How to Live as a Martial Arts Writer in a Fantasy World

11 – 11. Art is Not a Utility

11.

“…You’re completely exhausted, master.”

“I’m tired.”

Alan was sprawled out on the bed, receiving a massage from Meia.

Time had flown by, and all the decisions for the first week of lectures were over. There had been turmoil when Professor McKillan was dismissed, and Duke Mueller personally came to the academy causing a great commotion.

But yet, it was of comfort.

“…I didn’t expect you to go as far as to writing to the duke directly.”

“He had the audacity to belittle me right in front of my face. Annoying.”

“I understand.”

As Meia applied some force to her hand, Allen screamed out in pain.

“It hurts!”

“Your muscles are somewhat knotted. Considering you don’t exercise at all, experiencing pain is expected.”

“Ugh, darn it, ow! Meia, it hurts! I said it hurts!”

Meia quietly exerted force pressing down on Allen’s back.

While Allen was screaming, Meia swallowed a sigh as she looked down at the back of his head.

‘No difference between now and when you were young, seriously.’

Allen had a characteristically indifferent attitude towards most things, beyond keeping peace.

He is genuinely indifferent to things he isn’t interested in.

He doesn’t pay much attention to his surroundings, and never bends his insistence on matters he believes to be right.

Quite so, never bending his opinions even before the Duke of Muller, who is feared and respected by any imperialist.

‘I can’t help but worry…’

Her hand naturally filled with force.

If it weren’t for Allen, who rescued Meia – a child cursed and excluded because of her white hair, she would not have had the chance to rely on the Muller family.

The reason she even learned swordsmanship directly from the Duchess of Muller was because she wanted to be of help to Allen.

The reason the Duke of Muller has placed her with Allen is due to her special role as his escort maid.

“Ouch! Meia!”

“Hold on. It seems like on days without lessons, you should spar a bit with me in the morning, my lord.”

“Why should I?”

“You’ve lost a lot of stamina. Your body is quite knotted up.”

“Ah, darn it!”

As Meia pressed down, Allen screamed.

Meia, who made Allen collapse with a simple flick of her finger, spoke while straightening her index finger.

“If you’re going to neglect exercise during your time at the academy, I will have no choice but to personally instruct you.”

“Ah, I don’t want to…”

“Regardless of concentration, if your stamina weakens, you’ll even face difficulties in writing. Please follow me for your health’s sake.”

“Okay. I said okay. Don’t push, ow!”

Meia, who effortlessly overcame Allen’s resistance, adjusted her glasses and spoke.

“You’ve worked hard for a week. How was your life at the academy without me?”

“…It was hard.”

This wasn’t a jest – it really was difficult.

Allen wasn’t so incapable to not be able to live just because there wasn’t someone by his side taking care of him.

What made Allen struggle wasn’t any inability, but more so the bothersome people around him.

“How is the writing going?”

“Why do you ask?”

“The Duke has asked for the next volume to be ready…”

“My father?”

“Yes.”

Allen held his forehead.

“I’m working on the next volume for now. Today, I have to submit my lecture timetable so I need to rest a bit.”

“I understand. I’ll go and submit the timetable to the office.”

“It should be on the desk….”

“Sir?”

From Noble mtl dot com

While Maya turned away for a minute, Allen was sound asleep, his head buried in the pillow and emitting a soft snore.

Looking at this sight, Maya gently laughed, then covered him with a blanket and quietly exited the room.

“Goodnight, sir.”

***

Verza Imperial Academy operates a semester system.

Consisting of four months for the first semester, two months of vacation, six months for the second semester, and another two months of vacation, it wasn’t very demanding.

However, during those four months, students often suffered due to the lack of time as they had to enroll in a variety of subjects.

At the four-year Verza Academy, each department had as many as 18 majors and a minimum of 12 majors.

The Knight Department had the minimum 12, the Magic Department had the second highest with 18, and the Humanities Department, which Allen was enrolled in, exceeded both with 24 majors.

“This can’t be right!”

Of course, the reason the Humanities Department offered so many majors, including economics, was because it was one of the elite courses aiming to nurture professional bureaucrats. That could be understood.

The problem, as far as Allen saw it, was that he did not understand how the Humanities Department, which didn’t even have a creative literature course, was considered the headquarters of the empire’s literature cartel.

Just looking at the names of the courses; Literature, Understanding Literature, Grammar Studies, Basics of Writing, Ancient Linguistics, Modern Linguistics, and Magic Character Interpretation made his head ache.

“Biology, Theology, History of the Continent, Math… This is madness. Isn’t Math supposed to be in the Technical Department?”

Allen decided to give up on Math. Not that it was ever a consideration in the first place.

Interested in magic, he decided to take basic magic classes, as well as courses in herbology, the history of magic, potion crafting, and added astronomy to the curriculum. Consequently, there were more than a few things to consider.

“Why did I sign up for this, it’s not like I’m at Hogwarts.”

He muttered, his hand on his forehead, wishing he had a time-turning hourglass to make things easier.

Professor Quiros shouldn’t have suggested such a thing…”

As he grumbled, he quickly scrawled onto a piece of paper while slowly munching on the toast that Meia had brought for breakfast.

Today was a day for a debate in the literature class.

It was also the day when Professor Quiros had given him unnecessary stress.

“Why would they be curious about something like my opinion?”

Having swallowed his toast, he checked over his summarized notes once again.

“Why should there even be a debate?”

Alan was not the type to enjoy debates.

He did love reading, but he was not sociable enough to discuss his thoughts with others. He also did not like writing reflections.

Therefore, he did not particularly enjoy debates.

In fact, he did not enjoy face to face discussions as a person whose primary way of communicating was through texting.

Knock, knock. A sound came from the door.

It was Meia.

“Sir, you should depart soon.”

“I know.”

After pushing aside the plate of finished toast, Alan rose from his seat.

***

“Though I mentioned a debate, it’s closer to a presentation where everyone shares their thoughts. If someone has a rebuttal, then a discussion occurs.”

Before commencing the lesson, Professor Quiros advised all his students in this manner.

“I wonder what you young scholars think. The topic is, as I mentioned last time, ‘Is Art a Tool for Showcasing Our Cultured Knowledge?'”

Alan thought it was a proposition that could be likely be true in this world, if not on Earth.

The idea was similar to the concept that literature and novels were consumed exclusively by the nobility.

“Anyone ready to present?”

“I’ll go first.”

There were murmurs of surprise.

Though he seemed to be from a high-ranking family, Alan wasn’t bothered. After all, there were even members of the royal family in this classroom.

“To begin at the end, it is true that art was chosen as a tool for the debate of culture and knowledge.”

“State your name first.”

“I am James Helmuth Von Moore.”

“Moore, from the house of Baron Moore. Continue with your presentation.”

At Professor Quirous’ words, James gave a slight laugh and continued his speech.

“The development of art came in tandem with the development of culture. Naturally, we nobles had the greatest influence on the development of culture. Without nobles, the culture enjoyed by commoners would not exist. Commoners simply inherited a part of the culture enjoyed by the nobles, so art indeed serves as a tool.”

“I can’t agree with that view.”

Alan spoke, sitting with his arms folded in a defiant posture.

“I can’t agree that art is a tool for the discourse of culture and knowledge.”

“Alan Edgar Von Muller. Will you present?”

“Yes.”

As Alan slowly stood up, he caught the gaze of James, the son of Baron Moore, who was watching him.

All eyes in the classroom were drawn to Alan, coming down.

The youngest son of the Muller family, and the author of Schuren’s chronicle, now a topic of conversation not only in the academy but also in the imperial court.

Silence fell as if waiting for his presentation.

Alan stood opposite James.

“There’s something we need to clarify first.”

“What’s that?”

“What is art?”

It’s a very fundamental question.

At the end of an ensuing silence, Alan opened his mouth.

“The definition of art is not set. If someone thinks something is art, even if it may seem like mere scribbling to others, then it’s art. The nobles greatly influenced the origins of art and culture? That’s not wrong.”

Alan looked at James as he spoke.

James was grinning, seemingly triumphant, as if to say, ‘You can’t help but acknowledge my opinion, can you?’

“But it seems like you completely ignored the fact that the root word for ‘art’ is the same as ‘technology.’ James Moore.”

“What…”

“The academic field most despised by nobles is technology. Art refers to both ‘technique’ and ‘study.’ You should have learned something as basic as this.”

James’ face crumbled as if struck by poison.

Alan continued his words.

“Art is not something done by the artist alone, but the interaction with those who share the art is also part of the art. It’s obviously not a tool to show off culture and knowledge.”

“That’s impossible! A lowly commoner with no rightful claim to enjoy high art could never comprehend it!”

“Who decided that?”

At Alan’s words, James was left speechless.

“Did God decree from the beginning that art is solely the province of the nobility? I didn’t learn anything like that in theology class.”

As James tried to speak, Alan cut in again.

“And if it’s truly the exclusive property of the nobility, does that mean it’s beyond even the royal family? Is that correct?”

“What kind of sophistry…”

“Seeing that you suggest without nobility there’d be no art, it sounds like you’re suggesting the nobility are the cultural leaders, and that the royals have no place in that realm, right?”

Ignoring James, who was rendered speechless, Alan looked around.

“There are no absolute standards for art. As I’ve said before, what someone may have scribbled can later be reevaluated as art by future generations. Witless drawings can be sublimated into art; it’s not unheard of.”

“An interesting viewpoint. Continue, Alan Muller.”

“It’s undeniable that the nobility have greatly influenced the development of art. Without the patronage of the nobility, even the most talented artist can end up unable to practice their art due to financial issues.”

Indeed, during the Renaissance, prominent families generously sponsored great artists. It was they who enabled the likes of Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and Raphael Sanzio to bring their art into the world.

Certainly, there must be artists of comparable greatness on the continent of Rosegia as well.

Alan stated, “In the end, ‘art’ is a concept that exists somewhere between being a tool and a conviction, a dissonance. It’s dualistic, just like pursuing commercial value for subsistence rather than solely for personal belief. But, if you ask me whether it’s merely a tool for culture and knowledge.”

Art is both a tool and a commodity.

Alan concluded his point.

“I would emphatically say ‘no’.”

If you ask why,

“Because art, from the start, was never bound to anyone, nor was it born to be a tool.”

Silence fell upon Alan’s declaration.

Had the young novelist’s words impressed everyone? Alone in the heavy silence, Alan suddenly realized, belatedly, that in his feverish state he had rambled on absurdly.

‘…I’m screwed.’

The moment a bead of sweat slid down Alan’s forehead, applause erupted like a sudden downpour.