Creating Anime In A Fantasy World

Chapter 230: The Screening of Paradox Spiral Concludes! (Part 4)

Edward froze for a moment at the sudden question. After quickly organizing his thoughts, he replied:

“Currently, our studio is working on three projects: the continuation of The Garden of Sinners with its sixth installment, the third chapter of Fate/Zero, and the concluding arc of Steins;Gate. Among these, The Garden of Sinners is scheduled for monthly screenings, while Fate/Zero Chapter Three and Steins;Gate: Part Two will be released next spring.”

The Duke’s sharp gaze narrowed.

“In that case, how do you intend to open the market in other territories of the Empire? Do you plan to simply recycle the old films?”

The question left Edward silent, his expression tightening as he sank into thought.

Truthfully, this was an issue he had wrestled with before. Considering the cultural differences across the Empire, he had concluded that new, original films would be the best way to expand into other territories. But reality was not so kind.

The current production schedule was already stretched beyond its limits. Not only did he need to prepare the next month’s The Garden of Sinners in advance, he also had to oversee Fate/Zero and Steins;Gate simultaneously. At this rate, the workload would drive him into the ground, just as it had the last time.

Given such constraints, there was simply no room to shoot entirely new films.

Which meant—if the expansion had to happen in the short term—the only option was to use the existing films as placeholders.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. It felt half-hearted, and Edward himself hated the idea of leaving audiences without fresh content for so long. But until the schedule could be untangled, he had no choice.

The Duke’s disappointment was plain on his face. For a man who was clearly a devoted film enthusiast, the desire to see new works as soon as possible was only natural.

Moreover, it was already November. The new year was fast approaching, and in the Duke’s mind, releasing films to the wider Empire during that festive season would have been the perfect opportunity to ignite the market.

Still, he was not without understanding. Seeing the difficulty in Edward’s eyes, the Duke did not press him further. He simply let the regret sink quietly into his heart.

As the conversation wound down, and the Southern Nobles’ Annual Gathering neared its end, a small group of nobles suddenly approached from across the hall. One of them stepped forward and addressed the Duke respectfully:

“Duke, I am Viscount Rainier of the South.”

“What is it, Viscount Rainier?”

The Duke’s voice, once again carrying the weight of command, made the younger noble stiffen and tremble slightly before answering at once:

“In truth, Your Grace, my colleagues and I have long been fascinated by this thing called film. After some discussion—and with advice from the director of one of the South’s most prominent theater troupes—we have come to believe that creating a film is not beyond our abilities. Therefore, we intend to produce one ourselves!”

“…Oh? You intend to make a film of your own?”

The words drew not only the Duke’s interest, but Edward’s as well. His eyes widened in surprise.

He had suspected for some time that these young nobles were plotting something, but he had never expected this. They wanted to shoot a movie?

Before he could speak, the Duke leaned forward, his tone calm yet firm:

“The production of films is strictly regulated. The Imperial Law Association has already enacted numerous copyright statutes to protect such works. If you wish to create a film, you must first submit an application to the Imperial Film Review Committee.”

As he said this, the Duke cast a subtle glance in Edward’s direction—after all, it was none other than Edward himself who served as the head of that very committee.

Of course, while the title of Imperial Film Review Committee sounded grand, the truth was that the organization had only just been established. In practice, it was little more than a name with no real power behind it.

Though most might dismiss the Film Review Committee as an empty shell, the Duke of the South knew better.

Its true founder was none other than His Majesty the Emperor himself. With the Emperor’s name behind it, even the most insignificant of organizations could wield unimaginable influence.

Hearing the Duke’s words, Viscount Rainier froze for a heartbeat. Clearly, this was the first he’d heard of the committee’s existence. Yet, to his credit, he recovered quickly, maintaining a composed air as he replied:

“Regarding the Film Review Committee—I shall submit an application in due course. And I firmly believe that so long as the review is fair, our new film will certainly pass. Once released, it is bound to capture the attention of the entire world!”

“…Oh?”

The Duke’s interest was piqued. He hadn’t expected such confidence from the young viscount. With a faint smile, he pressed further, asking a series of pointed questions—about the film’s production schedule, its release timing, its venues, and even the general content and structure of the work.

Prepared in advance, Rainier answered each query with practiced ease, his words carrying that effortless nobility, that innate elegance expected of his station.

Edward, listening quietly to the exchange from the side, pieced together the situation.

These nobles had pooled their resources and banded together with several southern theater troupes on the verge of collapse. They were adapting one of those troupes’ scripts into a film. The equipment? Purchased under patent from the Imperial Mage Academy. The production? Already halfway finished.

They had even chosen their release date—right at the turn of the Imperial New Year, when both the eastern and western territories were scheduled to open their markets to film. Their aim was obvious: to seize the initiative and stake their claim before anyone else.

A clever plan, Edward admitted. On the surface, he remained expressionless, but within, he felt the faint stirrings of unease.

He hadn’t expected competition to arise so quickly. Not that he minded competition—in truth, he welcomed the prospect of seeing this world’s cultural industry flourish. But the films these nobles were cobbling together? He didn’t even need to see them to know. His gut told him what kind of shallow, uninspired work they would produce.

For the future he envisioned—one of beauty and artistry—such things could not be allowed to take root.

Of course, Edward also knew his limits. The power of review had been entrusted to him by Emperor Hubbard himself. In theory, he could wield it however he wished. But his position was far too precarious for arbitrary decisions. Every action he took would be scrutinized, twisted, perhaps even weaponized by others.

Which meant he had no choice but to remain utterly impartial, to guard his reputation for fairness. That, after all, was precisely why the Emperor had chosen him—the inventor of film—to head the committee. The political instinct of rulers, their ability to see three steps ahead… sometimes it was frightening.

So, in the end, Edward’s path was clear.

He would not use the committee to crush these nobles. No—He would use film itself.

With brilliance, with undeniable artistry, he would shatter their shallow ambitions, tear apart their hollow dreams, and—without question—obliterate them on the open stage of cinema!