Creating Anime In A Fantasy World

As Liya led a group of knights carefully selected by General Wilhelm towards the southern territory’s teleportation array, she still found herself unsure of what was going on.

Typically, soldiers didn’t have the privilege of using the large teleportation array, but it seemed that General Wilhelm was in quite a hurry, so she held back her curiosity and quietly followed the others to a place she’d never been before—the southern territories.

“Why exactly did the General bring us here? And he even went so far as to open the large teleportation array for us!” asked a handsome knight skilled in dual-wielding spears, attempting to make small talk with the cold and aloof Liya.

Knowing he was trying to get close to her, Liya responded in her usual indifferent manner.

With her beauty, it was almost expected that she’d attract the admiration of her peers, but Liya had no interest in such matters. Her only desire was to dedicate her life to the battlefield.

With little emotion, she answered, “I don’t know, but since it’s the General’s orders, it must be something urgent.”

“Urgent?” The knight thought for a moment before proposing a possibility, “I heard rumors of sightings of Headless Horseman and lich in the southern territories. Could it be that we’ve been summoned to deal with these dangerous undead?”

“Undead?!”

At the mention of undead, even Liya became tense.

Having grown up in the northern territories, she was well aware of the horrors such creatures could bring.

However, she wasn’t afraid of their abilities. Instead, she felt a sense of excitement—perhaps she finally had an opportunity to earn merits for the Empire.

In recent years, due to the growing influence of powerful Imperial Arch Mages, conflict with neighboring countries had become increasingly rare. As a result, the Empire’s military, while formidable, was mostly used as a deterrent. In truth, many in the Imperial Knight Order felt frustrated, unable to prove themselves in actual combat. Even Knight Commander Wycliffe had risen to his current rank not by fighting on the battlefield, but by clearing the Empire’s main roads of dangerous monsters.

In this context, not only Liya but most members of the Imperial Knights longed for the chance to achieve military glory. They were the elite of the Empire’s army, and yet they had become little more than ornamental soldiers.

So, when they heard that they might be sent to fight the undead, the knights, including Liya, became eager, their hearts filled with anticipation.

Before long, the light of the teleportation array faded, and the group of knights arrived in Nosrick, just as night had fallen.

Realizing that they had wasted too much time, General Wilhelm quickly gathered everyone and led them to the most lively building in Nosrick: the Edward Tavern.

Soon, they reached their destination.

“Oh, if it isn’t Wilhelm! Back so soon?” greeted the Headless Knight with a spirited tone as the tavern doors opened. Wilhelm nodded and replied, “Yes, I used my General’s authority to activate the large teleportation array. Is Director Edward here?”

“He’s upstairs. He’s been holding auditions all day and seems pretty satisfied with what he’s seen.”

“That’s good to hear.”

As the Headless Horseman turned and left again, a murmur spread through the ranks of knights who had witnessed the surreal scene.

“An undead?!”

“A Headless Knight?!”

“My god…”

“The General was talking to a Headless Knight, right? I wasn’t seeing things, was I?”

General Wilhelm scratched his head in frustration, realizing too late that he had forgotten to explain the undead situation to the knights in his haste.

“Um… General, that Headless Knight was just an actor, right?” Liya spoke up, trying to find a reasonable explanation. “That’s why you asked us earlier if we had acting experience, isn’t it?”

Wilhelm, surprised by her quick thinking, immediately nodded. “Yes, that’s right. The Headless Knight you just saw was only a performer. No need to worry. The reason I brought you all here is to have you participate in a performance on behalf of the military.”

Relieved, the knights calmed down, though Wilhelm silently noted Liya’s quick wit. Unbeknownst to her, her instincts had left a positive impression on the Imperial General.

<+>

Upstairs at the Edward Film Studio.

Seeing that the man in front of him was ready, Edward smiled and said, “Your lines are written on that paper. Please, begin.”

The man standing at a distance adjusted his expression and began reciting the lines:

“What is this? So twisted, so filthy? Is this truly the offspring of Kirei Kotomine? Hahahaha, no way, it can’t be! What is this? Could it be my father birthed a dog? Hahahaha…”

In just a few minutes, the auditioning actor perfectly portrayed Kirei Kotomine’s morally ambiguous, conflicted nature—blurring the lines between good and evil.

Compared to the other stage actors, the members of the Snow Flower Troupe seemed to be on an entirely different level. Their acting prowess was so evident that even Banier had been full of praise for them.

“You’ve got the part,” Edward said. “But remember, when you’re performing later, your expression needs to be more… gleeful. Not sure what I mean by gleeful? Just… smile more creepily, okay?”

Though the actor portraying Kirei seemed a bit confused, he nodded, grateful to have landed the role. He then quietly left the room, his cold demeanor in stark contrast to the villainous character he had just portrayed. It was a reminder of how powerful acting could be.

Meanwhile, Edward couldn’t help but marvel at the Snow Flower Troupe. They were indeed the top stage performers in the southern territories. Each actor had impressive individual skills, and most of the troupe members were male—perfect for the film Edward was planning. Unlike other troupes filled with female leads and overacted performances, the Snow Flower Troupe was precisely what Edward needed.

However, not every stage actor was naturally suited for film. Some couldn’t shake their theatrical habits, and despite Edward’s leniency, he couldn’t approve of those who didn’t meet his standards. Naturally, those who failed the audition were disappointed and began venting their frustrations to the troupe manager, Chase.

“That director doesn’t understand what real acting is, Mr. Chase! I’ve starred in countless productions throughout the southern territories, but that director refused to acknowledge my emotional delivery or even my singing, which you’ve always praised!” one actor complained.

Chase, listening quietly, took the script for the role of Kiritsugu Emiya from the young man’s hand and calmly asked, “Did you read the story script that was handed out earlier?”

“The story script? What’s the point of that? With my talent, I don’t need to read the script to perfectly portray a role. I’ve performed countless scripts, even yours, Mr. Chase!”

Hearing this arrogant reply, Chase sighed, pulling out the copy of Fate/Zero that Edward had distributed to all the actors.

“Since you didn’t read it, there’s nothing more to say. I know you have great potential as a stage actor, but unfortunately, we’re in the era of film now.”

“Mr. Chase?” the young actor asked, surprised.

“If you want to stay, read this script first,” Chase said, handing over the story. He then took back the role of Kiritsugu Emiya from the actor’s hands.

The young man, taken aback, was surprised to see Chase walking towards the audition room himself.

But what had he just said? The manager of the troupe, too, was going to perform?

Suddenly, hushed murmurs filled the room as various people began speculating. Meanwhile, a beautiful silver-haired woman off to the side, observing the man who hadn’t shown such a look in a long time, gently curled her lips into a smile.

Edward, who had long wanted to see the troupe manager try out for a role, smiled and nodded, waving his hand, “Of course, go ahead.”

Chase was about to perform a scene from Fate Zero‘s final act, where the dying Kiritsugu Emiya has a conversation with his adopted son under the moonlight after the Holy Grail War.

Since Edward had only given the first chapter of the story’s script, much of the later plot had to be filled in by the actors themselves. Everyone participating was aware of this, and it was also why some actors hadn’t bothered reading the full script. As the troupe’s manager, Chase, who had been watching the actors’ performances all along, knew this well. So, he immediately covered the lines on the script and began the performance fully immersed.

“…When I was young, I once dreamed of becoming a hero of justice.”

The room fell silent. Even those who had initially wanted to mock the manager now looked at him in disbelief. Meanwhile, Chase continued his performance.

“Yes, it’s a bit regrettable, isn’t it? Even heroes have an expiration date. Once you grow up, it becomes difficult to be one. I should’ve realized that sooner.”

…

“Yeah, it really is inevitable.”

…

“Yes, ahh—now I can rest easy.”

…

Although the dialogue in this scene was sparse, anyone familiar with cinema knew that this sequence was truly about facial expressions and body language. Chase’s performance could only be described as perfect.

In that moment, he seemed as though he truly was someone who had weathered storms, endured countless traumas, and now, at last, was settling into peace. He embodied someone who had once pursued an impossible, elusive dream, only to fall short and collapse along the way—a disillusioned idealist.

As his performance concluded, the entire room broke into applause. Particularly the silver-haired beauty who had been watching Chase closely—while clapping, her eyes glistened with tears.

“That was an outstanding performance, Mr. Chase. I thought you were merely the manager of this troupe, but it turns out you possess the acting skills worthy of this position. In fact, I believe you’re even more suited for the stage than some of your own actors.”

Hearing Edward’s praise, Chase didn’t say much. He simply asked quietly, “Did I pass?”

“Of course! Congratulations, you’re in. Please take a short break.”

Edward seemed equally pleased as he spoke. His judgment had been correct—the manager of the Snow Flower Troupe indeed had the talent for acting. Though it was unclear why Chase had been content to remain behind the scenes rather than perform, for now, he had proven himself to be the perfect candidate for the role of Kiritsugu Emiya.

As Chase returned to his seat, the young actor who had been so boisterous and full of complaints earlier now sat with his nose buried in the script Chase had handed him. His expression continuously shifting, it was clear that the fantastical, unconventional story of Fate Zero had completely captivated him.