Editor 117

“Surely the young lord has his reasons. The young lord’s judgment, so much like the duke’s in both ability and character, must be better than ours. Let’s leave it at that.”

The topic had already shifted to the evening’s banquet, but Cleo couldn’t stop thinking about Melchior.

“Something about this feels strangely off.”

Perhaps the dynamic between Taeserton and Melchior wasn’t established in the 8th draft of that “Jeongjin” had read, but in an earlier manuscript.

“Since the previous version didn’t explain that.”

“Anyway, tonight we drink, drink! The vice-captain wouldn’t let us, I was going crazy!”

“All the hunters are back safe, too, so we have to celebrate a day like this!”

If even the wild animals had been taken care of, there would be no more danger in this territory.

Amid the excitement, only Cleo struggled to calm the anxiety rising in his heart.

“Is it really over like this? Author, you’re not planning another twist, are you?”

Bang!

As if in answer to Cleo’s question, at that moment the huge doors of the drawing room swung open on both sides. The doors were thrown so hard it seemed the entire wall shook.

A giant man came barreling into the drawing room, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Hey! What are you all doing gathered here! Don’t just sit there—armor up, grab your swords, and get out front!”

“What, what?”

“Is it an invasion? There wasn’t any trumpet!”

“Invasion? No! The young lord of Armorique has returned! And—”

As soon as they heard this, the knights who had been lazing about joking instantly sprang up like coiled springs and began filing out of the drawing room.

“Hurry up!”

“Move it!”

The knight who delivered the news shouted again after them.

“Let me finish! The young lord has escorted Crown Prince Melchior here! Get yourselves together twice as much and get out there!”

With the crowd of knights pouring out, Cleo was left alone on a hard wooden chair in the now-empty drawing room, frozen stiff like a wooden chip.

Speak of the devil and he appears.

“No, I didn’t even say it out loud. I just thought it!”

---

After the monster crisis was settled, the crown prince, who was inspecting the most severely damaged areas in order, had dragged photographers and journalists all the way up into these mountains.

Including vice-captain Rotan and Lysa, the entire 40-person knight order and a hundred soldiers stood in formation, their discipline sharp as a blade.

It was a completely different scene from what Cleo was used to seeing.

When all the lights in the castle were turned on, even the training ground was bright as day. Even in the barely-above-freezing air, no one shrank from the cold.

A brave northern army, hunting fierce beasts as if the rugged mountains were their backyard, exterminating monsters on a rampage.

Standing among them, Melchior’s dignified bearing stood out more than his usual gentle aura.

Blending in among the castle’s maids and attendants, watching from afar, Cleo thought.

“I know he came to create an image strong enough to outshine Aslan’s sudden rise… but he’s not the kind of man who’d go out of his way to make a show that doesn’t actually help. There must be some other motive.”

Just in case, he activated “Perception.” He was curious what Melchior and Rotan were talking about.

Their conversation was nothing but monsters, magic stones, and the ailing duke—Arthur’s name wasn’t even mentioned.

“Something about hoping the energy of the onyx magic stone might help, asking if the duke’s condition had improved, that sort of thing…”

It was right after a major crisis. With no special friendship and a different mother, the youngest prince trainee was clearly of no importance to Melchior.

“He couldn’t have come all this way just for that.”

Cleo’s suspicions only deepened.

Though not yet king, Melchior received status reports in a manner befitting one, then stepped forward to give a speech.

His voice rang out across the training ground. Cleo could sense even those hardened knights’ eyes growing moist.

Cleo put on a suitably moved expression to blend in.

“He’s not even using a unique skill today, but it works. Hoo.”

The speech itself was nothing special, but his voice, expression, bearing, and the place and time strongly stirred the emotions of everyone present.

The fact that Melchior himself had come to this remote land seemed to move them deeply. Even old Baku, leaning on his cane, was so moved that he muttered,

“I’ve seen three coronation eclipses in my life, but it’s the first time His Highness the Crown Prince has set foot on this far land. It’s a first in my life… The sun’s set, but it feels like it’s risen again…”

He repeated himself.

“In peaceful times, there are many who speak of courage, but in the face of trials, few who act. You are all my heroes, and each of you is a great person who has contributed to the survival of Albion.”

After praising the knights and soldiers for their amazing feats under dire circumstances, Melchior seemed genuinely somber as he lowered his eyes and paused.

Dozens of eyes were fixed solely on Melchior’s voice and movements, and after a beat, his next words sounded deeply sincere.

“I sincerely hope Lord Tristain wins his final battle with illness.”

For a moment, Cleo considered using “Appropriateness Judgement,” but held back in case Melchior noticed.

“He’s lying with his eyes wide open. It sounds like mere formality, but how does he make it sound so real?”

From Cleo’s perspective, it would be to Melchior’s benefit if Duke Theo Tristain died soon.

If he wanted to change the knight order’s disposition, the duke’s replacement would be a good excuse.

“Instead of just selecting a few knights to escort the young lord to the capital, if dozens of Tristain’s elite knights are stationed in the capital, the whole balance will shift.”

The Tristain knights were unique.

Anyone with ether sensitivity—whether commoners, stateless refugees, orphans, or illegitimate children—could become a knight’s squire, and all the training costs were covered by the ducal family.

If a poor family had a child with ether sensitivity, they would often send them to the duke’s estate to have one less mouth to feed.

So unlike the Capital Guard, which selected only the most talented youths, the young knights here weren’t very high level.

“But those who survived to thirty or forty are quite accomplished. The vice-captain and acting vice-captain are level 5 and 6.”

The limit of one’s ether vessel is innate and hard to surpass. But after repeated extreme situations, sometimes a miracle level-up happened.

“Only forty of them, but these people are nothing like the knights who just guard banquets or dignitaries in the capital.”

Now, Melchior was raising up these northern champions whom no one had ever praised before.

When the speech ended, cheers and applause loud enough to shake the castle erupted. It wasn’t forced, but came from deep within.

Only after several flashes from the journalists’ cameras did Melchior and the knights move inside.

Next, the main hall of the castle—kept closed during the winter—was thrown wide open.

Because it was hastily prepared, the hall was still cold and dusty, but it soon filled with knights and soldiers.

Except for those on guard and reserves, everyone, regardless of rank, could attend the banquet.

Of course, there was no champagne at this feast. Instead, three bottles of lake-distilled liquor were passed around as aperitifs before the early dinner.

Soon, fresh-baked bread, stew, pickled cabbage, and grilled sausages were served. The roasted game they’d hunted would appear later in the night.

The knights, standing comfortably without formality, toasted again and again, boasting of their adventures and achievements.

Among them were Melchior and Taeserton Tristain.

Though the young lord had been absent for a long time, once he returned, everything seemed to fall into place.

“It really is a knight order of strict discipline and loyalty to the Tristain family.”

Arthur and Isiel volunteered for guard duty outside, not wanting to get involved in troublesome matters.

Lysa, too, after making her report, stood guard in her armor at the entrance to the hall, insisting that security must be strict while a noble guest was present. Chel, naturally, stuck close to Lysa.

The twins didn’t even enter the hall, as preparing their game for roasting was more important than drinking with the men.

Standing quietly in the shadowed corner of the banquet hall, listening to the conversations, Cleo’s shoulder was suddenly tapped by someone who’d approached without a sound.

A large hand gripped his shoulder as he jumped in surprise.

“Hey, hey. You’re going to have a fit. What’s got you so jumpy?”

“Teacher Mietz…”

Even though the servants were carrying bottles around to pour drinks, Mietz had somehow obtained a big bottle of spirits and was grinning mischievously.

“Ugh, I hate being in crowds, but there’s nothing else to do here. Might as well drink in the corner. Aren’t you the same, Asser?”

Cleo nodded begrudgingly—it wasn’t wrong.

If he’d volunteered for night watch like Arthur, he could have skipped this, but it was too cold to go outside.

“When I was your age, I was bursting with energy, running around like a flying squirrel, but you really are an old soul, kid.”

Accepting the full glass Mietz offered, Cleo faintly lifted the corners of his mouth.

“Everyone has a different temperament. Arthur is bouncing around enough for both of us, isn’t he?”

The strong liquor slid down Cleo’s thin throat in one gulp.

Even after drinking it, the boy’s face didn’t flush; instead, he filled Mietz’s glass as well.

His calm, mature manner was so at odds with his clear, youthful face—it only made him stranger the more you got to know him.

Mietz had already heard what happened while he was away from the castle, both from the messenger sent to the subjugation team and from the other knights’ testimonies.

With powerful magic and excellent judgment, and being the youngest of the wealthy Asser family, Mietz couldn’t understand why he’d chosen to side with Arthur, who had such a rough fate.

“I don’t get it. You had so many options. Why did you choose that kid?”

Cleo nearly choked on his drink at Mietz’s blunt question, but didn’t show it. His skill at talking around things shone again.

“Because it has to be him. It’s not a choice, but a matter of necessity.”

It sounded like an answer, but in truth, explained nothing.

Mietz looked at the boy, smiling faintly in the shadows. It was an odd expression, both troubled and distant.

Of course, as always, Cleo was speaking nothing but the truth, but Mietz didn’t see it that way.

“Man, for Arthur to have a friend like you… I can’t tell if it’s divine providence or a devil’s prank.”

“Just as I ended up meeting you like this, it’s just fate, that’s all. Have another drink.”

“You’re a kid whose forehead isn’t even dry, but you talk like an old man.”

“Arthur’s wild as a thunderbolt, so it’s good for him to have a friend like me. Just as Isiel is upright and Chel is naturally bold, and both are good companions.”

“Friends, huh… So, you’re saying you’d jump into the fire with him if he went? What are you hoping to gain?”