Revive Rome: Wait! Why not make the empress fall in love with me first?
Chapter 251 - 49 Act 1

Chapter 251: Chapter 49 Act 1

"Are all your lines memorized, Lord Aske?"

Wilhelm had disappeared, with only his voice lingering in the space as narration.

"Yes," Aske rolled his eyes lifelessly.

He had miscalculated; he should have brought Medea with him. With her Mind Power, she could have easily torn through this thought space, eliminating the need to act out any scenes with Wilhelm.

Although according to the forums, Wilhelm meant no harm to the players entering the instance, acting was indeed much more troublesome than fighting monsters.

If it hadn’t been for the team... well, he’d just have to endure it.

"You should be more passionate," the narration said, "The male lead, Solomon, is a talented, active, hot-blooded, young swordsman prodigy. He definitely shouldn’t have such a listless voice."

"I’m not naturally passionate," Aske said.

"There’s no rule saying the actor’s temperament must match the character," the narration responded, "but could you at least pretend? Lord, please, be more professional, will you?"

"Ah. Ah. Ah." Aske groaned in resignation, "Alright, let’s go."

"Good, Act One, Scene One tells of your descent from the mountains to defeat bandits and then accidentally encountering a besieged Church Court squad, whereupon you rescue Miss Miranda."

"Miranda is played by Miel, right?" Aske asked. "She’s barely in her teens and she’s a half-elf, is that alright?"

"No issue," the narration continued, "in the script, Miranda is originally a petite girl. As for her bloodline, don’t you think an Elf Priest accidentally having lots of charm is appealing? I believe a slight script adaptation wouldn’t hurt the original work’s charm."

"I don’t think so," Aske drew his longsword, "Let’s start the show."

"Okay," the narration said, "Also, considering you all are experienced Professional Mercenaries, let’s skip the staged fake fighting and go for something realistic, shall we?"

"You mean real fighting?" Aske thought it started to seem a bit like an instance, "Sure."

"I deeply appreciate your understanding," the narration expressed, "So, Act One, Scene One, action!"

The voice of the narration disappeared, leaving Aske alone on a mountain path, surrounded by dense forest.

Then, a prelude played by a combination of a double bass, trombone, woodwinds, and accordion began, creating a cheerful and lively atmosphere.

This instance even comes with its own background music... Aske thought resignedly, as he heard the narration start to announce the lines dramatically.

As a short musical film adapted from a fairy tale, Wilhelm’s production had a rather simple structure; the narration briefly explained the setup to the imagined audience:

The lead, Solomon, had grown up in remote mountains, raised by a retired knight, thus mastering exceptional swordsmanship.

After the old knight had died, just as he learned that a giant dragon had stolen the Empire’s Divine Artifact, The Azure Longsword, he decided to leave the mountains to fight the evil dragon and reclaim the artifact.

Act One, Scene One, as Solomon was walking on the mountain path, he happened by chance upon a group of bandits.

As soon as the narration ended, shadowy figures appeared ahead—headscarves, axes in hand, dark-skinned and ferocious—exemplifying the classic stage-bandit archetype.

"Look, there’s a lone traveler!" the bandits shouted in discordant unison, apparently lacking spirituality as Wilhelm had mentioned, "Let’s tie him to a tree and chop him up with axes!"

"Perfect timing!" Aske began reciting Solomon’s lines, calling out as he drew his sword, "You mountain villains, today is your day of reckoning!"

The bandits charged, Aske drew his longsword, and with a swift side step, he avoided the lead bandit’s slash.

Dragon Slash! Half Moon Slash! Rising Dragon Slash! Eagle Soaring Sword!

With his smooth and swift sword skills, in merely a moment, all the bandits were slain, their blood gushing from their wounds, pooling and expanding on the ground.

Then the scene froze.

"Cut! NG!" the voice of the narrator rang out, "Lord Aske, you are putting too much effort into this performance!"

"What do you mean?" Aske frowned, "Doesn’t the script say that Solomon cuts down these bandits with his splendid swordsmanship?"

"Yes, splendid," the narrator said. "Do you misunderstand this word? How could you just slash through the enemies so simply? That was too fast! The audience couldn’t even see clearly before the villains were already down on the ground, dead. They will only question how fake this play is."

"What audience are you talking about? Aren’t you the only one watching?" Aske retorted.

"You can’t slack off just because I’m the only spectator!" the narrator responded. "Let me add some audience effects for you."

Suddenly, the sounds of a noisy crowd appeared around them, as if Aske was truly in an opera house, facing a multitude of chattering spectators.

"How about now, feeling more passionate? Let’s do another take, make it splendid! Dashing! You could try knocking the weapons out of the bandits’ hands, then press your sword against their necks, and say a few impressive lines—you can improvise, don’t worry about my script, just make the audience feel thrilled."

"What a hassle," Aske commented.

So, the scene restarted, the cheerful BGM played again, the corpses on the ground vanished instantly, and a few more bandits appeared up front.

"Look, there’s a lone traveler..." the bandits recited their lines, then swung their axes and charged.

Such obviously flawed opponents, and I have to drag out the fight to make it more dramatic, this is going to be tough. What sort of flashy lines can I think of... Aske contemplated, simply standing with one hand on his sword, motionless as the bandit’s axe swung down towards him.

Casually, he sidestepped, his wrist flipped, and he knocked a bandit off balance with the hilt of his sword, then his knee slammed into the bandit’s abdomen, flipping him onto the ground.

The other bandits hesitated, seemingly stunned that their leader fell so swiftly, then one of them’s weapon flew out of his hand—Aske hadn’t drawn his sword, simply swinging the scabbard to hit the man’s wrist, causing him severe pain and making him drop his weapon.

Then, with a backhand swing of the scabbard, he hit the man’s jaw, knocking out a mouthful of teeth.

The last bandit hadn’t even reacted before the unsheathed longsword was at his throat, and a cold voice assaulted him:

"Do you wish to ’dance’ as well?"

"Cut!" The scene froze, the narrator exclaimed passionately, "Brilliantly fought, Mr. Aske. But what does that last line mean? ’Dance’?"

"It means being tossed and tumbled around by my blows," Aske bluffed, "Back home, we call that ’dancing’."

"Hmm, not bad," the narrator remarked. "’Dance’ is more impactful than just being thrown around. ’Do you wish to dance as well?’, nice... Let’s keep it moving."

On the other side,

Miel was listlessly being escorted by the "bandits."

In fact, she had felt the impulse to pull out her handgun and kill these thugs numerous times already, but her handgun was, after all, just a syringe gun, and the bullets were merely so-called healing needles, ineffective for killing.

The script’s Miranda was such a frail girl, powerless as a chicken. After the Church Court squad was eliminated, she was captured by the bandits and under the sorrowful, depressing BGM, awaited her hero Solomon to rescue her.

"Ah! Almighty God, why must I suffer this misfortune!"

"If I cannot escape this disgraceful fate, I would rather die miserably right now."

...

Her voice, tearful and clear, carried a soft beauty yet hinted at an underlying, not-to-be-underestimated explosive power, leaving Wilhelm backstage utterly impressed. Who could have thought this expressionless girl, at her first audition, would transform so completely, masterfully portraying Miranda’s anxiety, despair, and bitter emotions?

Then Aske jumped out from the roadside, his movements lazy, causing Wilhelm’s face to fall. Compared to the half-elf girl with a natural talent for acting, this Mercenary Corps Commander’s attitude towards his performance left much to be desired.

"Stop, you villains..."

His voice was lackadaisical, sounding less like the hot-blooded young swordsman Solomon and more like a Sword Saint Solomon, who, having grown unbeatable, found it hard to muster enthusiasm.

Miel, unsurprised by this, looked up in disbelief while crying, just as the script described, her eyes shining with a bright hope.

As if a princess in distress had just seen the prince coming to her rescue.