Editor 139

Amphitheater (4)

“I didn’t know that ‘someday’ would come this quickly.”

Cleio slowly turned his head. The boy gazed at Arthur with a face as dry as if he had lived a century. Without surprise or fear.

Even when the worst happens, if it was something you expected, it brings a faint sense of release. That kind of relief lingered in Cleio’s demeanor.

Though it was happening for the first time in his life, somehow Arthur felt as if he had always known it would come to this.

If you feel this strange and empty, then not all first-time things are good.

“Just tell me everything, Ray. This is a request. I can only ask you to keep faith with me.”

Arthur’s voice faded toward the end.

Though he had lived several lives, this lifetime’s prince was still young, and ‘Jeongjin’ believed he unfairly wielded the composure and coldness of one who had lived relatively long.

Of course, he had no intention of restoring that tilted scale.

He had duties and missions, and telling the protagonist unnecessary truths was not his job. Revealing the whole nature of his authority was also not desirable.

Creating an original story from scratch was beyond his ability, but he could at least cobble together some unremarkable excuses.

“Arthur. Just as you and your siblings each foresee the future in your own ways, I also see the future. And just as this world is fragile to you, it’s somewhat fragile to me as well. As you guessed, I can sense the world’s tremors or… even cause such cracks, like you.”

Arthur nodded.

A year ago around this time, he had been certain from the corridor in front of the dean’s office, but had never mentioned it until now.

The tremor on the day the amphitheater stigmata first appeared, the collapse he sensed in front of the dean’s office, was indeed caused by Cleio.

“Just like your visions, my ‘predictions’ are also about things that happened in the past, or things that seem to happen again. As you suspected, they’re posted in the form of documents, so I had more information than your visions. But, as with all prophecies, they never kindly describe how they’ll come true… so the details of my predictions were always off. Of course, this power is not a curse. It’s just the stigmata of the goddess.”

‘Jeongjin’ did not lie. Wasn’t Cleio also once a goddess?

“So how does that stigmata… let you flip the world over like a stage backdrop or tear it open?”

“This stigmata was given to me by the god to exercise their will on earth. With the power of the stigmata, I can alter events that have occurred. As long as the goddess permits it, like today.”

Arthur let out a short, surprised breath.

“Just predicting the future is amazing, but how can you change things that have already happened?”

“By turning back time. You saw it yourself.”

“That… can you really call that a human ability?”

“Since it isn’t, that’s why it’s called a stigmata.”

“Then, back when we first met, why did you use it so recklessly on me?”

“Because I didn’t want to get involved with you.”

“What?”

“I just wanted to lie around and live comfortably. You wanted honor and the glory of the throne, but I wanted different things in life. I tried to turn back time to when we didn’t know each other, but failed.”

Turbulence shook the boy’s strong shoulders. Arthur realized he might never have even recognized Cleio’s existence, that things could have gone differently. He had never imagined such a possibility.

He had so much to say, but nothing came out right, and he only managed to add foolish-sounding words.

“Still, tearing up the back of a classmate’s hand you barely knew, right in front of the dean?”

“It was an accident, with what was to happen to you and what had happened getting mixed up. Normally, people can’t even perceive the reversal of time caused by the stigmata, but you, favored by the goddess, were the only exception. That’s why your first stigmata was created, and it’s how I learned the limits of my own stigmata.”

“So, you can’t turn back my time however you want?”

“That’s right.”

Even with the cold response, Arthur’s expression relaxed as if he had found an answer to some doubt.

“Then that’s fine. Whatever the start, you saved my life, helped me and my friends, and in the end, you even gave me a new and better stigmata.”

“Arthur, what I did wasn’t admirable. If I hadn’t caused the accident, your stigmata would have formed in due course after this dungeon anyway.”

Struggling to rise, Cleio moved his lips several times, and finally asked the necessary question.

“Now, it’s your turn. So, Arthur, what more did you come to know about the world?”

“What do you mean?”

“I already know that when my stigmata applies to you, your time gets tangled. That entanglement could be physical or mental. Since you’re not hurt, this time it must be the latter.”

With a feigned certainty over the baited question, Cleio activated [Appropriateness Judgment].

[「Appropriateness Judgment」

Can determine the truth or falsehood of a matter, and the appropriateness of elements.

*Caution: Using this function temporarily consumes 95% of the body’s ether.]

[―Would you like to use 「Appropriateness Judgment」?]

The dizziness from ether draining was harsher than usual today. Facing Cleio, who showed not a shred of emotion, Arthur let out a long sigh.

“You know, Ray, not today. It already happened. When you caught Grendel and handed me the sword of fire… ah, that must have been your stigmata’s power too? At that moment, so many memories and knowledge glittered like stars, pouring down from the gate of heaven.”

The golden ether of 「Appropriateness Judgment」 wound around Arthur like a halo. It was an absurd sight.

For it was not a blessing, but only proof of Cleio’s suspicion.

“Voices were telling me. That you’re the one who brought revelation, the one who knows the will of the god. I thought it was just hallucinations.”

[―Based on 「Appropriateness Judgment」, this answer is determined to be true.]

Cleio swallowed a sigh.

Now it was certain. Whether “editor’s authority” or “in-narrative narration,” any direct intervention in the protagonist’s path tangled the manuscript.

Also, Arthur now correctly perceived when Cleio used his unique skills. Hiding or applying them indirectly was impossible.

It was an awkward irony.

Intervening to correct the manuscript only deepened the protagonist’s distortion. Balancing on that line would be like walking a tightrope over a cliff.

“…Arthur, most of the visions you’ve seen and heard were real. It was the same this time, too.”

“But it’s too incredible to believe. Why would a divine agent stay with me? Hm?”

It was a vivid question because it was so blunt. A long-grown doubt under the shadow of reticence.

Indeed.

Arthur had one suspicion he could never shake off.

He had nothing to gain from the boy, and the boy had everything to gain from him, so why did Cleio Aser promise him faith?

What kind of structure was that trust built on?

“The god wished it. For reasons unknowable to a mere human like me.”

As always, ‘Jeongjin’ spoke sentences made only of truth, but in an untruthful context. He locked the gate, saying that’s all there is, that this is as far as you can know.

Cleio was not surprised by Arthur’s long patience and forbearance. He had simply explained as much as he could.

But there were still many things ‘Jeongjin’ had not said. Truths that must never be revealed.

Truths that would erode the foundation of the play must be concealed. For a story to exist as a story.

Because the protagonist must believe that all events are the result of his own pure will.

Cleio scrutinized the third prince’s reaction, expecting to see disappointment on the boy’s face.

But his expectation was off.

At some point, the youngest prince had changed completely from a boy to a young man, and only gave Cleio a calm, resolute smile.

“They said no more people are born with divine power since the goddess left our world, but look, one stayed right by my side.”

“No, that’s not wrong. The goddess is not with us, and what I have isn’t divine power but ether sensitivity. And let’s be clear. The god’s will isn’t your will, and the revelation given to me isn’t one you have to follow. You just live as you want, in the way you think is right.”

Arthur nodded as if it was nothing.

“Well, I can’t see the goddess’s prophecies, so I have no choice but to live as I please. But I am curious about this. My mother was the goddess’s priestess. Did she know all this beforehand?”

“How would I know? But if you ever ascend the throne, it’d make a good story to spread as a secret. The king of prophecy—maybe the young won’t buy it, but the old faithful will love it.”

Cleio answered in a deliberately light tone. It was a vain attempt; Arthur’s demeanor remained grave.

“You know, Ray, now I get it. If it was the god’s will… then it must have been absolute for you. [Oath] would have been unnecessary. That’s why you were so strange after meeting Archbishop Istoria, right? You neither love nor believe in the god, yet you were forced to follow revelation.”

The obligation Cleio had for Arthur was not fair. Arthur keenly understood that. Before he could be angry at Cleio’s deceitful silence.

“…Arthur.”

“But still, I hope you don’t regret having to choose me.”

After burning away all doubts and confusion, what remained in Arthur was a flawless resolve.

The boy gripped his sword and raised ether. The dazzling light, as if gathering the sweetness of the morning, wrapped around his sword and his words.

“‘With faith, I say this.’ Ray, I’ve always trusted you and will continue to trust you. That’s my choice, and to choose is to accept all the consequences and aftermath. That’s what faith means to me.”

“Do you even know what you’re saying? You shouldn’t go around making such ridiculous promises to others—”

“Oh, enough. I don’t care about the goddess, but you’re my friend.”

‘Jeongjin’ was at a loss for words before the solid innocence in that simple answer.

Without even a chance to find the right logic to persuade this prince who knew no fear, the world without time began to collapse.

Before they knew it, water had risen to the two’s knees.

Just as the cold waves seemed to suffocate them, they scattered into droplets. Gravity disappeared from the space. Up and down flipped, and their bodies floated.

A dazzling rainbow stretched amid the inverted rays of light. It was impossible to tell where the sky ended and the water began. The rainbow floating there met its reflection in the water and formed a circle.

Water is a metaphor for baptism, and the rainbow is the ‘promise’ that there will not be a second extinction, ‘Jeongjin’ recalled.

‘Promise’ is given at the land of salvation, at the end of time, after suffering.

That boy’s voluntary promise was, in its own way, even stronger than Cleio’s forced promise.

In the scattered light, Arthur smiled. It was a bright, relieved smile, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes.

The chaos of the remembered world’s destruction felt like nothing more than a fun playground he had jumped into with a friend.

If he walked with that boy, even moments of hardship would not always be painful.

The water poured upward like a warm rain, and that vivid sensation only heightened the reality of the moment.

This place is the present, and that boy lives in the now.

How could one regard a place where such present-tense friendship exists as merely a part of a retrospective chronicle?

‘That’s impossible.’

At last, Cleio Aser accepted the reality before him. In a kind of defeatist resignation.

He could no longer remain a third party observing the story from outside.

[―User’s narrative intervention level rises sharply.

Cumulative rate: 40.3%]

[―The author recognizes this development as canonical.]

[―‘Unique Skill’ Editor’s Authority usage count is reloaded. (3/3)]

[― Chapter 2 is completed. Next, Chapter 3 begins.]