifle artistic freedom even led to some backlash within the theater community.

But such complaints were meaningless under the watchful eyes of the church.

"The Lord said, 'Thou shalt not steal,'" solemnly recited a priest during Sunday Mass, pointing to the cross.

"The works created by the Hero Candidate with his pen are sacred gifts from God. Copying them without permission is akin to stealing from the Hero Candidate. As faithful believers, we must not condone such theft."

After returning to the capital from the Northern Front, the Killgrewber Theater Company staged the full production of Exodus. Though it was a scaled-down version, with the local church providing the choir, the performance left a significant impact.

Since it was a formal religious play written by a renowned author, the priests of the capital pooled their money to watch it as a group. The result? Particularly young and fervent apprentice priests became passionate supporters of Phantom.

They were captivated by how Phantom’s work reflected the fundamental teachings of the Celestial Faith—that God loves and watches over all.

And the fact that the creator of this great work had been nominated as a Hero Candidate by Saint Beatrice? Combined with rumors that Moses might represent Phantom’s own self-portrait, excitement spread like wildfire.

"Hallelujah! The Lord saves those who believe! Let us never fear!"

"He will be your mouth, so do not hesitate! Can there be a more perfect expression of God’s love?"

"Moses is clearly the Hero Candidate’s self-portrait, symbolizing the virtues of an ideal priest! This is the model the Hero Candidate has given us to follow!"

They believed that Exodus was not just the story of the "Shepherd Who Crossed the Sea," but a symbolic tale embodying the virtues of the Celestial Faith.

Unwavering faith, the responsibility of the priesthood, and an indomitable will and courage. They saw Exodus as a masterpiece that offered clear answers to the question, "How should a believer of the Celestial Faith live?"

And some of the more radical priests didn’t stop at just talking about it—they put their beliefs into action.

They left their churches to find the suffering poor, who were like the Hebrews in the story. They began caring for lepers, who were treated like outcasts, and even undertook manual labor to help them.

Some priests even risked their lives to embark on dangerous missions, traveling to uncivilized areas far beyond the reach of civilization to spread the gospel.

These fervent priests needed neither material reward nor physical comfort. All they sought was to live a life of love, as preached by the scriptures.

"Let’s all take up our staffs! We will perform God’s miracles and spread His love!"

"Hosanna! Let us lead the starving and the oppressed to the land of milk and honey!"

A new generation of priests, centered on simplicity and action, began forming a network. They pooled their resources to establish religious gatherings, calling themselves The Ark of the Celestial God, each carrying a staff made of Mayflower wood.

Thus, the Pilgrims of this otherworld were born.

✧❅✦❅✧

"Hey, Hero of the Pen."

"Shut up before I stab you with this pen."

"Heh, heh."

Maurice chuckled and crossed his arms casually, irritating me. His smug grin only made me sigh heavily.

I had an assignment to submit, so I decided to clear my mind and get back to work with my quill pen.

"At least you’re just a candidate for now. You hate complicated things, don’t you?"

"Yeah, being a Hero is more of an honorary title these days. It just means the Saint is supporting my creative work, nothing more."

Sure, I’d been given the somewhat lame title of "Hero of the Pen," but nothing in my life had really changed.

"It’s basically like being nominated for a Nobel Prize in Literature."

Getting nominated doesn’t mean your life changes dramatically. I’d just keep writing as a respected author, enjoying the increased attention while it lasted.

Saint Beatrice had probably nominated me to avoid putting too much pressure on me. It was her way of saying, "Keep doing what you do best without getting caught up in unnecessary responsibilities."

It was thoughtful of her, really. She wanted me to enjoy the fame of being a Hero Candidate without having to deal with all the hassle that came with it.

‘Honestly, I appreciate it.’

Though, I couldn’t help but groan as I stretched my back, sore from sitting at my desk for so long.

With Exodus behind me, along with productions about Admiral Yi Sun-sin, Julius Caesar, and Charlie Chaplin, I had achieved a lot.

In any normal world, a semester would’ve already flown by, but things were a bit different here.

Time in this world flowed strangely, much longer than the years on Earth.

‘I was so confused when I first reincarnated here.’

The time dilation had been disorienting. My physical body grew at a frustratingly slow rate, while my mental development stayed ahead, making me feel like I was going crazy.

So, even though I’d accomplished what felt like a lifetime of work, not that much time had actually passed in this world.

The problem was that despite the longer academic year, the workload was immense.

"So, what’s your next project, Hero of the Pen?"

Maurice sat on my bed, grinning as he pestered me.

Normally, I’d snap at him, but I was too tired for that right now.

"I don’t know. Between assignments and studying, I’ve got a mountain of work."

"Want me to help? I’ve already finished my submission. You can use my notes if you want."

"No thanks. You know how strict Professor Prunel is. If he even suspects I got help, I’m screwed."

The Imperial History of Politics class was notoriously dry and boring, but it was a requirement for graduation. I groaned as I thought about it.

"Ugh, but I’ve got to write something."

You know what they say: strike while the iron’s hot. Though the attention on Phantom was overwhelming, the money pouring into Balthazar’s account was quite lovely.

I wanted to churn out as many works as possible while I was still riding the wave of popularity.

But writing another play would take too long.

A play wasn’t just words on a page; it involved actors, props, costumes, and set designs. It required collaboration with numerous people to get it on stage.

Was there a way to skip the complicated process and still produce something substantial?

"…Ah!"

Suddenly, an idea hit me like lightning.

I put down my quill and turned to Maurice.

"Hey, Maurice. Since you’re from a noble family, you’ve got connections in the publishing world, right?"

"Publishing? Yeah, probably. Why?"

"After I finish this assignment, I’m thinking of writing a Lesedrama."

"A what?"

"It’s a type of closet drama—meant to be read, not performed."

Closet dramas, or Lesedramas, were written to be read like novels rather than performed on stage. Writers who felt limited by stage productions often turned to this genre to unleash their creativity.

The most famous example was Alfred de Musset, a French playwright. After his first play flopped, he switched to writing closet dramas to explore his complex psychological themes and romantic style without the constraints of performance.

And if I were going to write a biographical Lesedrama, there was only one person it could be about.

"Know thyself!"

"What?"

"Don’t worry about it."

The quote wasn’t even his, but it was the mantra he lived by. I stretched as I imagined writing about the famous philosopher, who was considered the father of rational Western thought.

"You’re a mystery, Phantom, even to me."

Maurice marveled at the orichalcum badge sitting on my desk. Engraved with the Imperial Seal, it was a prestigious item.

"You’ve got the royal seal, you’ve been nominated by the Saint as a Hero Candidate. At this rate, you’ll end up marrying into the royal family. You’re the right age, and the princess must be looking for a husband by now."

"Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather freeze to death."

Having met the princess during that cosplay event, I knew better than to get involved with her. She was the type to eat you alive if you let your guard down. No way was she considering a playwright like me for her husband.

Besides, she probably held a grudge for that fan letter I ignored.

"I’ve been exchanging letters with her lately, so don’t jinx it."

"Oh, love letters between Phantom and the princess?"

"Hardly."

Ever since that fan meeting, the princess and I had started exchanging letters. It was just casual correspondence, nothing too serious, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was subtly annoyed at me.

It wasn’t like I had asked to be nominated for Hero status, but she seemed to enjoy teasing me about it. One of her letters had even joked, "So, you rejected a royal title but accepted the Hero nomination? How disappointing!"

‘Like I had any choice in the matter…’

The Saint herself had nominated me. What was I supposed to do, refuse?

"Phantom, you’re just paranoid. It sounds like she’s flirting with you."

"Since when did you become such a romantic? I’m telling you, it’s not like that."

"Psh. What’s the point of writing great scripts if you’re this dense? Tsk, tsk."