Editor 150

The Pastoral of Albion (2)

“You won’t be staying long. You’re a special guest. If you weren’t a mage, you’d have been assigned a visitor’s room with silk sheets. Personally, I’d like to treat you more intimately, but unfortunately, this time you won’t get to see the true face of the underground beneath the North Gate.”

What filled the pauses in Vesna’s slow speech was an excess of passion, a repressed sadism.

Cleio hid his trembling back, taking the last drag of his cigarette. Then he acted as if he hadn’t read the subtext Vesna subtly hinted at.

‘I really don’t want to attract the attention of a mad torture specialist.’

“What’s so special about me? Compared to a patriot like Baron Kishion, I’m just a student.”

“Ah, so you’re worried about the baron?”

“After seeing a summons like that, of course I am. I’m concerned that my classmate’s father might be misunderstood or falsely accused.”

“How devoted you are to your friends. Don’t worry too much. Lady Kishion and Lady Tempête de Neige are also simply being questioned respectfully.”

‘I knew it. They took them all in at once. Why? If Chel is Arthur’s financier, it wouldn’t take much to find evidence if they dig a bit.’

As Cleio stayed silent, Vesna licked her lower lip and lit a new cigarette.

She acted as if there was no need to rush.

Since entering the cell, she hadn’t asked Cleio a single question. It was the attitude of someone who knew there was nothing to be gained by asking him.

‘Even if they’ve taken precautions, if people like her go and seriously interrogate him, Baron Kishion won’t be able to lie to the end. So why was an arrest necessary… ah.’

Understanding arrived before he realized it.

As he looked at Vesna’s calm face, facts combined in his mind into realization.

It wasn’t about interrogating Cleio or trying to change his mind; detaining him itself was Vesna’s goal.

‘And she hasn’t mentioned Arthur. That’s the most ominous part.’

What is left unsaid tells as much as what is said.

Just because she didn’t mention the ties between Baron Kishion and Arthur didn’t mean they couldn’t uncover it. Cleio seized the initiative.

Just because she didn’t mention the ties between Baron Kishion and Arthur didn’t mean they couldn’t uncover it. Cleio moved first.

“Then, where is Arthur?”

Whoosh.

Blowing smoke at Cleio, Vesna now smiled, lines deepening at the corners of her eyes.

On the face of a woman aging gracefully, there was a hint of madness.

“I don’t have the authority to answer that question. But as a gesture of goodwill, let me say only this: there is much to ask and answer of Arthur.”

It felt like the floor had dropped out from under him.

‘Arthur was taken too? What are they doing to him?’

“It is the duty of a servant to provide whatever answer my holy lord, who knows the ways of the world, desires.”

The emotion flickering in Vesna’s eyes as she invoked Melchior was a kind of fanatical faith. Now it was certain.

In the previous manuscript, Vesna had been a priestess, and even in the final draft, she remained a devout believer.

In a world where the goddess had left, the new god she found—with conviction, to prepare for the coming century—was Melchior Riognan.

“Then, Sir Cleio, please enjoy your time.”

At Vesna’s glance, the soldier at the door left, making a squelching sound. As the key turned in the lock, a faint golden light began to seep from the boundary between wall and ceiling.

Now it was clear.

The entire cell was within the range of [Stasis][Block] magic circles, as well as [Soundproof] and [Shielding]. There was even an alarm function, set to [Voice][Amplify], if breached—a Tiplaum device.

Cleio sighed involuntarily.

‘No wonder Tiplaum isn’t widely available. The Crown Prince was busy refurbishing the prison before anything else.’

It was his own mistake not to have considered that Melchior might abuse Tiplaum in this way.

Fortunately, the magic formula inscribed on the device wasn’t perfect, so it didn’t block ether as completely as an original suppression tool.

The Tiplaum wires embedded in the wall were also too thin, and “Perception” detected sloppily connected sections.

With his abilities, Cleio could break it right now if he wanted to.

‘But the moment I break it, I’ll never slip out quietly. They’ll announce all over the palace that I was arrested for treason. Damn, he’s clever as hell!’

The ominous smell of blood lingering in the underground prison only fueled Cleio’s anxiety. He suppressed his unease and tried to reason with himself.

‘Of course, Melchior won’t kill Arthur. He knows that if Arthur dies, the same life will repeat again.’

But that meant, as long as Arthur didn’t die, anything could be done to him.

Cleio was on high alert.

If Arthur’s life was in danger, the world itself would show signs of upheaval.

At that point, there was no reason to stay in prison.

He began ether circulation, preparing to sweep away all obstacles with the fiercest magic at any moment.

---

Two days passed.

The overhead light, positioned to pierce his eyes when lying on his back, was never turned off. Eventually, the light itself became so painful that he had to cover his eyes with his coat.

The navy-uniformed soldiers on guard had almost no ether sensitivity. Instead, they were taciturn and strictly followed regulations. The soldiers who changed the chamber pot and brought meals twice a day never answered any of Cleio’s questions. Sometimes, they even changed personnel every time.

It was maddening.

Even though they said it wasn’t to torment him, such thorough neglect was hard to endure for long. Locking someone in solitary confinement with no interaction and not even a manual to read was the classic way to handle someone who must not be physically harmed.

Luckily, with “Promise’s” “Memory,” it wasn’t difficult for Cleio, but at times like this, nothing he had read in the past came to mind.

Cleio, fearing for the world’s stability, kept his senses focused entirely on the underground.

Just from the brief conversations between the guards and their replacements, and the occasional words drifting up from the hallway below, he could infer some facts.

Arthur was definitely imprisoned on a lower floor of this jail. Like Cleio, it seemed he wasn’t fitted with a suppression device, since no sign of the eight overlapping magic circles being activated could be felt.

‘As long as he’s not wearing a suppression device, a level 6 knight who knows [Enhance] won’t be physically harmed.’

Tap.

Screech.

Tap-tap. Creak.

It was a small, strange noise.

Lying on his bed, Cleio opened his eyes.

Someone was scratching the bars from outside.

“Wake up! Wake up, you useless fool!”

Cleio sprang up as if leaping and dashed to the bottom of the bars.

“Mot, Mot! How did you…!”

Looking around, Behemoth poked his snout through the bars again. The cat bared his teeth, apparently annoyed at having his whiskers touch the bars.

He was clearly angry, but being a spirit cat, he still purred softly.

“What’s happened to make the skin under your eyes so black! What did they do to you—someone with no stamina to begin with!”

“It’s nothing. Nothing happened. I just haven’t slept much.”

Standing below the bars, higher than his own height, Cleio also whispered quietly.

Ironically, it was a relief that the cell had a [Soundproof] magic circle.

“If you’re locked up with nothing to do, why lose sleep?”

Cleio had nothing to say. If he complained that he was about to snap from keeping “Perception” running at maximum to check on Arthur’s safety, he’d only get scolded.

“That’s how it turned out. Anyway, Mot, thank you for coming. Do you know what’s going on?”

That clever spirit cat wouldn’t have come all the way here without news.

“I’ll say this once, so listen well. The twins are under house arrest with their aunt at the Angelium baron’s townhouse in the Sovereign district. Those navy-uniformed soldiers with the weird horns are guarding the house constantly.”

As expected, his hope was rewarded.

“How do you know?!”

“I saw it! With my own eyes! In this tiny Rundane, it’s nothing for me to track down my own scent on the kids!”

That’s right. Behemoth’s territory was all of Rundane.

He could track the children by the scent they carried from touching and playing with him every day.

“So do you know what happened to Arthur, Isiel, and Chel?”

“The youngest prince was dragged here just like you. The carriage carrying him left before yours.”

“What!”

“When you were being taken, I rode along on the driver’s seat rain cover. Marvel at my wisdom and agility.”

Cleio was so choked up he couldn’t even manage empty words of praise, just moved his lips soundlessly.

Just for today, Mot didn’t scold him for skimping on meal service and continued explaining.

Jumping off the carriage just before reaching the castle gate, Mot clung to the upper wall and infiltrated the castle.

What Behemoth saw, arriving inside the North Gate before Cleio, was Arthur being dragged away with his eyes covered.

“I couldn’t check where that troublesome prince was locked up because of magical interference. Also, Isiel and Chel are confined in the top floor of the building opposite here. Their treatment seems a bit better than yours or the prince’s.”

“You saw them too? Any way to send a letter or note…?”

“The windows are nailed shut with extra sashes. Even their meals are brought by those uniformed thugs reeking of blood.”

“They’re soldiers from the Crown Prince’s Ministry of Internal Security.”

“So that’s what it is! The Crown Prince is behind all this! He’s going around accusing your friends and stirring up trouble everywhere!”

“Thanks for telling me. If possible, could you check on the kids again….”

Cleio stopped abruptly. Footsteps in the corridor were drawing near.

Clank.

Thunk.

The door opened suddenly.

“Please come out, Sir Cleio Aser. Thank you for your cooperation with the investigation. Your sponsor is waiting.”

The detention ended as abruptly as it had begun.

The two soldiers who entered the cell covered Cleio’s eyes, grabbed his arms, and began leading him down the corridor.

‘They don’t want me to memorize the prison layout.’

But Cleio had “Perception.”

He desperately memorized the cleverly confusing corridors and stairs. If they didn’t release Arthur, he might have to break in.

Iron bars blocked the corridor. Three more doors to pass. Three flights of stairs down, two up, and suddenly he could breathe easier.

It was the air of the surface.

The floor underfoot changed from cold stone to a soft carpet. The soldiers let go of Cleio’s arms and removed the hood from his head.

Blinded by the sudden bright light, Cleio squinted.

“Go in.”

The person waiting to vouch for Cleio in an ordinary reception room of the palace’s outer wall was an unexpected figure.

“…Father.”

A middle-aged man, gripping his cane so hard his gloves wrinkled, turned around. In his hand were a familiar mana stone wallet and wand.

Gideon Aser’s stern gaze swept Cleio from head to toe.

Bare feet, a rumpled pajama shirt visible through an open coat, soiled hair, dark circles under his eyes.

For a moment, a look of concern—almost anger—flashed beneath the man’s cold face.

Handing Cleio back his belongings, Gideon spoke in a low voice, as if suppressing something.

“For now, let’s go home.”