Editor 162

For an Impermanent Peace (2)

“The scales have not tipped to one side yet. On one side is the ‘purpose and hope’ his companions have placed in him, and on the other is the life of the ‘prophetic magician.’ Arthur has a kind and upright nature, the sort to know that choosing either side would be a betrayal.”

Melchior silently approached Cleio, who was still gripping the window frame.

Cleio turned his head. The crown prince’s profile and the cityscape entered his field of vision together.

Clack. Slide.

Before he knew it, the crown prince stood beside him, and, as if to take in the view, pushed the window up to open it.

A soft early summer breeze ruffled the crown prince’s pale golden hair.

“…But seeing as the [covenant] hasn’t reached me even after all this time, it seems he refused the offer. To endure the handling of the Internal Security Bureau’s director—he’s got quite a bit of spirit.”

The way he brushed his scattered hair over one shoulder was gentle. Several strands clung to the tip of his glove, gleaming like traces of sunlight.

Now Cleio understood as well.

The tone and content of the crown prince’s words were never aligned. He always delivered the most brutal statements in the gentlest manner.

“Well, this much is fine. I had hoped he would experience the pain of this world that doesn’t require a trip to hell at least once. It seems God hasn’t forgotten my wish either.”

Cleio forced his tightening throat open to ask the crown prince,

“Do you know what will become of the world if you force a unilateral loyalty [covenant] on one who is both the creator of history and deeply entwined with the fate of this world?”

“I do not. That is why I act when I can.”

The wind blew between their words.

The leaves of the street trees lining Plumen Avenue sang an early summer song, and the surface of the Tempus River sparkled like a hand mirror.

Even the movements of a porter riding with a bundle of papers tied behind his bicycle looked lively.

A pair of birds flew westward. Beyond the river, the woods of the Capital Defense Academy and its protruding clock tower were visible.

As if indifferent to the events in the underground and the shadows here, the world outside the window was peaceful.

“You look at me with accusing eyes. I hope you, too, can look back on this moment with all your memories after living life over eight times. See if that accusation is justified.”

Melchior, who answered, was looking not at Cleio but at the sky outside the window.

Ironically, Cleio thought that even this being who defied heaven was still under the sway of the conventional belief that gods reside in the sky.

“A narrative that surveys current events as a whole is only possible after everything is over. Only after the present has become entirely the past. But history always unfolds in the present, and choices must be made in the moment, mustn’t they?”

Melchior let out a dry laugh in his throat, then added one more thing.

For a moment, a violent madness, long suppressed, flashed across the surface of his ore-like eyes.

“Regret is for the next life.”

Cleio stepped back, as if overwhelmed by Melchior, hiding his expression in the room’s darkness.

The angle of the sun had changed, and the office was dim. Amidst it, Cleio’s face was so pale it was almost blue.

‘There is no next life.’

The goal set before him was clear. Prevent Melchior from learning the truth.

At the same time, he had to stop the early closure of ether in this world. If the Gate of Mnemosyne closed and ether could no longer be used, Arthur’s journey would be ruined.

How could one achieve victory over human wars and the rampage of monsters?

As seen in the previous draft, even after ether was abolished and the Gate of Mnemosyne closed, monsters with magic stones at their core were not completely eradicated.

‘If that many monsters appear in a world without ether sensitivity or swordmasters…’

Even if Melchior himself died, his intention might still be achieved. That nothing would ever grow in the garden of God.

Cleio’s mind was busy with calculations. The “memory” of the ‘Promise’ spun furiously, not missing a single line of overlooked description, not even a small hint or metaphor.

The conclusion was obvious.

Closing the Gate of Mnemosyne seemed possible only if even Melchior, under the influence of madness, performed sorcery that sacrificed many lives.

‘…In that case, do I have to help him not go mad for now?’

The one who ordered Arthur’s torture and ran secret police who broke down bedroom doors in the night?

Even if it all originated in a mistake of God, as a character facing him, Cleio could not accept or understand all those actions.

Because “Separation” had been raised to its highest level for so long, Cleio’s left fingers, tightly gripped under his right hand, were burning and aching as if they might break.

Cleio struggled to push aside his personal anger.

He reminded himself of his original goal: to buy time until the extra edition came out. At the same time, he composed himself to get the maximum result from this conversation.

“If I promise to cooperate with [Mitigation] even without these methods, would that suffice?”

He didn’t know if this was the right way. But it was the only card Cleio could play against Melchior right now.

The crown prince, still facing the river breeze, only slightly turned his chin. His face, wrapped in platinum hair, seemed almost haloed.

“To be able to say that, knowing everything… If you had been given to me as a vassal, how could I not accept those words? If you were to make a covenant, that would be another story.”

“I will never make a covenant with anyone in my life. But I have already eased your pain once. It’s no exaggeration to say I saved your life. If you understand duty, please trust me. My will is not false.”

“How can your will be guaranteed without a covenant?”

“I am someone with much to protect. I have much to lose.”

An inappropriate laugh was carried away by the wind.

Melchior, resting his right arm on the window frame, turned fully toward Cleio.

“Well, if you did commit treason, I could just confiscate your lands and annex them to the royal domain. At current prices, they’d make quite a sum.”

If the crown prince, who could drag even a prince to the torture chamber, couldn’t find an excuse to confiscate a mere honorary noble’s assets, that would be strange.

Cleio’s eyebrow twitched.

Not even when Taethurn pressed a blade to his throat had he felt this chilled to the core.

“Yes, you did mitigate my pain back then. Thanks to that, I accomplished many things. I am grateful for that. Is this cooperation a promise to use humanitarian magic for me as many times as needed from now on?”

“Of course.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that verbal promise and set Arthur free again. What a truly unfair proposal.”

Cleio’s reply was feeble.

All of this was happening by the will of God, a rupture caused by it. What was the point of blaming Cleio, who had no right to question God’s reason?

It was then.

Knock. Knock-knock-knock. Knock.

Urgent, repeated knocking sounded from outside the office.

Since the guards did not call out any titles, it wasn’t a guest but an official. Soon after, an impatient voice came through the door.

“I know you’re in the middle of an important meeting, but may I come in? This is urgent.”

“Go ahead.”

A man in his early thirties, with a tired look and a bundle of papers in hand, walked in as if rolling. He was so out of breath from hurrying that his chest heaved. Clearly, this was urgent and confidential news.

Cleio’s intuition tingled.

‘This might be….’

“What is it?”

“First, I ask you to excuse your guest, Your Highness.”

The man did not start reporting right away, waiting for Melchior to dismiss Cleio.

“It’s fine. Just report.”

“But…”

“Didn’t you say it was urgent, Secretary Tulmin?”

Tulmin’s hesitation did not last long. Not even noticing the broken teacup, he stepped over it and spread the bundle of papers on the table.

The A3-sized poster was clearly a magnesite copper sheet. On the copy paper, a blurry, enlarged photo that Fran had sent was printed. It showed a Brunnen officer ruthlessly attacking a checkpoint flying the flag of Albion.

A small, newspaper-format sheet rolled up with the poster was an extra edition. Under the masthead of Swift Gazette at the top, a large headline screamed out.

“BRUNNEN INVASION — PATRIOTS, RISE!!!”

Cleio, looking over the printouts on the desk with the others, forced his expression to remain hard so as not to show his relief.

‘Chel did it!’

It was perfect timing.

“I didn’t see anything like this in the proof of the evening edition that just came up.”

“This is an extra from a cheap paper not usually closely supervised by the press officer. Because of the content, as soon as it was distributed, the news spread throughout the capital. At this rate, it will be a major obstacle to ongoing operations.”

Cleio didn’t miss a single hint.

‘Usually, the evening paper’s deadline was before noon. The major dailies were subject to Melchior’s censorship before printing. Did he have something on the publishers?’

But the Swift Gazette was not a major daily, and this wasn’t even an evening edition.

With three spelling errors and uneven word spacing, the extra edition, with typesetting so poor it was almost unreadable, had published Cleio and Chel’s carefully written tip-off letter verbatim.

Thanks to that, the extra had managed to spread so quickly throughout the capital.

‘They had enough money to print magnesite copper sheets like posters, but thank goodness it was a clueless tabloid.’

Even if the verification was sloppy and the typesetting crude, as long as it caused a commotion on time, the tip-off’s purpose was accomplished.

Melchior, quickly grasping the situation, asked the secretary,

“How widely was it distributed?”

“The photo-printed sheets were posted in fifteen major squares, including Royal Circus, and the extra edition was distributed throughout the capital as well as at major Rundayn stations.”

“It’s already spread everywhere.”

“Shall I issue an executive order to collect them?”

“At this point? That would be pointless interference.”

Tulmin, the secretary, looked downcast at Melchior’s accurate judgment.

Then another person requested entry to the office. This time it was a woman with her hair tied up. She, too, was pale as she reported to Melchior.

“Crowds are gathering in front of the Brunnen embassy due to the breaking news. Even with extra police, it’s not enough, so we need to ready the Capital Defense Forces. Please authorize it.”

Melchior gave his orders calmly, without anger or excitement.

“Relay this to Sir Pierce Clagen. Select ten elite knights and dispatch them to the Brunnen embassy. He, too, will not want a conflict with Brunnen, so he will follow this order.”

“Yes.”

The woman exited as quickly as she had entered. Melchior gave further instructions to the remaining man.

“You are to relay this to Director Driscoll. As of 14:00 today, new information has been received on the matter, so interrogation of witnesses involved in the treason case is to be suspended. After ceasing operations, have them stand by. All other witnesses are to be released from house arrest as well.”

“I will carry it out.”

Bowing his head, Secretary Tulmin disappeared from the office as quickly as he had come.

Cleio suddenly realized it was easier to breathe. It was as if the oxygen concentration in the room had changed.

He hadn’t even realized it, but until just now, it was as if his lungs had been stomped on.

Still showing no sign of hurrying, Melchior picked up the extra from the table.

The belligerent text formed paragraphs designed to provoke emotion.

The event of an arrogant and brutal Brunnen military noble devastating a border post in the viscounty would cause public outrage.

At the same time,

‘Now there’s no justification for detaining Viscount Kishion.’

If Brunnen really had carried out military aggression, then even if the viscount had increased his forces in a technically illegal way, his actions could now be justified.

If Viscount Kishion’s charges were cleared, Arthur would have to be released as well. That was why Melchior had ordered the interrogation to stop immediately.

‘Now that the press has picked up the scent, they had to release the kids quickly before an article came out. He’s a fast thinker.’

If the capital and parliament’s eyes were on Kishion territory, maintaining the blockade would be difficult. The fact that it was enforced only by the crown prince’s guard, without parliament’s consent, made that obvious.

Even Melchior knew that his rationale for the string of incidents over the past few days was weak.

How could he not?

“Shuliman Kishion is lucky. For all these absurd excuses to line up so neatly… It seems God does not wish those most favored to suffer more.”

Flap.

The one-page extra slipped from the crown prince’s fingers and fell to the floor. On the unnaturally white glove, the still-wet ink left a black mark.

Only then did it feel real.

At least in this round, Cleio had gained the upper hand.