Editor 58

Media! Media! Media! (1)

The crown prince poured brandy into a crystal glass.

“Would you like a drink?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll have to decline.”

“It’s still a bit early for you to enjoy alcohol.”

The second most luxurious room in the winter palace.

The guest room prepared for the king’s heir had an overwhelming atmosphere.

Sitting on a silk-covered chair in the private chamber before the bedroom only made Cleio feel more uncomfortable.

His stamina had been depleted long ago. Now he was struggling just to keep his head from drooping.

Regardless, the crown prince sitting across from him took a sip of brandy, looking like a full-page ad for a liquor company.

The aroma was maddeningly fine, but his body wasn’t in a state to accept it.

‘If I drank now, I’d pass out immediately.’

Melchior simply gazed at him quietly.

‘This is so overwhelming….’

Unable to take it anymore, Cleio spoke first.

“Thank you for earlier.”

“For what?”

“For covering up a complicated matter.”

“Are you sure I didn’t just take away your chance to be famous?”

“I… don’t find that sort of thing very comfortable….”

“You dislike fame and honor, dislike standing out. You always act the opposite of others.”

Clink.

Melchior set the barely touched brandy glass down on the table.

Even in the middle of the night, the gloves on his hands were dazzlingly white.

“But an awl in the pocket always pokes through eventually. How long do you think you can hide such extraordinary abilities?”

“You praise my talents so highly, I’m even more at a loss.”

“A research apprentice of Master Zebedee Physis, a wizard expected to become an 8th-circle mage in the future, the youngest knight in Albion, and now a pioneer in magical science.”

“Those things… they just sound too heavy for me.”

“That’s right. Those are burdensome names for one person to carry, not easy to bear without resolve. And you’re still young.”

Melchior wore a gentle smile, but Cleio didn’t let his guard down.

He kept stroking “Promise” on his left hand, checking again and again that “Distancing” was working.

“We’ll have to see the verification results, but if the [Aether Activation] formula is correct, I’ll send a royal legal advisor to handle the patent application and usage fees. They’ll take care of things properly to prevent any leaks.”

“Thank you for your consideration.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Please, lower your manner of speech again, Your Highness. That title is still too much for me.”

“I thought so too, but it turns out I was wrong for once. The knighthood I gave you is not too much at all. You are worthy of it.”

When the smile faded from Melchior’s mythically beautiful face, only pressure remained.

Cleio also realized now.

At some point, Melchior’s tone had changed.

The unusually gentle tone, the affectionate attitude as if addressing a younger sibling, was gone.

‘It’s hard enough already, so why is he acting like this again….’

He just wanted to pass out and be done with it.

“Right now, I’m not speaking as the close friend of your youngest brother, but as the one who personally appointed you a knight in charge of the capital’s defense.”

Melchior’s hand reached across the table.

Cleio stiffened and reflexively drew back.

Seeing this, Melchior tilted his head slightly to the side, as if a bit hurt—if such an expression could even be used for him.

He was a person who looked good doing anything… which only made it more unsettling.

“I don’t recall ever mistreating you, but you’ve always avoided me from the very beginning.”

The gloved fingertips lightly brushed Cleio’s collar and then fell away.

Where Melchior had touched, there was a capital defense badge trimmed with gold, on green, white, and navy ribbons.

It was a gesture asking, “What is your position?”

Cleio, glancing down at his collar and then over at Melchior, was already in a daze.

‘Well, what am I supposed to do if I’m scared….’

“In any case. Whether you want it or not, light that is too bright always attracts people. That’s the fate of those with power. After all these achievements, who could treat you as just a mere student?”

Cleio nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly.

“If the fame and glory given to you are too much, why not come under my shadow? If you wish, I can make it so that no daily paper ever writes about you again, and no one ever mentions your name. I can ensure your peaceful life continues.”

Even though he had “Distancing” activated, it was a dangerously tempting offer.

Even if he couldn’t read minds, Melchior instantly saw what Cleio wanted most.

‘This isn’t just a unique skill… it’s basically a superpower.’

Moreover, Melchior’s words were not about “possibility.” They were about “capability.”

He could actually do it.

He could break journalists’ pens, blur illustrators’ memories, prevent desks from approving articles, and make typesetters mix up the letters.

If Cleio nodded.

If he said he didn’t want any more fame.

If he asked for Melchior’s help.

“Or a title? I am the king’s plenipotentiary, and I can give you any title you want. Writing your name at the top of next year’s peerage list is nothing for me.”

It was a negotiation at the worst possible time with the worst possible opponent in the worst possible condition.

Cleio bit the inside of his cheek hard. He needed to pull himself together.

‘If I fall in with the crown prince here, how could I face Arthur… No, even the author wouldn’t let that happen. If I make a single mistake, fixing it will be all on me. Ugh.’

He’d already suffered enough. Not wanting to go through any more, Cleio desperately clung to his sanity.

“Why do you think I would want a title, Your Highness?”

“I heard you made a bet with your father. If you get a title, you’ll inherit that splendid mansion on the desk.”

‘How did he find that out?’

Arthur can’t have had his thoughts read, and Dione isn’t high enough status to meet Melchior. Then….

“Don’t be so surprised. I always look forward to meetings with Viscount Greyer, who always brings new and fascinating news.”

‘So he was the leak!’

With Vasco Greyer, there was no need to read minds.

He must have cheerfully blabbed everything that happened at the Aser estate that day. At least Vasco rarely stayed in the capital.

“You were also praised as a talent with the ‘Prediction’ stigmata.”

‘He knows that too…!’

Indeed, restoring “Beg’s Sword” that day would have been impossible without the “Prediction” stigmata.

If he’d known Vasco would report directly to Melchior, he would have been more careful that day.

‘What’s the point of regretting now… ugh.’

“If you’re acquainted with Viscount Greyer, you must know he tends to exaggerate. Whatever you expect from me, what I have is less than you think.”

“That’s a tired excuse. You could at least tell me something fresh, couldn’t you?”

Melchior laughed, casting a shadow with his eyelashes. It was a dramatically theatrical smile, like those of actresses on the silver screen.

So beautiful it was impossible to believe it was real.

At that moment.

As if staged, a cold autumn wind blew through the window, ruffling his platinum-blond hair.

Behind Melchior, the bedroom door softly slid open. The heavy curtain of the four-poster bed inside swayed slightly.

For a moment, the tip of a corpse’s foot, perfectly hidden behind the curtain, appeared and disappeared.

‘!!!’

Cleio’s eyes widened, and he forgot his exhaustion, forced to activate “Perception.”

The sudden rush of the now-familiar scent of blood followed a wave of dizziness.

The curtain’s motion slowed. “Perception” zoomed in on the details of the scene.

Unusually large feet. Boots with loose laces.

Behind the stiffened feet lay the head of a man with a wound on his forehead. The face of the dead man was fixed in terror.

Cleio recognized them.

The “Flag” members who had attacked Fran—“Big-footed Bill” and “Swift Paul.”

It was probably not meant to be discovered. Without his unique skill, Cleio would never have recognized their corpses.

Melchior saw what Cleio saw.

He turned back elegantly and rested his chin on his hand, not at all hurried.

He made no attempt to hide the bodies or deny the murder.

“Oh dear, you saw it. You have sharp eyes.”

Thanks to “Perception,” Cleio’s eyes spotted the only flaw in the crown prince’s impeccable appearance.

A single drop of red blood, not yet darkened, splattered between the still-crisp white glove and the freshly pressed cuff.

The connection between the corpse in the bedroom and this bloodstain was clear.

‘Did the crown prince kill someone?’

He knew Melchior was capable of it. It had been sufficiently described in the previous manuscript.

But reading about it and witnessing it in person were two different things.

Cleio’s already pale face turned porcelain white.

“They dared to propose a deal to me, offering something as outrageous as Fran White’s wrist. Can you believe it?”

“Your Highness, I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”

“First, I wanted to commend you. You protected Francis from the mob. If I had lost Francis there, I would have been deeply regretful. Thanks to you, my knights were able to secure the rebellious mob wandering the forest without delay.”

Even if the “Flag” radicals made a fatal misjudgment out of fear, in the end, the root of all the trouble was Melchior.

Cleio recalled the blood that stained the broken glasses of the boy.

His mind grew colder, and even his fatigue faded away.

“What do you know about Francis Gabriel Hyde-White?”

“I found it strange that he insisted on going out at night and tried to stop him, but he didn’t listen, so I followed. It seemed he was being threatened.”

How much should he say to minimize the damage to both Fran and himself?

Recalling what he’d skimmed in the , Cleio knew Melchior was aware of Fran’s underground ties.

He couldn’t cover for that. In that case…

“He’s always been a bit hot-blooded… He sometimes gets carried away with theories and says radical things, so I was worried.”

Hoping to seem like a rich boy concerned about a hot-headed classmate, Cleio continued.

“Hot-blooded, huh. You must not have recognized your friend’s true nature. He’s an ideological activist, the type who will never be swayed unless he’s truly convinced.”

‘No good. It really is impossible to deceive Melchior.’

“Of course, if I had enough time, I could persuade him.”

“Why go that far? Even if he’s been influenced by radical ideas, he’s still just a boy.”

“It’s a ruler’s duty to acquire talent. But Sir Cleio, you act as if you’re protecting Hyde-White like a child. Isn’t he older than you?”

It was such a sharp response, Cleio felt chilled to the bone.

With “Jeongjin” inside, Cleio honestly had never thought of Francis as older than himself.

‘If anything, Melchior is younger than me… but he never feels like it. Maybe if he were a thousand-year-old monster.’

“I was asked by Dean Physis to guide his studies, so I suppose I felt a desire to protect him.”

“No need to be so defensive. Whatever you imagined, I’ve always been generous to Francis Hyde-White. How could I mistreat someone with such rare qualities?”

“My mind is too dull to keep up with your words.”

“Sir Cleio, do you know what Francis’s stigmata is?”

‘Why don’t the brothers in this family ever give a warning? They just cut right in.’