Editor 128

Introduction to History (1)

“The excerpts will be serialized once a week in the weekend edition of . For four weeks! Since the book is on the thin side, I think this is enough.”

As the project neared completion, Dione’s voice became lively.

“It’s a respectable publication, and the length seems just right.”

“We’re promoting it with posters, and in newspapers and magazines, too. Do you have any other ideas?”

Clio added his opinion without hesitation.

“Hmm, this is usually a promotional method used for lighter books, but how about including a prize entry ticket in the book?”

“Huh, a prize for a book on magical theory?”

“Not for things like sewing machines or train tickets, but in keeping with the book’s theme, how about magic stones? I’m not planning to buy new ones as prizes, but my family happened to send me a considerable number of magic stone rubies. I think it’s fine to offer a couple as prizes.”

“Hah, by chance… Do you even know the market price of rubies when you say that?”

“I’m not sure, but if I release that quantity at once, the market price might fluctuate, so I’ve left them at home for now.”

After explaining to Dione how he received the magic stones from Vlad, Clio briefly recounted what had happened during the practicum.

Dione had heard about the affairs of the Tristein territory through newspapers and rumors, but it was clear she hadn’t known Clio’s role there.

Even though he presented it in a very understated way, she sighed deeply.

“So that reckless mage was you? That was really serious! Monsters, the crown prince! It’s amazing you managed to get through it!”

“Well, thanks to that, I learned that even the crown prince isn’t invincible—if he overuses the stigmata, he ends up bedridden in pain like a human.”

“That’s your conclusion after all that? I can’t tell if you’re timid or bold. I was just watching the magic stone market trends with my abacus.”

“Even if monsters appear, I don’t think there will be a crash in magic stone prices. I recommend buying whenever there’s supply. If monsters appear, there’ll be more need to consume magic stones in battle, so prices might rise instead. It may be calm now, but this can’t be the end of the monsters.”

For now, only the weakest of the dormant monsters had awakened. Also, low-level monsters rarely had pure, valuable magic stones.

‘Mietz also grumbled that there’s nothing to salvage from low-tier monsters. That’s the same as the previous manuscript. Certainly, dungeon monsters have better-quality stones even at the same level.’

“Did your ‘Prediction’ stigmata finally come in handy? The Capital Defense Force’s magic corps came up with similar unofficial findings. It’s a disaster. They’re just not announcing the results yet.”

Compared to what humans did, monster savagery might be less cruel, but Clio didn’t voice such thoughts lightly.

“If they announced it right away, there’d be public unrest, so I understand the capital defense’s position.”

“But the deputy commander of the magic corps is the only one excited. It’s the end times when someone like that is treated as an honorable officer.”

It was obvious where Dione’s “unofficial information” came from. It seemed to be Ezra Sergeyev, the deputy commander of the Capital Defense Force’s magic corps.

‘Even if she despises someone, she can coax them when needed. Lady Dione really keeps business and personal matters separate.’

While Clio gazed into the distance, Dione’s eyes turned triangular. The barrage of questions was once again focused on Clio.

“By the way, in the midst of all this, you used your amazing dual activation technique to string together magic stone rubies that could cast fireballs… what was it, to make a heated blanket?”

Dione waved the heated mat design Clio had clumsily sketched. His drawing skills were so poor it looked like an elementary school project, but it was a fully functional magical device blueprint.

“It’s closer to a heating pad.”

“What is that, even! You’re making a heater by connecting a Tiphlawm plate engraved with [Ether Activation] to Tiphlawm wire?”

“If you’re not interested, I’ll look for another workshop. It’s a shame not to commission the Greyer Company, which has the best technicians, but if I pay with raw magic stone rubies, I doubt any workshop would refuse the job.”

Dione, as if she had never glared, softened her expression.

“Oh, no, when did I say I wouldn’t take the job? So, what size rubies are you thinking of as payment?”

“I’ll pay one 4-carat ruby for each mat made.”

“Thank you for your continued patronage, valued customer. The Greyer Company family always does its best to satisfy your requests.”

“How do you say such a long sentence without tripping over your tongue even once? Amazing….”

Just as Clio and Dione’s roller-coaster conversation seemed to settle during teatime,

“What fun thing are you talking about this time? Let me guess. It’s about making money, isn’t it!”

The third prince, who always barged in without notice, strode into the drawing room.

“Can you even call that guessing?”

“Oh, I guessed right! My deduction skills are pretty good.”

“You really don’t know how to give notice or move with any courtesy.”

“Eh, if you’re polite, your whole itinerary gets leaked and nothing fun happens. Telegrams and phone calls are completely public channels.”

Telegrams can be read by the sender and postman, and phone calls by the operator. For a while, Arthur hadn’t let his guard down, even though no assassin from Aslan had shown up.

‘…Come to think of it, in the Kision territory, Isiel always sent only short, safe greetings that anyone could see. There was a reason for that.’

Realizing again how thorough Arthur was, Clio felt both proud and quietly frustrated. It was a bit miserable to think about why the boy couldn’t be a boy.

“You’re right. So, with a few days left before school starts, what brings your precious self to the capital?”

Clio’s sharp eyes swept over Arthur.

It had only been a few weeks, but his hair had grown out and his forehead and nose looked more mature. There was hardly anything left of the boy in him.

That growth didn’t feel natural, but artificial, the result of intense training.

His hands, already full of calluses, were peeled again, as ragged as a child’s who had just picked up a sword.

Clio recalled Isiel’s letter, mentioning how busy Arthur was with training.

‘Isiel sugar-coated it, but wasn’t Arthur doing insane extreme challenges every day and not even sleeping, just like in Tristein territory?’

The reason for the excessive practice was obvious.

‘He must have been really frustrated that he couldn’t overcome Taeseoton’s threat at the Tristein manor. And maybe he remembers Melchior trying to kill me? Ugh.’

A level 6 knight with no title.

Titles aren’t visible to others, so no one would know unless he said so, but that prince was doing his utmost to prove himself.

‘People need to loosen up sometimes or they’ll wear out, but what should I do with him?’

This time, it was Clio’s turn for his expression to cool. Lady Dione watched the prince and young lord’s bickering as if it were someone else’s business, belatedly enjoying Mrs. Canton’s masterful dessert.

“Hey! Why are you being so cold when you haven’t even heard me out? I came to deliver good news! Ta-da! Look at this!”

“What is it?”

“An official invitation from the Archbishop’s residence!”

Like a grade schooler showing off an award, Arthur pulled a letter envelope from his chest and held it out to Clio. The Archbishop’s address and seal were printed on it.

“I finally get to meet Archbishop Istoria! As soon as I got this letter, I caught the next train!”

Clio’s arms unfolded on their own. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Aeuuuung? (Wasn’t that person supposed to be asleep?)”

Behemoth, who woke up a beat late, batted his paws in belated reaction.

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The next day.

Clio woke up at four-thirty in the morning, incredibly tense. His heart pounded so hard, he couldn’t sleep any longer.

Archbishop Regina Istoria.

A mysterious cleric who had lived a century, with a face exactly like Minsan’s.

A realization he’d forgotten for a while struck him.

He was someone entangled in “narrative intervention,” placed here by the author’s will. This world was just a story, a fiction created under the author’s pen.

Who was she, and who was the author?

What was the relationship between them and the muses?

Would today’s meeting answer those questions?

Too anxious to eat breakfast, Clio paced the foyer all morning as Behemoth rubbed his snout against him.

Not caring if cat hair got on his rarely worn suit, Clio stroked the cat’s back, trying to calm himself.

The appointment was at noon. Around eleven, Arthur came with a rented carriage to pick Clio up.

“Oh, you’re already out! Wow, this is the first time I’ve been welcomed at this house.”

“I wasn’t welcoming you, I was welcoming the invitation.”

“Waaah, so mean. Grumble all you want! But since I applied for the invitation, I have to go with you into the Archbishop’s residence.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

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By the riverside of the west bank, six blocks from the palace’s main gate, stood the cathedral.

The site of all royal weddings and funerals. The tall bell tower and gorgeous stained glass memorialized the goddess of memory and her nine daughters.

Originally, Mount Helicon stood here, but when Leonid I settled, Queen Isolde, the first mage, planted her staff, flattening the mountain and receiving the word of God.

Behind the cathedral, old monastic buildings lined up. The archbishop’s residence was deep within the monastery.

After getting out of the carriage and having their invitation checked, passing through several walls, gates, buildings, and courtyards, a quiet three-story building finally appeared. Security seemed tighter than the palace.

When they finally entered the Archbishop’s drawing room, the young monk who had guided them withdrew, and an elderly woman with white hair wrapped in a wimple approached.

Her first words were a dismissal of Arthur.

“Your Highness, you were not invited. Only those invited may enter the private quarters. Please wait in the drawing room.”

“Even though the invitation was sent to me?”

“Isn’t the guest Sir Clio Aser? His Holiness is waiting for one guest only.”

What could he do when she put it that way?

Arthur shrugged, waved playfully, and mouthed words where the priest couldn’t see.

‘Sheesh, picky. Have a good date.’

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After winding through several long hallways, a plain, heavy mahogany door appeared. Pushing it open, Clio found a small room with a washbasin and towels.

The elderly high priest carefully explained the protocol to Clio.

“Wash your hands here first. Then I’ll open the door. When His Holiness offers her right hand, you must grasp it with your left. Then kiss the back of her hand, but do not actually touch your lips—just pretend.”

On closer look, the priest’s robe was different from the younger monk’s, with a fancy instrument-shaped brooch on the collar and a purplish belt. She was clearly a high-ranking priest.

‘So the Archbishop is so noble that such a high-ranking priest serves her directly?’

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Archbishop Regina Istoria was like a figure sculpted from ice.

Wrapped in pure white and sumptuous indoor robes, the woman sat up in bed under a canopy, exuding neither warmth nor vitality.

‘But to think that’s the appearance of someone over a hundred… truly a fantasy setting.’

Her complexion was pale as if long ill. The face looked about thirty, but her aura was detached from worldly affairs.

Even having lost all divine power, the ageless archbishop’s presence alone could overwhelm people, compelling them to kneel.

She dismissed the priest who had guided Clio.

“Sir Clio is a knight of the dynasty; what harm could he do me?”

“But, Your Holiness…”

“He requested this audience so earnestly because he has a question only I can answer, does he not? Such a thing cannot be overheard by another. I will listen.”