Editor 138

Amphitheater (3)

Cleio somehow managed not to doze off.

It was mostly thanks to Arthur.

The conflict between his sibling Antigone, who tried to bury the dead Polynices, and King Creon, who forbade the traitor’s funeral by royal edict, seemed strange to Arthur as well.

“Hey, what the heck is this? The sister just wants to bury her dead brother, so why is the king so mad? And what’s with how he acts toward his son’s fiancée?”

“That order represents the positive law, the law of man, symbolized by the king. There, Antigone represents the law of the gods, which precedes King Creon’s rule and commands.”

“Ugh, both of them are driving me nuts. They need to know when to compromise, all this fuss just over principle… huh? Wait, did the main character just die?”

Arthur’s complaints were the very reaction of a teenager seeing for the first time with no prior knowledge.

Cleio, who unintentionally ended up playing the role of Arthur’s teacher, also had to feel the chill of reality as if he had become a chaperone on a field trip.

“Yes.”

“Ugh! What is this? It’s so unsettling.”

“The queen and the prince will also die soon, so you can stop watching if you want.”

“What the heck. You asked me if I’d seen any plays, but Ray, you’re totally an expert. Was it to compare your ‘prediction’ with mine?”

“Not exactly….”

Ding―

In the middle of their back-and-forth, the alarm on the clock interrupted. At last, the tedious time ended, and the water clock’s scale reached midnight.

It was no time to be quibbling over predictions and such.

“Hey, Arthur! Now! The clock!”

“Got it!”

The eighteen-year-old martial artist youth forgot all about the incomprehensible play and gathered ether.

With Beg’s sword, sword energy soared. In moments, the brilliant light activated “Advance of the Circle.” Cleio also cast [Defense] magic to prepare for the coming attacks from the spirits.

Boom――!

Arthur’s sword energy repeatedly struck the water clock. The stone structure shattered helplessly into fragments.

Rumble. Thud.

At the same time, the amphitheater began to shake from its foundation.

The spirits, melting and pooling in the seats, made their final struggles.

‘Aaaaaah!’

‘Ooooooh!’

‘Who dares to stop time!’

‘Let the play go on.’

‘The performance of truth!’

‘Aaah.’

The vanishing spirits fluttered their white garments, pounding on the shield Cleio had raised. Their attacks could not even spark a flame on the barrier.

Fading away into the air, the spirits shed white tears. Their screams were curses upon those who disrupted the play.

Among them, one spirit with all its limbs intact, gripping a double-edged sword shining white, struck at Cleio’s barrier.

Boom――!

The only spirit showing a level indicator was the one who had played Creon.

Cleio recast the [Defense] spell, this time widening the circle to the maximum 200-meter radius.

Crossing dozens of rows of seats into the orchestra’s domain, everything was now within Cleio’s golden shield.

‘Aaaaaaaaah.’

The spirit was helplessly pushed by Cleio’s barrier, crashing into the stage’s backdrop pillar.

In the blazing ether flames, Cleio saw the spirit’s heart reflecting gold.

“That thing’s weak spot is its heart!”

“Leave it to me.”

Having faced monsters together many times, Arthur and Cleio needed no further words.

With a few quick strides down the rows, Arthur used Cleio’s circle as a shield, deftly slashing at the spirit.

Huuuuuuuu!

Before even exchanging two blows, the spirit’s arm was cut off and vanished. Arthur’s golden sword energy soon pierced the spirit’s chest, and the crown it wore also scattered into dust in the air.

Night and day tangled in the sky.

On the stage where even shadows had vanished, Arthur grabbed a large amethyst and returned straight to Cleio.

“Amethyst of Lamentation

: Antitoxin Magic Stone.”

“See? This looks like another amazing magic stone!”

“Yeah, it has antitoxin properties, so keep it safe.”

Up to this point, Cleio also knew the developments.

Same dungeon, same magic stone. The clock was destroyed, and the dungeon’s warden had turned to dust. At the same time, the amphitheater began to decay rapidly.

The stage backdrop was the first to turn to dust.

The audience seats instantly wore a thousand years, and weeds sprouted between the flagstones as if ink were spreading. Soon, the canal around the orchestra began to flood. This dungeon would be destroyed by submersion.

Even as things proceeded as expected, Cleio still could not relax his expression.

The dungeon’s reward had already been claimed by Arthur, due to the aftereffects of the “editor’s authority” Cleio had used in part one.

With some responsibility in the matter, Cleio could only anxiously await the result.

After a tense few minutes, the awaited “message” appeared before both Arthur and Cleio.

“―‘Master Clock’ of the ‘Remembered World’ is being stopped. ‘Amphitheater’ loses temporal simultaneity.

―Reward: ― … .”

“―Error in causal relationship detected. Reward calculation delayed.”

“―…Reward calculation delayed.”

The decay of the theater, which looked ready to collapse at any moment, suddenly stopped.

The falling columns hung suspended, and the armrest of the front row seat, which had been cracking, stopped splitting.

Cleio realized his suspicions and worries had not been unfounded.

Arthur spoke in bewilderment.

“An error in causal relationship… What the heck does that mean? Ray, do you know?”

“That’s….”

Beneath the hovering “message,” a note, likely from “Promise,” was added as an interpretation.

“―If the reward is not completed, the remembered world will be suspended.

―The suspension period is indefinite.”

Reading the message, Cleio felt a stabbing pain in his stomach. It was as if stomach acid was furiously scraping his stomach lining.

He habitually rubbed the index finger of his left hand. The wound around the ring had not fully healed and had flared up, turning red again.

“Ray, stop scratching your poor finger and let’s think of a plan.”

Cleio looked up. Arthur was calmly gripping Beg’s sword.

If needed, that prince would try to break this theater into dust to overcome the crisis.

But even if he returned all the ruins to dust, the dungeon would not be cleared.

Cleio knew a more fundamental solution.

But knowing and acting were not directly connected. All it took was the will to activate his unique skill, but…

Those sharp turquoise eyes were full of trust, and the execution of “editor’s authority” would surely wear down that trust.

Having lived a life with little to regret losing, Cleio was not used to the premonition of loss.

He thought the power of “Promise” and magic would be taken back once his usefulness in the narrative was over.

However, betraying the trust one human placed in another could not be compared to the sudden disappearance of a supernatural ability granted one day.

Nevertheless, the hesitation was brief. He knew what he had to do.

Cleio, having made up his mind, clasped his hand tightly over his ring.

“The solution is with me. Arthur, you don’t have to do anything.”

“Oh, is the future great mage about to show us another amazing trick?”

That familiar laugh, the casual tone. Perhaps, Cleio would come to miss these proofs of youthful friendship.

Things that would pass and never return.

Cleio activated “editor’s authority.”

“―Unique Skill: Using ‘Editor’s Authority’. (3/3)”

“―Time remaining / Time limit:

00:04:59 / 00:05:00″

In front of the crumbling amphitheater’s aisle, a palimpsest and a quill floated into view.

Cleio calmly turned the manuscript, which felt heavier than ever.

Two boys secretly drinking in front of Mnemosyne’s door.

The suddenly opened dungeon.

The plays performed within the dungeon.

[Advance of the Circle] breaking the water clock.

It was from the act of the remembered space collapsing that clear abnormalities appeared. As if the text had been blocked mid-sentence, lines of ink were slashed across illegible writing.

Cleio marked those parts with a deletion symbol. Then, on the next blank page, he wrote an enhanced version of the “Panoramic View” skill.

There was nothing original about it. It was just the existing skill with two restrictions removed.

The restrictions on the number of people and the space.

The ink, mixed blue and gold, shone mysteriously. After placing the period, Cleio set down the pen and, instead of looking at the beginning of the manuscript, looked at Arthur.

The boy, who used to blink under the constraints of “editor’s authority,” now moved freely, gripping the sword Cleio had given him tightly, with no restraints at all.

He tilted his head, breathed, and seemed to be on guard, trying to figure out what was happening, but instead of stepping back from Cleio, he took a step closer.

“Ray, what the heck is that scrappy piece of paper….”

Before Arthur could finish, a “Promise” message burst out, as if slicing between the two.

“―Arthur Lioghnan is a being deeply involved in the composition of the world.

Due to the user’s increased narrative intervention, a certain degree of influence is allowed.”

“―Due to the revision, some pages of the original ‘Palimpsest of □□□□’, the , are discarded.”

“―The author accepts the editor’s recommendation.”

“―The relevant passage is edited.”

In that transformative moment, the remembered world regained its form from before it was broken.

The fallen columns stood upright again, the weeds that had sprouted between the seats withered. The years layered over the stone structures were erased, and the clock’s fragments returned to their original positions.

Leaving Arthur and Cleio as they were, only the remembered world reverted to a few minutes earlier.

Once again, the “message” appeared.

The dungeon’s message was not a single letter different from what Cleio had personally edited.

“―‘Master Clock’ of the ‘Remembered World’ is being stopped. ‘Amphitheater’ loses temporal simultaneity.

―Reward: ‘Infinite Panoramic View’”

As he stared at the message in disbelief, Arthur suddenly clutched his blood-gushing hand.

“Ugh.”

Even this boy, who hardly ever showed pain, trembled with agony as a new stigmata began to form on the back of his hand.

Along the outer edge of the existing amphitheater stigmata, a new circular line was drawn. Red blood welled up, dotting the circle.

At last, the circle of blood was completed, as a freshly engraved stigmata.

Cleio spread a circle to stop the bleeding on Arthur’s hand and, at the same time, pushed ether into the stigmata.

“Promise” notified the details of the stigmata.

[Unique Skill ‘Infinite Panoramic View’]

?Creates a subspace invulnerable to any force or magic.

?The internal composition of the subspace can be changed without restriction according to the user’s will.

?The user and designated individuals are separated from events and backgrounds and moved into the subspace.

Time limit: 01:00:00]

Number of entrants allowed : ∞]

‘It’s done.’

The strength drained from Cleio’s shoulders. With a long sigh, it felt as if even the boy’s vitality was scattering away.

“This is….”

“Again, proof of what I’ve done.”

It was exactly what Arthur had said, suspicious of Cleio when the first stigmata appeared.

“Ray, you have a really good memory. You think this is the same as before?”

“What’s different? You can interrogate me or blame me like before. You have every right to.”

.

.

.

With the “editor’s authority” exercised, the amphitheater, its structure now tangled, began to disassemble very slowly, unlike before.

Destruction was so slow that it required a whole night. The morning glow descended in layers like veils settling on the water.

When the water from the clock and canals overflowed and filled the entire theater, the clearing would be complete, but even as the sky grew faintly bright, a few rows of seats still stuck out above the water’s surface.

The light reflected in the water quietly illuminated Cleio’s weary back. He was slouched on a row just below Arthur.

Sitting in the top row, Arthur gently touched the freshly healed wound on his hand.

Cleio’s magic had thoroughly healed the newly cut stigmata on his hand, but could not fill the mysterious emptiness in his heart.

Rubbing his prickly chin, Arthur broke the silence of the long night.

“Ever since I made the ‘Promise of Fidelity’, I haven’t asked you anything. Not about going to the royal library with Melchior, not about making a promise with him for a future I don’t know, not about explaining your stigmata—I buried it all. Yeah. You’re the wizard of prophecy. You have a plan, and I believed you’d explain it to me someday.”

Arthur did not want to cheapen the value of fidelity by impatiently questioning his wizard. Really, if possible, until the very last moment.