I'm Not A Master, I'm A Director
Chapter 383: Mo-chan, A Sharp Tongue Always Comes Back to Bite You
As a commercial director, Shinji understood one thing very clearly: if he wanted to stay at the forefront of the industry, he could never allow his works to become formulaic.
From an investor's perspective, formulas were wonderful. They meant no more trial and error—just save time and effort, follow the proven template, and success would come naturally.
But Shinji wasn't making films for investors.
He was making them for audiences—for living, breathing people.
And humans had a rather troublesome flaw, one that was also the driving force behind social progress: they get bored easily.
This tendency toward novelty pushed society forward, and it also forced literature, music, and film to constantly evolve—often passively.
As a reincarnator blessed with knowledge of the future, Shinji had no intention of passively accepting change. Instead, he chose to walk one step ahead of the audience.
Focusing specifically on the film adaptation of Fate/Apocrypha, Shinji knew that to keep viewers from getting bored, he couldn't just have Servants fighting nonstop from beginning to end.
That would only exhaust the audience's senses and lead to fatigue.
And once negative emotions set in, viewers would start nitpicking everything, eventually dismissing Fate/Apocrypha as a slop.
That was why it was essential to add different flavors to the Servants' battles.
The clash between Jeanne d'Arc and Shakespeare was one such example.
Shinji deliberately avoided having the two Servants engage in a dazzling, effects-heavy spectacle. Instead, he chose something exceedingly rare among Heroic Spirits—a battle of words.
This choice was only possible thanks to who they were.
The historical rivalry between England and France, Shakespeare's identity as a playwright, and his literary portrayals of Jeanne—all of these factors made this "verbal duel" feasible.
At this moment, Jeanne had no idea that she was about to face a trial aimed directly at her soul.
She was still stunned by the scene before her—and by the rustic peasant girl's clothes she was wearing.
"This is an illusion… right? What terrible taste…"
Jeanne had already confirmed it.
This was her hometown, Domrémy.
It was here that she had received God's revelation, and from here that she had stepped into the wider world.
Seeing the village again filled her with deep nostalgia, but now was not the time to indulge in homesickness.
Just as that thought crossed her mind, Jeanne spotted her enemy.
Shakespeare stood before her, bowing with exaggerated courtesy.
Before she could approach him, however, the great playwright suddenly vanished.
"Jeanne, trying to harm me is pointless. Once my Noble Phantasm is activated, attacking me—or any of the characters within—cannot stop the story."
"I can break this kind of illusion with my Magic Resistance!"
Though she spoke of Magic Resistance, Jeanne raised her fist instead.
It was obvious she had decided to break her way out with brute force.
But her words were calmly corrected.
"I'll say it again, this is not an illusion. It is a story. And you, Jeanne, are its protagonist. Please, relive your life properly, and experience an impossible tale."
Shakespeare's performance-type Noble Phantasm possessed a level of coercive power comparable to a Reality Marble.
Once an enemy was drawn onto the stage, they could only play their assigned role until the story reached its conclusion.
To put it simply, it was a Noble Phantasm that killed the heart as thoroughly as it killed the body.
Jeanne, however, still didn't grasp how serious the situation was.
"My life isn't anything special compared to so many other heroes. Making me reenact such a boring story… what's the point?"
Shakespeare responded only with a sneer.
Did she really think his Noble Phantasm was that shallow?
Just reliving her own life?
"Jeannette."
A gentle voice sounded from behind her.
Jeanne's entire body trembled.
It was a voice she deeply feared, yet one she longed for just as much.
'Impossible. How could a mere Caster's Noble Phantasm reproduce my memories with such perfect accuracy—?!'
With eyes full of disbelief, Jeanne slowly turned around.
Standing behind her was the only person in the world who still called her by that childhood nickname—a gentle, kind woman.
"Mother…"
It was her mother, the woman Jeanne had parted from at the age of seventeen, never to see again for the rest of her life.
Jeanne had long been prepared for her own sacrifice.
Yet no matter how resolved she was, her heart was still filled with guilt and longing toward her mother.
"Do you really have to go… no matter what?"
Her mother didn't say anything else, only those sorrowful words Jeanne remembered so clearly.
"Yes. I have to go."
The answer slipped from Jeanne's lips without hesitation.
That's right, just like back then.
This was the exact conversation she'd had with her mother, Isabelle, when she was about to leave Domrémy.
"I cannot ignore the Lord's call. Perhaps once I leave, we will never meet again in this lifetime. But please… watch over me. As long as you and the Holy Mother are watching over me, I will never be defeated."
Those were the last words Jeanne had spoken to her mother.
After that, her mother should have replied:
I will pray for you. May the light forever guide your path.
—That was how it was supposed to go.
"But… you never came back."
"Mother…?"
This wasn't the farewell blessing Jeanne remembered.
The expression on Isabelle's face was completely different as well, there was no warmth, only sorrow.
"Why did you have to be burned at the stake? Why did people continue to mock you even after your death? Why couldn't you receive the ending you deserved?"
"I…"
Jeanne didn't know how to answer.
If the woman before her were cursing her—an obvious fake—it would have been easier.
Because Jeanne could feel it clearly that if her real mother were standing here, she would have said these very same words.
"So, Jeannette… don't go. You understand what awaits you if you do, don't you?"
Isabelle's plea made Jeanne hesitate for a moment.
But in the end, Jeanne firmly grasped her mother's hand and said:
"Mother, I have to go. For the sake of this village, and for this country. No matter what, I must go to the battlefield!"
Such weak, self-righteous reassurance accomplished nothing.
Isabelle only wept quietly—she had long since foreseen her daughter's fate.
"So you still chose to raise the holy banner… As expected of the Maid of Orléans. That kind of resolve is far beyond what ordinary Heroic Spirits can compare to."
Shakespeare's whisper, laced with mockery, reached her ears.
"Even if you borrow my mother's appearance, it's useless, Caster!"
Jeanne's voice was as firm as ever, but this time, it carried a trace of anger.
"You've had your fill, haven't you? Release me from this boring farce already!"
As if Shakespeare would ever let her off that easily.
"No, no. Saint, your story has only just begun. Now, let us begin the second act of this play."
A crisp snap of fingers echoed beside her ear.
In the blink of an eye, the stage around her changed completely.
The gentle scent of grass from her hometown vanished, replaced by the stench of earth and the metallic reek of blood—
The smell of war.
Jeanne now stood upon a battlefield.
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆
The scene on the silver screen shifted to the battle between Mordred and Semiramis.
"Tch."
Semiramis's irritated click of tongue sent a shiver through the audience.
As a famed femme fatale of history, her ability to captivate others was practically instinctive, just her voice alone was enough to make people's bones go weak.
However, her current condition was far from ideal.
Blood flowed continuously from her shoulder, staining her luxurious black dress.
"To think I would be scarred by the blade of a mere barbarian… what an unsightly lapse."
Compared to Semiramis's noble status, Mordred—the wild brat from Britannia—certainly qualified as a barbarian.
"Indeed, one must never lower their guard on the battlefield."
Semiramis smiled charmingly, lightly brushing her hand across her shoulder.
Before anyone's eyes, the wound left by Mordred's surprise attack healed as if it had never existed.
"Saber, as one of our Red Faction Servants—and in recognition of your outstanding performance up to this point—please allow me to properly entertain you."
A chill ran straight down Mordred's spine.
She forced a cold laugh. "You call this 'entertainment,' but I don't see a single dish on the table."
Semiramis let out a soft, amused giggle at Mordred's jab.
Mordred frowned, her gaze drifting to the shoulder she had just slashed.
The wound on the surface had already closed, but a swordsman's instincts told her the truth—this was merely superficial healing. The inside couldn't possibly be fully restored yet.
'If only I'd cut a little deeper.'
Though that thought crossed her mind, Mordred's mouth showed no mercy.
"So you admit I've been pretty impressive, huh? In that case, how about I get even more active? Leave you with an even deeper impression?"
There was a certain type of person in this world: hated by everyone, never winning fights but never losing arguments either. They relied on nonstop verbal abuse, firing off insults like machine-gun fire, practically wearing the words "Please punch me" on their forehead.
Mordred was definitely not someone who lost fights—but when it came to running her mouth, she often gained a buff known as Taunt.
Faced with Mordred's provocation, Semiramis pointed at her injured shoulder and laughed.
"You really are a clumsy little brat. But that's fine, I happen to know a very effective way to discipline naughty children like you."
"Oh? And what would that be?"
Mordred continued to provoke her without restraint.
"Let me show you."
The instant Semiramis raised her right hand, Mordred's entire body shuddered.
Her near-beastlike intuition screamed at her—she had made a fatal mistake.
Semiramis had said she let her guard down, but Mordred now realized that she herself had been just as careless in scoring that opening wound.
As the price for carelessness, Semiramis had only taken a sword slash to the shoulder.
But Mordred's price went far beyond defeat—
Death itself was rushing toward her.
She couldn't even see what Semiramis had done, yet Mordred felt an overwhelming agony in her eyes, as if red-hot nails had been driven straight into them.
"Damn it!!!!"
Clenching her teeth against the pain, Mordred let out a beastlike roar.
"She really is insanely beautiful…"
On the big screen, Mordred was writhing in agony—but outside the screen, Fujita had already begun sharing his viewer impressions.
Naturally, the chubby boy wasn't talking to the intimidating girl sitting next to him. Instead, he leaned toward his friend on the other side—Shibamatsu, a fellow man of worldly desires.
"Yeah."
Shibamatsu nodded, his eyes never leaving the screen.
The Wise Queen of Assyria, Semiramis, was a woman of overwhelming charm, so much so that Shibamatsu couldn't bear to miss even a single second of her on the big screen.
Just like an exquisitely ornate work of art that seizes the viewer's gaze, Semiramis herself was a living masterpiece. A single smile from her carried the power to steal one's soul.
"Especially her hands… they're so gorgeous."
"Hands…? You're into that?"
Fujita glanced at his childhood friend in surprise. He hadn't expected Shibamatsu to be someone who even appreciated hands.
Of course, Fujita himself also found Semiramis stunning. But her allure was completely different from the cheap, mass-produced "seductiveness" seen in traditional film and television.
How to describe the difference in level?
If those women were just over-filtered, over-surgeried 'snake-faced' internet celebrities, then Semiramis was unquestionably the true Snake Queen straight out of animation.
And the most brilliant part was this—
In front of others, Semiramis carried herself as a cold, enchanting Empress.
But in front of her Master, Amakusa, she became pure and innocent, like a spotless, shy young girl.
"This actress is incredibly talented. That contrast in performance really makes the character feel three-dimensional."
A film critic who specialized in acting couldn't help but feel impressed by Semiramis as a performer.
By treating her beloved differently from everyone else, the aloof Empress instantly became far more appealing to audiences.
Coupled with her innate elegance and regal dignity, it created a uniquely irresistible charm.
Unfortunately, this kind of feminine allure was something Mordred would never care about.
To her, it didn't matter how beautiful Semiramis was, what mattered was cutting this woman down and sending her back to the Throne of Heroes with a single sword strike.
"…D-damn it…!!"
The moment her vision began to warp, Mordred immediately activated her helmet, letting it automatically snap into place over her head.
Though the helmet's Noble Phantasm rank was infamously underwhelming—its only real ability being the concealment of her True Name—It was still a Noble Phantasm. The mystery and legend inherent to it allowed it to resist magical attacks to some extent.
"Not bad, not bad. You should be able to hold on a little longer like that."
Semiramis smiled, clearly pleased. "If you can entertain me just a bit more, I might even praise you properly."
"Cut the crap! This environment—you're the one who altered it with magecraft, aren't you?"
Wild as Mordred was, her combat experience was extensive. She quickly realized that the Assassin witch had turned the surrounding area into a den of poison.
"Of course. Who do you think I am?"
Semiramis replied matter-of-factly. "I am Semiramis, known as the most ancient poisoner. For this Holy Grail War—with so many Servants—I even prepared all kinds of specialized poisons. What a shame I never got to use them. So~"
The Empress raised her right hand.
As if responding to the gesture, dark green chains suddenly emerged from the shadows behind her.
The ends of the chains were shaped like hooks, one glance was enough to tell what they were meant for.
"At the very least, struggle a bit more… and make up for my disappointment~"
As her raised hand came down, the chains began to writhe and lash about like venomous snakes.
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Tn: I updated the story once every 2 days, but if you want to see more chapter of this story ahead of time, please go to my Patreon.
Latest Chapter: Chapter 429: Another Poor Kid Who Gets Sold and Still Says Thanks[1]
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