Editor 154

The next morning at dawn.

Cleio, who had woken early, entered the bathroom and lit a small gas lamp. Then, using office scissors, he cut his own hair.

While in neighboring Brunnenn, it was still customary for men among the lords to grow their hair long, in Albion it was standard to comb the front hair back and keep the back neatly trimmed.

Unless one was a classicist or of noble lineage, it was rare to grow hair below the shoulders, but Cleio, who hadn’t known the circumstances at first, had simply let his hair grow out of habitual laziness.

‘How was I supposed to know the crown prince’s hair was at the absolute borderline for men’s hair length in this world?’

His silky platinum hair, grown just below the shoulders, seemed so natural that he’d assumed that was the norm here.

Even after Dione corrected his misunderstanding, he hadn’t cared much about appearances while cooped up at school or the military camp.

But if he planned to move about outside now, it was better to make himself less conspicuous.

Snip. Snip snip…

Clatter. Snip.

The sound of the scissors was not crisp, but broken and uneven. The hair kept slipping away from the scissor blades.

Watching the struggle, Behemoth thumped his tail on the floor.

“Your dexterity isn’t even a quarter of Chel’s. A rat could do a better job on your hair.”

Cleio’s appearance was that much of a sight.

“It’s fine. If I wear a hat, it won’t show, as long as it doesn’t stick out under the brim.”

“If you cut your hair too, your hollow cheeks will stand out even more. Sheesh.”

“Is that really important right now?”

“Lady Dione would be heartbroken.”

Even in the tense moments before a hurried escape, this sly cat was worried about the lamentations of a beauty.

Clicking his tongue, Cleio slicked down his unruly hair with some water and pushed it back before opening the wardrobe.

Once, when a charity shop was set up near the mansion, he’d gone to browse with the children.

Thanks to the Angelium twins’ insistence, he’d bought some old stage clothes and hats and a travel bag for carrying them, which turned out to be useful.

Wearing an ill-fitting brown corduroy suit and pulling a battered bowler hat low, he hunched his back and looked just like a slouching beanpole.

‘Because everyone’s been taken away, the May ball and play are all canceled. Liffie and Letitia will be disappointed.’

At school, every May after the first semester midterms, they held a ball and party.

The event was called the May Ball.

During that period, the student play was performed, and talented students showcased music or singing.

He hadn’t known the timing his first year, but last year they’d all had a joyful evening together.

This year, the twins had been determined to put Cleio on stage, even for a one-line role…

Cleio shook his head to scatter those thoughts.

In the current situation, it was uncertain whether anyone could even return to school, let alone attend a school event.

‘Anyway, this disguise should do.’

He lined the bottom of his bag with another, even shabbier, jacket for changing. He packed his important magic stone wallet, wand, twenty 100-dinar notes for emergencies, and twenty Aurum gold coins.

In case he needed to use a respectable place, he also packed a neat suit from home and a collapsible opera hat.

Looking for anything else useful, he rummaged through the bedroom drawers.

All the magic stones and crystals had long since been moved to the school lab, and his summer garden coat was at the dorm, so there was nothing valuable here.

The only thing of worth was a magic crystal press he’d bought to copy Professor Maria’s manuscript.

With a piece of paper coated in magic crystal copper powder, he could use the [Manifestation] spell to duplicate documents placed underneath.

He packed that upright in the bag as well.

He grabbed a pen, ink bottle, paper knife, and scissors just in case. Everything in the Aser mansion was top-quality.

‘Magic stones aren’t something to leave at a secondhand shop in the back alley, but it’s easier to turn random goods into cash in those places.’

Cleio carefully opened the terrace door and stepped out. The cold dawn wind swept against the now-exposed nape of his neck.

Standing by the terrace railing of the Aser mansion, he looked back at his bedroom with eyes full of lingering attachment.

Leaving the mansion of his own accord made his heart ache.

‘Now, if I leave like this, even if Gideon disowns me, I’ll have nothing to say…’

He would miss everything: the gentle care of Mrs. Canton, Gael’s Tristein-style cooking brought from the Tristein estate, even the wine cellars filled with carefully collected bottles.

‘Most of all, this mansion.’

If things went wrong and he became a fugitive accused of treason, his dreams of becoming a senator and having his name on the deed of the Aser mansion would all be for nothing.

Cleio steeled his resolve. Now was not the time to cling to property rights.

He closed his eyes tightly, opened a circle, and cast [Slow] and [Soundproof] spells. The circle was small, and instead of a full incantation, he only spoke the spell names to control the ether.

As soon as his lightened body touched down below the terrace, the spell faded away.

Behemoth soon followed, landing gracefully despite his massive size.

Cleio double-checked that the memo for Chel was securely tied to Behemoth’s ribbon.

‘It’s attached properly. Good.’

Now, Chel was his only hope.

‘Isiel’s position is too precarious to involve her in this.’

Looking up the phonebook, he found the Melamid estate—Isiel’s maternal family—was far from the capital.

Even if she wasn’t the “official heir,” she was still the daughter of a border commander accused of treason. She was surely under surveillance, and her temperament was ill-suited for espionage.

‘But Chel is different.’

Camellia Hall was not far, and it was likely she could slip out. So he’d sent her a message. With her resourcefulness, working together would be far better than going alone.

“See you soon, Mot.”

“You be careful, too. Tsk.”

As a final check, Behemoth buried his snout in Cleio’s neck to mark his scent. Cleio also hugged the huge furball in return.

“Come find me. I’ll get a room near Central Station after 3 p.m.”

“Don’t worry. Do you think I can’t handle something like that?”

They soon left the garden and each melted into the dark streets of Lundain.

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The mailbox for Fran’s letters changed often, but this time it was at a commercial mail depot in the southern Scholá district.

Cleio walked all night toward Scholá. Even though he was taller and stronger than before, he was still basically frail, so his feet burned and his back ached.

But with Arthur still imprisoned, he couldn’t let something like this stop him.

It was too early for trams or shared carriages, so he traveled on foot. A private carriage was out of the question. He had to minimize witnesses.

‘To think I’m being tracked by both the Secret Intelligence Service and Aser Company… I must be someone important.’

The pre-dawn Lundain was not quiet. The streets were busy with deliverymen and wagons transporting goods to shops.

Testing his endurance, he walked diligently, but it was nearly 6 a.m. by the time he reached his destination.

The mail depot, specializing in commercial mail, operated 24 hours, and scruffy errand boys, print shop workers, and shop staff came and went at all hours. The benefit was that everyone was too tired to pay attention to anyone else.

Blending in naturally among the all-nighters, Cleio made his way on trembling legs to check the post office box.

As always, Fran’s letter had arrived at the usual time. The “Express” stamp was clear on the envelope.

‘Judging by how thick it is, she must have caught something big.’

Instead of hastily checking the contents, Cleio tucked the letter deep in his coat and took the first tram to Central Station.

At the station, he checked the timetable and bought a ticket for a Novantes-bound train leaving in eight minutes.

It wasn’t vacation season, and since it was an awkward morning hour, the third-class carriage to the resort was empty. Soon after departure, only the snoring of another passenger filled the carriage.

Finally able to relax, Cleio infused ether and opened Fran’s letter. Inside the envelope, along with the letter, were three photographs wrapped in paper.

As he scanned the photos and letter, Cleio had to bite his tongue to suppress a shout of joy.

It was an unexpected breakthrough that could resolve the current crisis!

The square photos, taken with an instant camera, clearly showed a Brunnenn prisoner in uniform, Albion’s flag torn and a guard post completely destroyed, and a raider rampaging atop the post.

‘People say not to raise black-haired beasts, but black-furred cats and gray-haired humans do repay you. This will work.’

The date on the letter—sent the previous day—contained enormous information.

It was the full story of the Brunnenn soldiers’ raid on the Kishion estate’s border guard post.

‘Who would have guessed that, right at this time, for the first time in decades, Brunnenn would cross the border? That’s why Fran was able to find the scene undetected.’

Beeeeeeee—

The train whistled as it passed under a bridge, steam billowing. To Cleio, it sounded like a bell of salvation.

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After three more stops past Lundain, Cleio got off before leaving the Greater Lundain area.

His previous reckless escape had not been fruitless.

His first spring here, Cleio’s runaway had been tracked down by the Aser Company’s investigative department thanks to inquiries at train stations.

His mistake then was boarding a train in the opposite direction at a manned station. A sharp-eyed stationmaster would have found it suspicious.

So this time, he chose an unmanned station. His review of unmanned stations while preparing for the Trinity auction trip to Novantes had come in handy.

Within the newly developed Greater Lundain boundary, several unmanned commuter stations served people traveling into the city.

‘What would I have done without “Memory”?’

In more ways than one.

Most of all, it was a highlight to actually reenact what he’d read in Cold War spy novels as a teenager.

‘It was fun to read in books, but doing it in real life is no fun at all. This is exhausting.’

Staying alert so he wouldn’t doze off, Cleio stepped onto the platform, checked the station clock and timetable as if nothing was amiss, and scanned the surroundings.

It was an odd hour, so the station was empty.

He went to the restroom behind the station and changed from his brown corduroy jacket to a gray tweed one.

Then he returned to the opposite platform and boarded a Lundain Central-bound train that arrived right on time.

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By afternoon, Cleio was back on the Central Station platform.

To check for any tail, he crossed the station and entered a general store. Even while buying some common stationery and document envelopes, [Perception] didn’t pick up anything suspicious.

‘Doesn’t seem like anyone’s following.’

Exiting through the shop’s other door, Cleio gripped his old bag tightly and scanned the square in front of the station.

This time, instead of a tail, a hotel tout latched onto him—just as he’d expected. The fastest way to find an unpopular inn was to follow a rude tout.

“Hey! You’ve come out the plaza exit, so you must be from the north! Looking for a place to stay? You’re here for the hospitality industry convention, right?”

“Yes… that’s right.”

“Come to our Red Rooster Inn. Close to the station and the breakfast is to die for!”

“Then… please… show me the way. Before that, I just need to leave a note on the station bulletin board.”

“Oh, waiting for someone, are you? A sweetheart, huh?!”

“Well, um… not exactly.”

Feigning country awkwardness, Cleio wrote on the station board that “Mr. Opener” was staying at the inn.

The tout hurried Cleio to the inn. Having caught a sucker, the tout walked with a spring in his step.

The place was exactly as Cleio expected.

Dirty, old, and with no guests.

Despite that, they made him pay a 30-dinar premium in advance.

Cleio quietly let himself be scammed by the innkeeper. In the guest book, as before, he wrote “B. Opener.”

“Soon, someone… will come looking for me. Please send them up.”

The innkeeper, thinking Cleio was secretly meeting a city girlfriend, patted him on the back.

“No worries, lad. Name’s Opener, right? If anyone comes asking for you, I’ll send them right up.”

Cleio let the innkeeper misunderstand. Whatever Chel looked like when she arrived, it was perfect if people thought it was just a secret date.

He climbed the dusty, creaky stairs to a second-floor room.

As the presence of empty rooms suggested, the inn’s facilities were abysmal.

Contrary to the tout’s promises, it was awkwardly far from the station, the sheets were crumpled, and the wallpaper was peeling. The room stank.

But to Cleio, it was a welcome environment.

‘At least I won’t be seen here.’

The note left on the bulletin board was nonsense to avoid the tout’s suspicion.

Behemoth, guided by Cleio’s scent, could find him without specifying the location, so he had a meeting place without revealing it.

‘After this, I should buy him not just a barrel, but a whole vineyard.’

Blocking the door with magic, Cleio carefully examined Fran’s letter and photos again.

Everything that needed to be in the photo’s small frame was clear.

A guard post on the Absalom Wall of the Kishion estate, numbered with ancient numerals at the entrance, destroyed after a melee.

A thick stone wall, clearly cut by a knight’s sword energy.

Amid fierce battle traces, the body of a Brunnenn soldier, and a Brunnenn officer—noble by the pale gray uniform, insignia, military cap, and long hair—caught and wailing in the hands of wounded Albion knights.

The battle had not been between the detained Kishion knights, but between the Tristein knights patrolling the wall and the invaders.

Fran had only written of “knights in dark blue armor with astonishing martial power,” but it was clear who they were.

‘A knight in Brunnenn uniform, a Hydra venom user, attacked the Kishion estate’s guard post, and that person is now in Tayserton’s hands.’

It was a hand strong enough to overturn the board.

But the Duke of Tristein, depending on Melchior’s judgment, might destroy the evidence regardless of national interest.

The incident had to be made public before everything was covered up.

‘This is the only way to clear Count Kishion of first-degree treason.’

Gideon’s words from the day before echoed in his mind.

That saving Arthur was “impossible unless Brunnenn invades the Kishion estate right now.”

But now, at this very moment, Cleio held in his hands the opportunity to turn the impossible into possible.