Editor 146

Three Springs (5)

Cleio, now experiencing his third spring here, knew all the seasons of Albion.

In summer, the sun rose early and did not set until nine o’clock. In winter, night began at three-thirty. Instead of heavy snow or rain, gray weather continued for a long, long time.

Messages regarding the degree of narrative intervention surfaced only very occasionally once the cumulative rate exceeded 50%. “Promise” no longer intruded upon Cleio’s life as frequently as before.

He no longer regarded “Cleio Aser” as a third party. The name he previously had could not even be spoken, so he had no choice but to accept the newly given name.

After all, people were all thrown into a world they had never petitioned to be born into, made to live under conditions they did not choose.

Whether it was a world with a god or without one, that point remained the same.

No longer able to remain merely a reviser and observer of the world, Cleio accepted the world assigned to him.

Now his task was not to read the story, but to live inside it.

‘It may not be the same as “living” in the ordinary sense for those with a “promise,” but… anyway.’

The mind was a component subordinate to the body, and ideas were always weaker than matter. It had already been a long time since he grew accustomed to the affectionate voices that called him “Cleio.”

He had never found rest in his life and always clashed with the world. This place became his home without a hometown, a temporary place given to one who had never truly belonged anywhere.

Aslan would stage a rebellion in a more brutal way than before, Melchior would mercilessly use the knights of Tristein he had trained, but all those things belonged to a future that had not yet arrived.

If one knows the future, can one live differently?

No.

Look at the three royal brothers. Even eight repetitions and the accompanying memories could not completely change the journey of life.

Cleio recalled a novel he had read long ago about time travel. The protagonist tried to go to the past to prevent present tragedies, but kept failing.

In the end, the protagonist decided not to prevent the inevitable catastrophe, but to fully enjoy the moments of life given before it.

At the time, he could not understand the protagonist’s choice, but now he could comprehend the ending the narrator chose.

‘No matter how much you worry, nothing will change. And… at least I have one [Mitigation] card to use against Melchior.’

Cleio decided to make preparations as much as possible, but not to worry in advance about what was to come.

What he sincerely wished for now was only one thing.

That Arthur and Isiel, Dione and Chel, the twins, and Fran would enjoy a bit more peace and happiness.

It was an unfamiliar feeling, a wish for the full days of spring in life to last longer.

This spring day that would not last forever.

---

A week later.

Unlike the good weather of the previous week, on this day wind and rain started from dawn and even hail fell.

It was the morning of the scheduled major practical midterm.

Cleio, having packed his wand and wallet and put on his coat, looked back at his bed, where Behemoth was melting and dripping on the heated mat.

‘The mana stone mat is nice, but it’s a shame you can’t control the temperature. If I have time, I should modify the Tiplaum connection circuit to allow for several levels of adjustment.’

The mana stone mat he had made at the beginning of last year was meant for Cleio’s own comfort and well-being, but it seemed Behemoth was the one truly enjoying it.

Even if Cleio cast [Cleanse][Separate] spells on the mat during Behemoth’s territory inspections, the flannel fabric soon looked even darker gray than before. It was because Behemoth’s black fur stuck to it.

“Mot, aren’t you coming to watch the test today?”

“You go take the test by yourself. This cat cannot attend every exam like a parent.”

Already sprawled out and completely liquefied, Behemoth showed no intention of getting up.

“Yes, yes, I’ll obey, Mot-nim. Our old cat, please keep warming your back.”

“Who are you calling old! If you’re going to call me that, at least show some respect!”

“Ahaha. I am, aren’t I, showing respect!”

Cleio, having stroked Behemoth’s belly against the grain as he meowed, quickly left the dorm room before he could get hit.

Even in the hallway, the view outside the dark windows still looked like the middle of the night.

Cleio made a few adjustments to the magic formula he would use for the test.

‘Maybe I’ll add a bit more effect.’

.

.

.

Standing in the center of the parade ground, Cleio recited his incantation.

“[Lament may rule the night,

but day shall bring back joy!]1)”

It was a spell that used one slot each for [Mitigation], [Heat], [Tracking], [Purify], and [Light].

Most of Cleio’s magic was for offense, so coming up with something to show others during the test was always a challenge.

At this point, Cleio’s practical test had become a kind of 4D effect attraction that both students and staff eagerly anticipated.

Sssssssst—!

Flaaash!

All the students who had gathered around the edge of the parade ground to watch the third-year practical exam were enveloped in Cleio’s brilliant circle.

Thanks to the increased amount of ether over the past year, the inside of the circle was filled with light and warmth.

Even the raindrops curved outside the circle, escaping the pull of gravity.

It was a cozy magic, as if the warmth of an early summer day had arrived a season early.

The light, controlled by [Tracking], settled on each person’s shoulders and heads, giving the sensation of countless fireflies following their movements.

“Look, the light follows your hand!”

“It’s so pretty….”

“It’s warm.”

The children, whose hands and feet had grown cold in the chilly rain, felt warmth returning, and their cold backs relaxing.

“Wow! Amazing!”

“Is this the Cleio senior’s practical exam everyone talks about?!”

“Isn’t it incredible!”

It did not take long to grade. Professors Zebedi and Maria had a brief conversation, and soon the assistant took up the loudspeaker artifact and announced the score.

“Third year, Cleio Aser, full marks for the third-year first semester practical evaluation.”

No one was surprised by the result. Since 1890, the top student in Theory of Magic and Magic Practice for Class 977 was always Cleio.

Cleio himself had heard from Zebedi that he didn’t even know why he was taking the classes, so the few other 977th class magic students did not even envy him.

In truth, his level was completely different. Among the second-year magic students, five were level 2 and two were level 3, but Cleio was like a being from another dimension.

“Of course! Our junior is absooolutely amazing!”

The one who came running and jumping to Cleio was a young man with faded white hair and eyebrows.

Ezra Sergeyev. Deputy commander of the capital defense magic corps, a powerful level 7 mage, and a passionate fan of Cleio’s mysterious magic.

“…Midterms don’t even allow spectators, but you managed to sneak in.”

“Hey, I’m a graduate~ Can’t I get a spot among the audience~?”

He usually called himself a dropout, but at times like this, Ezra conveniently became a graduate.

Bickering in a way that seemed both friendly and unfriendly, talking but not quite, the two headed to the last classroom at the end of the third floor of the lecture hall.

It was now the place where Cleio sat during every test to watch the practical duels of the swordsmanship students.

Because the heater was still broken and it was considered the hideout of Arthur and his friends, other students rarely came.

Leaving Ezra, who found a spot by the window without being guided, Cleio opened a small refrigerator cooled by a mana sapphire.

Refrigerators had already been invented in this world, but to have a mini fridge that ran without noise, chemical refrigerants, or a 24-hour electricity supply required a mana stone.

‘It’s a bit of a money waste… But how could I live without some fun.’

Cleio maintained his principle of never saving money spent on drinking. The trickle-down effect benefited Behemoth and Arthur plenty.

Familiar with the fridge, Cleio poured a quarter bottle of prosecco into a white wine glass, mixed in ice, lemon juice, and a bitter orange-red Aperol, and made his own drink first.

The citrus scent spread through the air, lifting Cleio’s mood. It was a sweet, sour, and bitter Aperol spritz to overcome the dreary weather.

For Ezra, he poured a cold-brew orange blossom tea that Isiel seemed to have put in. Ezra looked back and forth between his and Cleio’s glass and shaped his mouth into a horizontal figure eight.

“Ugh, junior, drinking again in the daytime?”

“Aperol spritz isn’t alcohol. It’s a beverage.”

“Wow~! Junior, when you say things like that, you really are just like an old man~. How can you drink alcohol like water? It’s bitter and gives you a headache.”

Ezra did not drink a single drop of alcohol. In fact, he was the type of person who didn’t understand people who drank at all.

As usual, beneath his calm and clear face, Cleio was lowering his evaluation of Ezra from -35 points to -40. True drinkers always rated non-drinkers harshly.

“Everyone has their own taste. Ah, Arthur and Chel are coming out. Let’s watch.”

“Oh, ooooh!”

Just as the results of the magic class test were predictable, so were the results of the swordsmanship class test. The last ones left were always Chel, Arthur, Isiel, and the twins.

Perhaps that was how the matchups were set this time, as Arthur and Chel came out to the parade ground, waiting with their hands on the grips of their practice swords.

After the duel between Pierce Clagen and Arthur two years ago, all practical exercises at the capital defense school banned the use of real weapons. It was a rule that Zebedi worked hard to put in place.

‘The armor and magic tools I bought at great expense are nice because no one else notices them.’

Cleio paid considerable attention to the children’s equipment.

Of course, Isiel had the Melamid sword passed down from her mother’s family, and Arthur had the familiar Beg’s sword.

Chel, perhaps inspired by Lysa, also started using a bastard sword. It was a top-quality product, forged with first-grade mana ore and decorated with patterns on the sheath.

The Angelium twins had inherited paired estocs, but for short swords, Cleio had the Greyer Trading Company make each of them a sword with a mana citrine embedded in the pommel.

For all five children, he made a set of Tiplaum gauntlets, one pair each. After engraving the [Permanent Activation] formula, Cleio himself overlaid them with [Defense][Amplify][Mitigation] spells.

Recently, a processing complex was established in Selva Province, and a certain quantity of Tiplaum components started being distributed to the public, making such items possible to create.

Until then, even though Cleio himself was the inventor of the Tiplaum commercial magic formula, he could not get his hands on the mineral except for a few experimental samples.

Clang!

Kwahhh!

Over the past year, Chel and Arthur’s ether vessels had grown so much that, despite their level difference, they showed nearly equal skill in the early exchanges.

Amidst the roaring sound, the parade ground was dug up, and the practice swords trembled, unable to withstand the ether load.

‘Those kids… It’s getting harder to tell whether they’re fighting with cold weapons or firearms.’

Ezra, whose eyesight was incredibly good, kept up with the match with his naked eyes, without any magic tools or spells.

“That navy-haired beauty is a genius at unconventional attacks!”

Pretending to lower her stance and strike upward, then suddenly leaping to deliver a fierce downward blow, Chel was grinning wickedly even from a distance.

She was a belligerent battle maniac.

“And what’s with ‘beauty’?”

“I’m just saying what I see~.”

…And just like Ezra’s odd phrasing, she was also a rare beauty.