Editor 161

But there was no omen. Only the same silence remained.

Melchior let out a faint sigh, as if disappointed.

“…I gave him a great chance to show his loyalty to you, but hmm, it seems he has not yet resolved to prove his sincerity with a [covenant].”

Sensing the faint trace of contempt that surfaced on Cleio’s face, Melchior smiled calmly.

“You’re blaming the wrong person, Sir Cleio. Arthur’s suffering originates from God. You are surely a messenger of God manifested solely for my brother’s sake. Whether the messenger’s arrival is a blessing or a curse is something that cannot be determined by human means.”

Melchior remembered the night of the arrest.

The sight of a companion, blindfolded and barefoot, being dragged away by security agents shattered the courage and composure of his once steadfast youngest brother.

That was the first incident.

Witnessing the hero’s face blanch with pain and fear, helplessness and guilt, sorrow and anger.

‘Even if one is a tool of God, a tool’s role changes according to how it is used.’

Having lived his ninth life, Melchior welcomed the existence of this magician.

A pure friendship that had never existed in Arthur’s life until now. A vulnerable side that the one born as a protagonist could not guard against.

“I am so delighted at this very moment. Until now, there was never anyone in his life worth threatening as collateral. His companions were those who would live or die for a greater cause, so even if their lives were lost, their resolve never wavered. They took pride in their courage, not even fearing death. Take, for example, the daughter of that exiled noble.”

Even Cleio, who did not know the events prior to the eighth draft, could guess at such a past.

Those were incidents from previous lives, events not recorded in the eighth draft of , but which had prompted a rewriting of earlier manuscripts.

‘Those are items of the canon that can never be changed.’

They had all gathered of their own will, so they valued the survival of their ideals over the lives of individual comrades.

Even if saved at the risk of betrayal, not one of them would have welcomed such rescue.

That was why Melchior no longer tried to sway Chel, Isiel, Rifi, or Leticia.

And so he waited.

He must have spent an unimaginable number of lifetimes searching for an “item that could be changed.”

Melchior would do anything to break the given conditions. There were no commandments on his conscience. Not even the taboos of murder or fratricide were obstacles.

That relentless repetition had brought a strong-willed and wise man to this point.

Cleio let out a sigh.