Editor 160

For an Impermanent Peace (1)

Far off, the boundary of the city crumbled into black and white, and the sun lost its midday clarity.

It was a familiar rupture.

Cleio knew the cause of this calamity. It was the threat to Arthur’s life.

Her heart pounded as if it would shatter her ribs, and her mouth went dry and parched.

The distance between the palace’s north gate and the parliament was only a few kilometers. That made it all the more maddening.

What on earth was Arthur experiencing in that cold underground, where even the sound of screams was blocked?

‘Right. He won’t kill Arthur. Even that man knows it would all end if he did. But just not killing him… doesn’t mean the boy is safe….’

Even “Separation” could no longer block her anxiety.

Cleio sprang to her feet.

Clatter.

The saucer slipped, and the base of the porcelain teacup broke off.

In the pale twilight, Melchior wore a fresh, serene smile.

His gaze slipped past Cleio, turning slowly out the window—into the apocalyptic landscape where even the river had stopped flowing.

“That spectacle, given only to the duke and me by the world. What sort of trickery is this?”

Indeed. Melchior was right.

Even when Arthur was injured a few years ago in the summer, Isiel had stopped along with the world and failed to notice the anomaly.

But Cleio had no time to spar with the crown prince. Compassion born of knowledge evaporated before the annihilation of the entire world.

Cleio calculated the shortest route to the underground north gate and, just as she was about to leap out the window, a surge of healing magic, exploding from a perception heightened to the limit by excitement, was detected.

‘Who on earth…!’

Had her desperate heart amplified the power of the ‘Promise’?

The ring on her left index finger burned hotly, and before Cleio’s eyes, the afterimage of blurry letters appeared.

It was a healing spell. Though it was only cast by a level 3 mage, their ether control was skillful.

They unfolded the spell formula to an extremely small scale, increasing its potency to compensate for the low level.

Ignoring Cleio, who was pale and drenched in cold sweat, Melchior poured more of the now-lukewarm tea into his empty cup.

“Are you going? You may withdraw, but keep one thing in mind. It’s the first time someone granted the title of Capital Defender has been implicated in treason. It will be an event that goes down in the kingdom’s history.”

The magician, whose fingers had gripped the window frame so hard they turned white, quickly regained her composure. This was the delayed effect of “Separation,” reining her in.

“If the continent’s strongest area-attack mage and the northeast defense force’s commander tried to start a rebellion, that’s more than enough grounds to bring a motion before the royal advisory council to strip Arthur of his succession rights.”

The enamel on Cleio’s teeth ground down in her mouth.

Ordinary persuasion would be useless against this man.

It was not the purpose of this meeting anyway, and Melchior, more than anyone, knew all of this was just a pretext and a false charge.

‘Because he himself designed the entire plot.’

It was certain now.

Even the act of knowingly allowing Cruel’s tyranny while withholding support from the northeast defense force had been part of Melchior’s plan from the start.

It was all to strip Arthur of the right to stand as a contender for the throne.

How many years had this plan been in the making?

Was it shaped through failures across several lifetimes?

Cleio struggled not to be overwhelmed by such relentless patience.

“According to your words, the investigation is still ongoing. Even if there’s suspicion of treason, to torture a prince who isn’t even the ringleader?”

“Torture? That’s too strong a word, Sir Cleio. The director of the Internal Security Bureau, who was interrogating him on a serious matter, seems to have lost his composure a bit… but look, didn’t they immediately treat him with healing magic?”

Melchior raised his hand, wrapped in smooth fabric, toward the window as if to perform a miracle of restoration.

In reality, that was not the case. The sequence was the reverse.

Melchior had commanded destruction, and only Arthur’s recovery had set the world right again. Even so, the crown prince’s actions carried a persuasive deceit.

“Look. The river flows again.”

Before they knew it, the sky had regained its blue, and the river flowed once more, as before, down toward the outer sea of Memoria.

Cleio gave no reaction to the dramatic staging. That act was far too shallow, and insulting.

He clung to “Separation,” feigning composure. Then, as if merely to draw attention, he called out to Melchior.

“Your Highness.”

Perhaps displeased by the young man’s calm response, Melchior faintly furrowed his beautiful brow.

“…Hmm, there’s something suspicious about your composure. I wonder how Arthur never questions your coolness.”

‘He acts as if he’s giving me an answer, but he’s just changing the subject. He’s long since tossed away the pretense of being a witness to treason, and is plotting something even more insidious.’

Instead of getting caught in Melchior’s snare, Cleio got to the point.

“For what purpose are you treating Arthur so harshly? Surely you don’t need a student’s testimony to determine the size of the Kishion viscounty’s private army. And you, of all people, know that the viscount’s choices were fundamentally to protect his country.”

It was a provocative remark, implying that all of this had been orchestrated by him.

He wanted to rush to the north gate and break Arthur out of prison, but doing so would cost Arthur his right to the throne of Albion.

He could not allow Arthur’s body to be harmed. But he could not allow his honor to be tarnished, either. Cleio had to save both.

To do so, he first had to discern Melchior’s intentions.

“If you are to interrogate Arthur, then surely you must also hold Duke Cruel accountable for blocking proper support to the Kishion viscounty. What is it that you truly want from him?”

“Are you curious?”

“You seem to be hoping for the pleasure of giving an answer.”

The years spent contending with this fearsome being had given Cleio a kind of intuition.

Unlike those who lived all those years with him, the crown prince had not been granted the blessing of oblivion. Knowledge had isolated him, and solitude drives a person mad.

Had he not been born with tremendous strength and will, the crown prince would not have been able to fulfill his role.

Even so, the crown prince, pushed to his limit, had been seeking “understanding” from Cleio ever since their first encounter.

“Ahaha! Yes, perhaps I have always been searching for someone to speak to. I like the clarity of your reasoning. All right, I will answer you.”

It was just as he said. Beneath eyelashes that reflected light like mother-of-pearl, bright turquoise-rimmed scarlet eyes shimmered with joy.

“I am simply demanding a loyalty ‘covenant’ from Arthur.”

“!!!”

“I trust his uprightness, but would it not be troublesome if misunderstandings or accidents like this happened a second time?”

Cleio’s unfiltered true feelings surged within.

‘That bastard, calling it a misunderstanding with that shameless mouth.’

A loyalty “covenant.” Of course Arthur refused.

If he were to accept such a thing from Melchior, he would never be able to pursue the throne.

To make such an unfair demand and torment someone just short of killing them—what kind of excuse was that?

“Oh, don’t look at me like I’m a villain. You mustn’t blame me. What could I possibly use to threaten him? It’s you, Sir Cleio Asher, the magician.”

“What do you mean?”

“He arrived at the north gate first, and saw you, having gotten out of the carriage, being dragged into the darkness of the prison. It must have been a striking scene. It was quite helpful as grounds for ‘persuasion.’”

Cleio felt a dizzying sense of vertigo.

She herself, of all people, had become the factor threatening Arthur’s life and future.

Melchior’s smile deepened.

“Ask yourself who you are. Even though you possess the power to bring down spears from the sky and rain fire, you are not bound by the obligations of a covenant. In that case, wouldn’t imposing a covenant on your counterpart be a reasonable measure?”

Cleio, who had been staring straight at Melchior while hiding his agitation, noticed a flush of joy on the crown prince’s cheek.

‘He’s trying to lay the blame for Arthur’s pain on me with those sly words.’

Cleio was not so naive as to be shaken by that.

If he let guilt trip him up, or tried to excuse or pity himself to lessen it, that would be the true beginning of a mistake.

Such behavior was not appropriate in the current situation.

Cleio answered with carefully chosen words.

“Do you suspect I would betray my country? Where did you get such a clue? I am a knight of Albion, and I will always be loyal to God and nation.”

The charges Melchior was pinning on him were preposterous.

The goddess had entrusted the future of the world to this kingdom; where could he go, bound as he was by the ‘Promise’ and duty?

Of course, it was a reason Melchior would never accept.

“I don’t doubt your loyalty. But you can understand that such suspicion is at least possible, can’t you?”

“Your Highness. If you wish to have my loyalty proven, would it not be logical to demand a ‘covenant’ of me, not Arthur?”

“Certainly, you maintain your composure better than Arthur. I do regret the lack of ‘Mitigation,’ but at least in ‘this life,’ I have no intention of harming your body or mind to demand a covenant.”

Cleio could see the crown prince’s intention.

“This life” was to be one of freedom, to see just what a person belonging to God might accomplish.

For the crown prince, life was not a one-time event, but an endlessly repeating cycle.

“But Arthur doesn’t know that, and thanks to that, my high-ranking swordsman little brother could be kept quietly seated in the north gate’s underground chair. Does that answer your question?”

He threatened Arthur with Cleio’s safety, demanding a covenant, and told Cleio that Arthur was being held hostage to restrain his own power.

Melchior intended to create a structure in which the more Arthur and Cleio cared for each other, the more they would be choking each other’s throats.

‘Even if that plan fails, he’ll gather data on how Arthur or I act in such a situation… and use that to devise an even more devious plan “next time.” There’s no escape.’

Suddenly, the crown prince turned his head and gazed into the dust-laden air under the returning light, as if waiting for some omen.