I Became A Playwright In Medieval Fantasy

Cough, cough!

The sound of a cough erupted from deep within his throat.

Sensing his time left in this world was short, the elderly alchemist, Flamelious, let out a long sigh.

He had taken great pride in his life’s work. As an alchemist, he had set an example for others, raising brilliant students. He had diligently studied ancient knowledge and made significant contributions as a scholar.

But no matter how many disciples he trained or how deeply he delved into ancient texts, there was one thing he could never achieve.

It was the greatest aspiration shared by all alchemists since the profession's inception—crafting the legendary "Philosopher's Stone" with his own hands.

“Know thyself. I know that I know nothing.”@@novelbin@@

He muttered this phrase like a magic incantation, closing the book in front of him.

In the empire, all alchemy was based on knowledge passed down from ancient texts, a foundation that alchemists, regardless of age or status, could not question.

Having spent his life studying these ancient texts, Flamelious believed that he was the one destined to complete the field of alchemy.

But after reading Phantom’s Lesedrama, his perspective shifted.

The image of sophists, who revealed their ignorance yet never admitted it, caused him to unwittingly reflect on his own limitations.

...Of course, Flamelious's situation wasn't an exact parallel to the sophists' debates.