Editor 95

‘The function of the bound item was always amazing, but now that the narrative intervention is rising, it’s even more wondrous.’

Cleio felt both pleased and strangely resentful.

Like most Koreans, he had suffered because of English all his life as “Kim Jeongjin.”

‘In college, I thought my eyes would fall out reading papers, and at work, reviewing original texts… How can this be.’

Engulfed in a sense of futility, Cleio stroked his left index finger, which rested on the table, with the thumb of his right hand.

It was a long-standing habit, from before his name was Cleio and before the thin platinum ring became “Promise.”

Chel, who had just put down her empty champagne glass, leaned toward Cleio.

“【No wonder you chose Modern Foreign Language Carolingian as your elective next year, even though you seemed so unmotivated. I was wondering why you’d pick a language that’s so hard to learn. You already knew it, didn’t you.】”

Chel spoke in Carolingian with a playful smile. Her voice, when using another language, sounded lower and huskier than when she spoke Albionese.

‘What do I do here? Change modes?’

As Cleio flustered inwardly, another message from Promise appeared before him.

<—Level 2 function [Understanding] Multilingual Interpretation is active.>

‘So I just do it? Whatever, here goes.’

“【Should I say, I know how to do this….】”

Amazingly, he really could switch languages.

“【If you can listen and speak, then you know how to do it!】”

Albionese had also been a foreign language to “Jeongjin.”

He had relied entirely on the power of “Promise” to speak Albionese like a native, and now he couldn’t believe he could speak another language just as comfortably.

There was no difficulty switching between the two languages.

From Cleio’s perspective, it felt no more difficult than switching between Korean standard and a dialect.

“【It’s my first time speaking with someone who’s been using Carolingian since birth.】”

Of course, Cleio’s explanation wasn’t a lie. It really was the first time he’d ever properly heard Carolingian.

Chel simply assumed Cleio had learned the foreign language from a private tutor from Albion.

“【You must have had an excellent teacher. Well, if it’s your father, that would make sense.】”

“【I wasn’t a very good student, though.】”

“【What are you talking about? Your Carolingian has perfect gender and case endings! I still mess those up and got scolded by my mother learning them. I thought our genius mage Cleio was only good at magic, but you’ve got this twist, too!】”

“【Yeah, have your fun, tease me, and put me back in my place. This is why I didn’t want to say anything.】”

“【Nice excuse.】”

The twins, sipping non-alcoholic punch, looked at Isiel with curious faces. As a model student, Isiel apparently spoke Carolingian well, too.

“Isiel, Isiel. What are Cleio and Chel talking about?”

“Celestes is saying Cleio’s Carolingian is excellent, and he was hiding that ability.”

“Isiel, um…”

“Did I misunderstand?”

“No, not exactly.”

He wanted to complain that it wasn’t a language problem but a matter of summary style, but as long as “Promise” was there, all of it would be considered Cleio’s own ability.

Of course, unable to explain that, Cleio wore a tepid, awkward expression.

Just then.

The clear voice of the junior official at the entrance rang through the hall.

“Her Highness Zuleika, His Highness the Second Prince Aslan, have arrived.”

The guests stopped their conversation and all rose to greet the honored guests.

With so many people moving, the hall grew noisy, despite the careful, graceful movements befitting nobles and the upper class.

The sound of silk brushing and chair legs faintly dragging on the carpet overlapped.

‘So that’s Zuleika, Aslan’s mother.’

Standing at an angle behind the alcove, Cleio could observe Zuleika to his heart’s content.

Zuleika Charlotte Castilien.

Queen of Albion. Cousin to the current Emperor of the Brunnen Sovereign State, official consort of King Philip, inheritor of the titles Duchess of Lake Nineveh, Lady of the Nine Isles, and Queen of the Ogwen Canal.

All those names were official titles bestowed upon the Queen of Albion by the legends and history handed down from the time of Leonid I.

Zuleika had skin white as snow and hair black as ebony. Her simple adornment—just a necklace of black pearls and diamonds, and the queen’s crown—heightened her fragile aura even more.

One could never believe she had a grown son of twenty-five, and she looked like a pure beauty who would never hurt even a bird’s neck.

‘They say after forty, your character and life show on your face, but that’s a complete lie.’

Even setting aside the things she was only suspected to be involved in, and what she was yet to do by the manuscript, the things she’d actually done already proved the queen’s nature was thoroughly cold-blooded.

‘Aslan was just a teenager six years ago—where would he have found an assassin? Then she framed Arthur’s mother and killed her… sigh.’

Zuleika, who’d given Cleio a Sixth Sense-level twist, took her seat at the royal family’s table escorted by Aslan. Aslan sat on her right.

The official at the entrance, in an even louder voice than before, announced Melchior’s arrival.

“His Highness Crown Prince Melchior is entering.”

Cleio instinctively activated “Detachment.” Ninety percent of his resolve to stay sober tonight was because of that guy.

There were so many guests that he knew he wouldn’t be found, but he still shrank back behind a pillar.

All eyes were drawn to the Crown Prince, filled with admiration and longing. It was as if time slowed only around him.

Even Zuleika, who hated her eldest son, allowed a faint warmth to touch her pale cheek that resembled her own son.

Cleio, hiding behind the pillar, watched the Crown Prince’s movements out of the corner of his eye. Sure enough, Promise displayed the expected message.

The golden letters that appeared above the Crown Prince’s head, proof of the world’s strangeness, even looked like a halo that had appeared just to praise him.

Melchior crossed the hall with elegant poise, greeting people one by one, and naturally took the seat of honor at the table.

Even “Enchantment” couldn’t completely soften the hostility that began to cloud Zuleika’s face.

‘There are rules for who sits at the head of the table when the king is absent, so I guess he tried to break etiquette by changing the order of entry, but it didn’t work at all.’

In every story, the main character always arrives last.

At that moment, the junior official, voice now rough from strain, announced the last prince’s entry.

“His Highness the Third Prince Arthur is entering.”

‘See, speak of the devil and he appears.’

Because he followed the spectacular entries of the first and second princes, Arthur failed to attract the guests’ attention.

The guests, now seated again, watched the royal family’s table with keen interest.

Cleio slowly observed the one who was the axis and center of this world. Arthur, dressed in full formal wear, looked quite dignified on the surface.

And that was all.

The boy, entering alone, immediately looked around leisurely, searching for his friends.

In this hall packed with nobles and the powerful, no one tried to catch his eye, and no one tried to curry favor or flatter him—perhaps naturally.

‘Wow! Behemoth is here too!’

Arthur, having spotted his friends, smiled like a child and mouthed a message.

‘I’ll just muddle through and come to your table in a bit!’

As high-level ether sensitives, his friends easily understood what Arthur meant.

Chel clicked her tongue.

“Tsk, what’s the point of dressing up if he acts the same as always?”

“It’d be weird if that guy acted any differently just because he’s in front of nobles.”

“Sir Arthur is simply consistent and straightforward. There is no need to curry favor by adding false goodwill.”

“I always wonder, Isiel, how does Arthur look through your eyes?! It’s like he’s a gold-leafed prince statue. Haha.”

Gold-leafed prince statue.

Chel’s description was oddly fitting.

Not everyone in the hall ignored Arthur.

A very few people, who would later wield great influence, were watching not the Crown Prince and Second Prince at the far right of the table, but Arthur, seated at the far left.

As if drawn to light shining in the darkness, there was an attraction beyond rational judgment that made them unable to turn their attention away from Arthur.

‘Chairman Benjamin Beaton, Katarina de Tempête de Neige. Those two definitely have good intuition. The fact that they’re more aware of Arthur than Melchior or Aslan.’

Dame Rosa Pehite was still searching for her only son, and as long as I’m a human being, I can’t just let it go.

The “Memory” of “Promise” suddenly flashed a phrase Cleio didn’t need to remember.

It felt fresh, like an e-book popup, but also annoying—like a work messenger that can’t go offline but keeps updating its notifications.

It reminded Cleio that he was, unmistakably, working overtime.

‘This is the scene from the previous manuscript where all three princes are together. Wasn’t it supposed to be the New Year’s party after Arthur graduated? But isn’t the narration way too Arthur-friendly?’

The moon and star referred to Melchior and Aslan; the sun to Arthur.

Endless lines of praise were devoted to the one favored by the gods. Such is the way of the gods’ affairs. Their blessings and curses are the same, in that they shake human fate.

Once everyone was seated, Melchior gave a short speech.

Then the soup began to be served with perfect coordination. The hall filled with a fragrant, warm aroma.

The deputy secretary from Speculum, who’d emptied his soup bowl at lightning speed, started chattering again.

“【Will there be another solar eclipse soon? Consul, you said you’d seen Albion’s coronation eclipse before.】”

“【Twice. Thirty-two and twenty-seven years ago. The first time, I was living in Lundaine with my father, so it was just luck.】”

“【You might live to see a third eclipse, Consul.】”

“【Enough nonsense, let’s eat. You can only taste a banquet this refined and splendid in Albion these days.】”

“【After the fall of the Etencel royal family in Carolingia, all their chefs came across the border—turns out that wasn’t just talk.】”

Cleio, too, agreed 120% with the plump young man whose rosy cheeks were flushed with health.

‘The names, customs, and climate are all like England, but the author did a great job not referencing British culinary reality—that’s the best thing they did.’

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.

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‘Sure enough, the establishment of the Typhlaum mines and processing complex in Dubris didn’t just shake the industry, but also changed the internal dynamics of the royal family.’

‘Because the announcement was sudden, it took a while to gauge the scale, but isn’t that too big a pie for the royal family to swallow alone?’

‘Well, I doubt His Highness the Crown Prince would give up the right to tax what comes out of the ground. Isn’t that the king’s biggest remaining authority?’

‘If the House of Lords had known the land was that valuable, those greedy nobles would have changed the laws at any cost.’

‘I’d rather the royal family keeps the rights than hand them over to Dubris.’

‘Ho.’

Cleio collected people’s conversations with more enthusiasm than a pollster.

At first glance, it sounded like useless gossip, but there was a lot of information in it.

First.

‘First, Melchior’s enchantment has a narrower range than I thought. The effect also doesn’t last long.’

Even those who’d stared at the Crown Prince with rapt adoration, as if their souls were captivated, snapped out of it as soon as he sat at the high table, their faces returning to blank confusion as if waking from a dream.

On faces that had been filled with natural worship and awe, calculations and true feelings returned, and a subtle resentment toward the royal family, which monopolized the silver-gold called typhlaum, began to show.

If anything, the members of the Commons and lower nobility were more favorable toward Melchior.

‘Well, Melchior… he’s a ruler ahead of his time, even more than an enlightened monarch. He’s fair, doesn’t pursue private gain, is gentle but has leadership. Basically a modern politician type.’

Second.

‘But he has weaknesses in his origins and past, and apparently that’s a point of appeal for them.’

King Philip took to his sickbed nine years ago, but Melchior Riognan was only officially named Crown Prince seven years ago.

The king, whose health had deteriorated to the point he couldn’t feed himself, suddenly stood up one day and named his eldest son as Crown Prince—this was treated as a mysterious event.

The Bishop of Lundaine and three dukes, witnesses to the investiture by tradition, were said to be shocked and doubtful when the king declared he would make Melchior, not Aslan, Crown Prince.

To Cleio, who knew Melchior’s skill, it was no mystery.

‘He built his power base, timed his move, used the secret service to rack up achievements, and pulled off his coup the year he turned twenty. He’s especially careful with his gloves, so I’m sure no one knows about his skill. The fact that no one suspects him of manipulating King Philip proves it.’