Editor 49

Divinely Bestowed Kingship (1)

All the luggage that everyone had helped carry in was left just as it was in the bedroom. The long box was at the very bottom.

‘Looks like the kids stacked things like this.’

“Arthur. See the longest box over there? On the floor.”

“Yeah.”

“Take that out for me.”

“You called me over with so much meaning just to make me work….”

“I’ll do it.”

“No, Isiel. Just stay put.”

Arthur knelt and easily moved the luggage aside, pulling out the box containing the sword. When he tried to hand it to Clayeo, she shook her head to refuse.

“That’s yours, Arthur. Keep it and use it.”

“What is it?”

“A sword. Yours broke before, remember?”

“I already got a new practice sword.”

“How long do you think a student’s sword will last against your swordsmanship? Just take it when I’m giving it to you. Open it up already.”

“…Thanks.”

Arthur no longer hesitated and began unwrapping the sword.

It was something Clayeo had been considering ever since she saw “Beg’s Sword.”

There was only one reason she gladly accepted something she couldn’t even properly wield.

‘This kid has leveled up much faster than in the draft, so he needs a fitting sword quickly. That way he’ll get hurt less and won’t be at as much risk of dying.’

He was the main character bearing the fate of the world, yet totally unaware of it—he should at least have a proper weapon.

For the plot going forward, it was better to give this item to Arthur rather than selling or keeping it.

‘Since Varg appeared, soon enough a dungeon will open—I can’t have him charging in with a mass-produced sword.’

From beneath several layers of silk emerged “Beg’s Sword,” beautifully finished.

The black leather scabbard was decorated with wave-like patterns inspired by the blade, and both the tip and mouth of the scabbard were adorned with silver embellishments.

Arthur, gripping the hilt, drew the sword as if mesmerized.

Shururung—

With a chilling sharpness, the blade cut through the air. It was a sword that could cut even ghosts.

‘As expected. The length is perfect for his height. Fit for a protagonist.’

While Clayeo was satisfied, Arthur was lost in admiration as he inspected the blade.

His forearm flexed, veins visible as he gripped the sword.

Even Isiel, being a swordswoman, couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“Is it alright for me to have such an incredible weapon? This doesn’t look like a normal sword—it seems like a magical artifact.”

“It is a magical tool, but aside from being sturdy it doesn’t have any special function. Don’t expect it to boost your level or anything.”

“It’s not the kind of thing you should talk about so lightly.”

Arthur, unwilling to let go of the sword but feeling it was too precious, struggled to voice his hesitation.

It was good that he’d grown up through hardship and had practical sense, but wasn’t his thinking just a bit too down-to-earth for a prince?

Clayeo struggled to hold back her laughter and feigned seriousness.

“Did you forget when I said I’d ‘put my honor on the line’ and ‘give my best’? It’s only been a few weeks.”

“I didn’t expect support like this this soon.”

“It’s not for free—you’ll have to repay me later.”

“With what?”

“How about a seat in the House of Lords?”

The moment she brought up a noble title, Isiel’s eyes seemed to turn oddly cold, but Clayeo pretended not to notice.

‘Seems like fair trade. There are a hundred seats in the House of Lords—if he gives me one, I can get the mansion.’

Even though it was something meant for him, there was no need to make it a free gift.

Clayeo really wanted the Asser mansion, even if she didn’t need a weapon.

“…I’ll remember that.”

Arthur’s face was so serious that Clayeo finally burst out laughing.

“Hahaha, yeah, don’t forget your resolve.”

‘That’s it. Buy low, sell high.’

What in this world can’t be bought with wealth?

History proves it. Titles and positions are all for sale for the right price.

At that moment, ‘Promise’ issued a new message—by now, an unsurprising chain reaction.

[? The user’s narrative intervention rate is increasing.

?Calculating the cumulative percentage of narrative intervention (□□%)]

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The next day’s class was Classics.

Having missed several weeks, there was no way for Clayeo to keep up, but it didn’t matter.

Letting the teacher’s explanation of Absalom II’s court poet drift by absent-mindedly was peaceful.

The trees in the schoolyard were slowly turning red, with a gentle autumn breeze blowing.

On such an autumn day, even the teacher’s monotonous voice as he analyzed poetry sounded pleasant.

Only one thing had changed at school.

Since Varg’s appearance, the woods in the middle of campus had been off-limits to students.

From the classroom building, you could see the internal barrier around Mnemosyne’s Gate glowing around the clock.

The barrier stone that Clayeo and Arthur used as a backrest had finally returned to its original function after a thousand years.

‘Now that it’s set up like that, they should be able to handle anything that happens.’

After class, Clayeo had lunch between the twins, and—feeling less than enthusiastic—called for a carriage.

The coachman asked for her destination.

“Where to, sir?”

“To Parliament, please.”

The coachman, puzzled by the strange request, took another look at the student who’d called for the carriage.

“You need a permit to bring a carriage to Parliament. Please show me your permit in advance.”

“Oh—here… I have an entry permit.”

Only then did Clayeo, standing there without even a bag, take out the documents from her pocket and show them.

The coachman was quite surprised, but hid it like a true professional.

‘What kind of student is this… an heir to a noble or a member of parliament?’

“Understood. I’ll take you there quickly.”

The coachman’s tone became noticeably brisk and courteous. Lost in her own thoughts, Clayeo was unaware of the misunderstanding and climbed into the carriage.

Today was the day she would receive the Capital Defense Medal.

‘I don’t mind getting it, but did the crown prince have to give it personally?’

She was quite nervous about facing Melchior.

Moreover, before the medal ceremony, she’d received an official letter summoning her to testify about the monster attack at the Royal Advisory Committee—hence, her destination was Parliament, not the palace.

Zebedi had told her that a Committee summons was no big deal, and that she should just talk comfortably.

But with her petite-bourgeois mindset, all Clayeo wanted was to avoid it.

In her previous life, she’d never even visited a police station, let alone Parliament.

‘Sigh, let’s just endure it for the pension. It’s for life, and they said it would be adjusted for inflation, too.’

In fact, even the decoration itself almost became an issue.

It wasn’t just conferring a rank equivalent to a knight—if it had involved a formal commission that invoked [Oath], she would’ve had to work hard to avoid it.

Only after coming to this world did she realize how hard it was to keep up with land prices.

.

.

.

The Parliament building, with its straight sandstone columns and tall vaults, overwhelmed visitors.

The interior layout was also complex, and only with an attendant’s guidance did she finally find the royal office of the House of Peers.

Currently, it was in use by the crown prince, acting as regent.

“Magician Clayeo Asser entering.”

“Entering.”

Guards standing on each side of the office entrance announced Clayeo’s presence to the crown prince.

Clayeo immediately activated ‘Promise’s “Separation.”

Though the attendant politely opened the door, Clayeo could barely bring herself to step in.

She had to make a great effort not to look directly at the crown prince.

He was a kind of stimulation one could never get used to—no matter how many times she saw him, his beauty was always a fresh shock.

Melchior, who’d been standing by the window facing the river, turned toward her with an indifferent look.

The crown prince didn’t use any skills—he just looked up, yet Clayeo’s legs stiffened at the doorway.

How could a living being be formed in such a way?

Even in the draft, he was described as having striking appearance, but that description was far too lazy.

In a world like —where there were no elves or fairies—his presence alone inspired fundamental doubts.

A kind of excessive beauty that was hard for human senses to fully accept, inducing unease.

Even the attendants and guards avoided meeting Melchior’s eyes—not just because he was the crown prince.

He was simply a being too difficult to gaze at directly without mental defenses.

“Clayeo? You seem quite nervous.”

“…Yes, it’s my first time in Parliament.”

‘It’s because of you, obviously!’ But all Clayeo could do was hunch her shoulders awkwardly.

Even without knowing his true nature, this man was still Melchior Rioghnan, the crown prince.

If she made a wrong move and gave anything away, he’d never let it go.

“There’s still time before the meeting. Would you care for some tea?”

Melchior called out to Clayeo in his usual gentle tone.

“Thank you.”

The plain office was furnished with a large mahogany desk set against the window, and in front of the desk were a simple sofa and table.

Clayeo hesitantly went and sat down.

Melchior poured tea himself from the pot and offered her a cup, which she accepted awkwardly.

The crown prince tasted the tea first, lowering his gaze. Clayeo gulped hers down, unable to taste a thing.

His desk was still cluttered with ink, pens, and stacks of paper, suggesting he’d been working until just now.

‘They say the crown prince has a reputation for competence… and on top of that, he’s diligent, too.’

Lost in thought, Clayeo didn’t manage to keep the conversation flowing smoothly.

Even so, the crown prince patiently kept the talk going.

He had a remarkable ability to put anyone at ease, no matter the situation.

Chatting about the weather, the taste of the tea, the Asser Company’s return, Clayeo found herself relaxing—perhaps thanks to “Separation.”

But just then, Melchior casually brought up another matter.

“By the way, you wore your uniform again today.”

“Yes, Chief Mage Zebedi advised me that for a student, the uniform was the most appropriate attire for visiting Parliament.”

“I sent something more fitting than a uniform, yet you only wear the school one.”

Clayeo nearly dropped her cup. She felt her lunch rising in her throat.

Melchior was referring to the “Rioghnan royal formal attire.” Now he was probing why she didn’t wear it.

If she really were an illegitimate child, she wouldn’t dare—and if she weren’t, keeping such an item felt even more burdensome.

‘Ugh, I can’t just burn it, either.’

As always, the crown prince seemed absolutely convinced Clayeo was his half-sibling.

Since he couldn’t use his innate skill to read her mind, it was clear he was intentionally testing her.

In such situations, the best solution was to answer with a non-answer.

“I appreciate your kindness, but it was far too large for me.”

Apparently taken aback, Melchior lifted a shapely eyebrow and smiled more deeply.

“I see.”

“My frame is so frail, I couldn’t do justice to it. It looked far too precious for me to even try it on.”

“A shame. That formal attire suits all of our siblings quite well.”

‘There he goes again, coming at me out of nowhere.’

Clayeo watched Melchior nervously, wary that he might use his “Insight Structure” skill.

Fortunately, Melchior didn’t attempt what he’d failed at before.

‘The crown prince must know that the world nearly trembled when his skill fizzled at the New Year’s banquet. Arthur, too, could sense something was off when reality began to collapse.’

The fact that he no longer used his skill so carelessly was a relief, but it made his interrogation all the more dogged by other means. For someone who could neither confirm nor deny, every moment spent facing the crown prince was nerve-racking.

“Clayeo, your face seems to show your feelings so clearly, yet ultimately reveals nothing at all. It makes me think you really do resemble my siblings.”

‘I’m not your sibling—just a typical book transmigrator!’ was all Clayeo could scream inside.

Melchior, watching the color drain from Clayeo’s face, gently tilted his head.

“In any case, you should make some effort to eat well. You’re just a beanpole otherwise.”

“…Thank you for your concern.”

At that moment, a parliamentary attendant with a pocket watch cautiously inserted himself between the crown prince and Clayeo.

“Your Highness, it is time for the Royal Advisory Committee meeting.”