Overwhelming Firepower

Chapter 371: Taren Bell

Taren Bell was a woodsman, and a pretty good one at that. Still, that was not the job he wanted.

Ever since he saw the play The Man of a Thousand Quests, which was written by Lucen Thornehart, he had become enamored with acting. It was not only the emotions the actors portrayed on stage, but also the way they seemed to become completely different people once they performed.

He watched other plays and was excited every time the actors became different people. Even though they only did plays in Norvaegard, the way they portrayed each character made them feel like they had been all over and had experienced many things.

A man who had never held a sword could become a hero. A woman who had never left the capital could become a wandering saintess.

A coward could become a warrior, and a warrior could become a broken old man who had lost everything. To Taren, that was amazing.

A woodsman was a woodsman. He cut trees, carried wood, repaired tools, and returned home tired. No matter how good he became at it, tomorrow would still be the same.

But an actor could live many lives; that thought never left him. His parents did not dislike his dream, but they also did not understand it.

"Taren, acting gives nothing but entertainment. Cutting wood gives us fire, it makes houses, weapons, and everything we need," his father had once told him while sharpening an axe.

Taren understood what his father meant. Wood was useful. Wood was necessary. In a kingdom like Norvaegard, where winter could be harsh and monsters could destroy homes in a single night, wood was not something people could live without.

A woodsman was not a glamorous job, but it was an honest one. That was why Taren never hated his work.

He knew how to choose the right tree. He knew how to cut without wasting too much strength. He knew how to listen to the sound of splitting wood and understand whether the grain was good or stubborn.

He knew how to carry logs on his shoulder until his muscles burned. He knew how to sharpen an axe, mend a handle, and stack firewood so it would not rot in the rain.

He was truly good at being a woodsman, but he found no joy in it. In his mind, work was work. Why would anyone find joy in it in the first place?

Those were his thoughts before he saw people who truly enjoyed their jobs, not just enjoyed them, but were obsessed with them.

"If you truly like acting, then practice," his mother had told him once while mending his shirt. "But do not forget that dreams might shine bright in your eyes, but you must not be blinded by them. I hope you do your best, my son."

Those words stayed with Taren for a long time. His mother had not told him to give up. She had not laughed at him or called his dream foolish.

She had simply reminded him that a dream was not something a person should chase with empty hands. If he wanted to become an actor, then he needed to practice.

So Taren practiced. At first, he practiced in the forest while cutting wood.

When he was alone, he would repeat lines he remembered from plays. Sometimes, he acted as a brave knight standing before a monster.

Sometimes, he acted as a dying soldier speaking his final words. Sometimes, he acted as a noble villain who looked down on everyone. The forest became his stage, and the trees became his audience.

As he practiced acting, he simply closed his eyes and imagined the life of a certain character and convinced himself that he was truly that character. Surprisingly enough, this method seems to work as he felt like even his state of mind was changing as he acted.

When he acted as a brave knight, his back straightened, his grip on the axe changed, and even the way he looked at the trees before him became different.

When he acted as a cowardly soldier, his shoulders shrank, his breathing became shallow, and his steps became hesitant.

When he acted as an arrogant noble villain, his chin rose without him realizing it, and his voice became slower, colder, and far more irritating.

Taren enjoyed that for a brief moment; he was not Taren Bell but someone else with a more exciting life.

To learn more to be better at acting, he started observing people more closely.

He watched how merchants smiled when they wanted to sell overpriced goods. He watched how guards stood when they were bored compared to when they were alert. He watched how nobles spoke to servants and how servants spoke when nobles were not listening.

He watched drunk mercenaries boast about battles, old widows bargain over firewood, children pretending to be knights, and priests speaking as if every word they said carried the weight of the gods.

To other people, these were ordinary sights. To Taren, they were lessons.

Every person became a character. Every habit became something he could borrow. Every expression became something he could practice.

Of course, watching and practicing did not mean he immediately became good. He had tried acting in front of other people, like his friends, but they could not say if he was good or not.

Still, that did not deter him, and he continued practicing. That was when he saw something; it was a poster.

Lucen Thornehart was looking for new actors to play a part in his new project. Taren knew that he could not pass up this chance.

’Even if I don’t pass, this will be a good experience.’ With those words of encouragement to himself, he went to the audition.

***

When Taren arrived at the theater, he immediately realized that he might have underestimated how many people wanted this chance. There were far more applicants than he expected.

Some wore fine clothes. Some carried themselves like trained actors. Some were so handsome or beautiful that Taren wondered if they had been sculpted rather than born. Compared to them, Taren felt painfully ordinary.

His clothes were clean, but simple. His hands were rough from years of holding an axe, and even though he had washed carefully before coming, he could still feel the faint scent of wood and sap clinging to him. For a moment, he wondered if he should leave.

Then he looked at the audience seats, and there he was, Lucen Thornehart himself.

Even from a distance, Lucen looked exactly like the rumors said. Silver hair, ruby eyes, and a calm expression that made him look as if nothing in the world could truly shake him.

Beside him was Harry Nidhouni, a man Taren recognized from the theater world. Sitting farther back was a beautiful young lady with lavender eyes, watching the stage with quiet interest. Taren swallowed.

’So this is real.’

Seeing that Taren could not focus on the performances of the other actors, he instead used this time to internalize the character he was supposed to act as.

He had read the script given to him, and he had heard what kind of character he was, but he delved in deeper.

The character he was going to play was someone who wanted to prove something similar to him. He was someone who struggled and believed that no matter what, there was always a way to victory, no matter how hopeless it might seem.

Taren understood that feeling. He was not born with a beautiful face. He was not trained by famous actors. He did not have a noble family that could open doors for him.

He only had a dream, a rough voice, calloused hands, and the stubborn belief that if he kept trying, then one day, someone would look at him and say that he belonged on the stage.

So Taren closed his eyes. In his mind, he was no longer a woodsman standing in a theater. He was a boy from a northern village.

A boy holding an old deck left behind by his father. A boy standing before a noble rival who laughed at everything he had.

The old deck in his hand was weak. The cards were worn. His opponent had rare cards, expensive cards, and a confidence that seemed impossible to break.

Everyone watching thought he would lose. Yet despite all that, he did not break; he did not cower. He held on to one thought that broke away from the despair. The duel was not over.

"Taren Bell." Hearing his name, Taren opened his eyes. It was his turn. The person who stepped on the stage was not Taren Bell, but the card-wielding protagonist, Eren Holt.

Taren stepped into the center of the stage and held the script in his hand. His heart was pounding, but the trembling in his fingers slowly stopped.

He was no longer thinking about whether he looked plain. He was no longer thinking about the trained actors, the nobles, or the people watching him. In his mind, there was only the duel.

Harry looked down at the script. "Begin."

Taren slowly raised his head. His eyes were not filled with confidence. They were filled with the desperate belief of someone who had already been pushed to the edge and still refused to fall.

"You may laugh at my deck. You may call my cards weak."

His voice was rough, but it carried weight. He then placed his finger on the imaginary deck and closed his eyes.

"But every card in my hand carries the will of those who believed in me. As long as one card remains..."

Taren opened his eyes and smiled as he made a rather exaggerated movement, pulling a card from the imaginary deck. That movement made Lucen’s eyes widen slightly.

For a brief moment, he was no longer watching an audition in Norvaegard. He was remembering the card anime from his past life. Taren raised the invisible card high.

"This duel is not over!"