Editor 119

Against the Darkness (6)

The crown prince’s unique skill had reached its limit and was urgently demanding [Mitigation]. The Onyx of Submersion seemed like a magic stone that could help in such a case.

‘If it was just about the magic stone, Taetherton would have delivered it right away on command, so why did Melchior come all the way to the Tristain estate himself in this chaos?’

Cleio had some clues at hand.

The crown prince’s unusually unstable condition.

A magic stone that stabilizes emotions.

‘Maybe….’

The border knights, who hadn’t caught the tension between the crown prince and the boy, looked rather confused.

‘Who is that little mage for His Highness the Crown Prince to pay so much attention to him?’

One of them, a young knight who looked just like Trude but much younger, cluelessly spoke up in a loud voice about what he knew.

‘Didn’t you know? That’s Sir Cleio, the youngest knight! He’s the mage who caught a magical beast in the capital and received the Capital Defense Medal!’

‘What are you talking about? Second Trude, you and Nia came from the capital, but how would we, stuck here, know the news from the capital?’

‘Central newspapers get delivered to the castle! Don’t you read them? When I was in the capital with the young master, the whole social scene was abuzz about that mage. He could summon spears and make it snow with magic.’

‘Little Trude, is that true?’

‘I’m telling you, it’s real! There were even rumors that His Highness made personal requests of him. The capital defense knights told me.’

‘Huh. I just thought he was some rich kid.’

‘No, George, who teaches swordsmanship in the capital defense, sent a letter! Said there are amazing kids at the school!’

‘Who read that letter again?’

‘I don’t even remember! We were so busy!’

Amidst the commotion sweeping through the banquet hall, Cleio closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again as if making up his mind.

Standing in the bright threat of this side, on behalf of the protagonist hidden in the darkness outside the window, was the price Cleio paid for the honor he had received.

Unable to wait even the blink of an eye, Melchior betrayed his impatience. The crown prince, always more composed than his age, uncharacteristically grabbed Cleio’s elbow.

To others, it may have looked like a gesture of friendliness, but in reality he didn’t control his strength at all—Cleio’s whole left arm tingled the moment it was grabbed.

Though not as well trained as Arthur or Aslan, Melchior was also a level 4 swordsman. With his full strength, Cleio had no choice but to be dragged along.

The crown prince spoke into the boy’s ear as if sharing a friendly chat, but his words were cold and businesslike.

“Have you ever met the Duke of Tristain?”

“No, I have not been granted an audience.”

“Then now is a good chance to meet him. Let’s be grateful for the planned harmony that kept you here.”

Muttering something cryptic, Melchior pulled Cleio along as if urging him.

Without waiting for orders, Prince Taetherton immediately sensed Melchior’s intent and led the two at the front.

The prince’s manner toward the crown prince was more like that of a personal attendant or servant than the eldest son of a venerable ducal family. Cleio found that odd.

Just by glancing around the room, Melchior quelled any questions about his sudden departure. His demeanor made it impossible for anyone to voice doubts.

Even as he was dragged away by the crown prince’s talon-like grip, Cleio matched his stride and acted as naturally as possible.

Since it was dark outside and bright inside, the interior would be clearly visible from outside.

If given a bit more time, Arthur would surely burst in and try to stop this sudden removal.

Normally, Melchior would pretend to laugh off the youngest’s immature antics, but today he was different.

Cleio knew what a man who had lost his smile could do. At such times, he would never act like a well-fed beast.

Glancing back, Cleio saw Arthur still unable to get past Mietz’s blockade.

‘That’s good enough.’

Cleio lowered his gaze to avoid revealing the silent collusion between himself and Mietz.

Soon, instead of the smoothly worn floor of the banquet hall, an unlit corridor appeared before him.

Melchior’s hand, still clutching Cleio’s elbow, was chillingly cold.

.

.

.

The duke’s bedroom was at the very top floor of the main palace.

The old-style building had narrow windows and poor airflow. The smell filling the room was the stench of death.

Duke Theo Tristain, dried up like a mummy, looked so unwell it was strange he was even breathing.

The Onyx of Submersion, which Arthur had given to Vice Captain Rotan, was placed beside the duke’s pillow.

Since it was just a raw stone with no magic formula inscribed, it seemed to have done little to improve the duke’s condition.

The magic stone’s significance was merely the desperate hope of the knights and castle folk.

‘No matter what formula you inscribe, you can’t save a man whose time is up.’

Healing magic was not all-powerful. The old level 3 mage Meyer, who resided at the castle, seemed exhausted just keeping the duke breathing.

In the previous draft, the late Duke Tristain had never even appeared alive.

‘It was only natural—Melchior needed control of the order of knights.’

But perhaps the reason the duke in the final draft had not died was that this shriveled old man was resisting the author’s intent?

If Melchior could do so, there was no reason other characters couldn’t do the same.

Now that he thought about it, it was strange that a mage from the capital was attending the old man who could die at the slightest touch.

Taetherton’s strongest connection was Melchior, and in truth, Melchior had no reason to keep Theo alive.

‘The Melchior in the final draft tends to permit any developments that differ from previous drafts, even if they work against him. Was his speech not a lie after all…?’

On the contrary, Taetherton seemed to have little interest in the duke’s life or death.

The knight, looking down indifferently at his own father, picked up the onyx and handed it to Melchior with both hands.

‘Promise’ once again explained the use of the magic stone.

[Onyx of Submersion
: Brings stability to body and emotion, increases mental defense.]

In the light visible only to Cleio, Melchior, sitting on a chair by the bed, pressed his lightly sweating temple.

His trembling lashes, shaken by pain, cast a shadow that flickered over his bloodless cheek, creating the illusion of tears.

The crown prince, barely managing to control his pain, glanced absentmindedly at the magic stone Taetherton held out.

Though his attitude wasn’t enthusiastic, Cleio could tell that the crown prince absolutely needed this stone.

What boiled in the wide, crimson expanse of the crown prince’s eyes was a kind of anger and impulse.

Normally, it was impossible to read the crown prince’s thoughts. But today, his uncharacteristic actions left all sorts of clues.

“Perception” and “Separation” were still active. With a narrative intervention rate at 30 percent, Cleio had intuition surpassing his usual level.

‘That’s the attitude of a control freak furious at not being able to control himself. He loathes having to rely on something external.’

Previous drafts had never explained the inner life of ‘Melchior Riognan.’

A prince who was a disaster, a fortress of iron.

The man now enduring pain, soaked in sweat before Cleio’s eyes, was both the same and not the same as that prince.

A brief glimpse into the mind of someone he never thought he could understand gave ‘Jungjin’ a feeling that was hard to describe.

All of this was just a story someone had written, and yet within it, people with blood, flesh, and body heat were suffering.

It was an event that transcended the reality he knew.

Cleio forced himself to scatter his thoughts. If there was anyone most unworthy of pity in this draft, it was Melchior.

“Sir Cleio. You can operate the [Mitigation] magic formula, can’t you?”

“…Yes.”

[Mitigation] was a very basic magic formula. Even Fran could use it; any mage would know it by heart.

‘But there must be a reason he brought me here just to use [Mitigation] magic, right?’

Melchior, wiping sweat from his brow again, was worsening by the minute.

The power the crown prince held was far too great for one human mind to bear. That beautiful golden hair, along with the madness, was inherited through the royal bloodline.

‘If he goes mad….’

If ‘that incident’ were to occur not on the black and white pages of a book, but in the ‘reality’ Cleio had chosen—

The moment his concern reached as far as the crown prince’s potential, terror swept over him. Cleio forced his trembling body to steady itself.

At the same time, he cranked “Separation” up to the maximum. Like the pressure in his ears when a plane takes off, he felt dazed for a moment, then suddenly relieved. “Separation” gave Cleio the composure to assess the situation again.

“Now, I’ll say this only once, so do exactly as I say.”

Melchior, taking the magic stone from Taetherton, urged Cleio to take it.

Suddenly holding the precious stone, Cleio focused to discern Melchior’s intentions.

“You are a level 4 mage, aren’t you? Fill all four of your magic slots with [Mitigation], and finally use this onyx to double-cast the same formula.”

“Is Your Highness the target of [Mitigation]?”

“Who else would it be?”

“Though the formula doesn’t leave aftereffects even if it fails, I’m nervous to use magic on Your Highness’s esteemed person. Of course, you do look a bit fatigued, but unless it’s urgent, wouldn’t it be better to return to the capital and see the royal magic supervisor…?”

“You are a knight appointed by me, and thus you have a duty to follow orders.”

“While under the effect of [Mitigation], Your Highness, who is not a mage, will be completely defenseless. Are you sure that’s all right?”

“My loyal knight is here, so you needn’t worry. Open your circle.”

Thinking, ‘Why is he trusting me with his treatment?’ Cleio suddenly realized the answer.

Trust aside, Cleio was the only one here who could do this.

If it were the level 3 mage attending the duke, right, double-casting wouldn’t be possible.

Melchior was desperate.

The phrase ‘desperate Melchior’ felt as jarring as a misused particle in a sentence. It was an adjective that shouldn’t modify that man.

Even so, that firm order sounded like a plea.

“If I fail, what punishment will I receive?”

“Well, that’s up to Prince Taetherton over there, not me.”

The crown prince, lips dried and devoid of shine, completed his sentence in a voice that was lower and more human than necessary.

“Did you know, Sir Cleio? When the duke dies, the title is immediately inherited by his successor. The noble and corrupt Duke of Armorique holds the right of summary judgment over every person in these northern lands, and that’s not like the authority of a justice of the peace.”

Cleio reflexively looked to his left at Taetherton.

At some point, the prince had silently drawn his sword from its scabbard. The flickering gaslight shone on the blade, sharp enough to cut through the darkness.

Even as his father’s death was discussed, Taetherton showed no agitation. He wasn’t even looking at Cleio or the duke in the first place.

The only one reflected in his loyal eyes, from the first meeting until now, was Melchior Riognan. Every other human, except Melchior, meant nothing to the prince.

Cleio realized.

Taetherton Tristain was someone who, if necessary, could kill his own father. Without a moment’s hesitation.