Editor 59

Media! Media! Media! (2)

Melchior did not care about Cleio’s lack of response.

“Albion’s literacy rate is the highest on the Dernier continent. 92% of citizens can read, you see. The influence of print media has become stronger than ever, and the rotary press now wields power as great as magic.”

It was impossible to follow the conversation.

Both “Perception” and “Separation” had their limits.

Cleio simply tried not to faint or fall asleep.

“Have you ever heard of something called radio?”

“…I’ve heard rumors that such a thing exists.”

“Then the explanation will be simple. The technology to transmit voices by radio waves has reached the stage of commercial use. In the new century, fifty million people in Albion will be able to listen to the same speech at the same time.”

“!!!”

“―That will have a power greater than magic.”

This was something not even recorded in the previous manuscript.

Cleio could not have imagined that Melchior would think to use media for political purposes.

“I am only in awe of your profound intentions, but what does that have to do with Francis’s stigmata?”

“If you don’t know, learn it now. Your companion possesses the excellence needed for such an era. The power to create words and writings, the power to nurture the seeds of thought in people’s hearts into something enormous.”

Francis’s stigmata had many restrictions, but if used together with Melchior’s abilities, the overwhelming power of the unique skill called ‘propaganda’ would be fully unleashed.

‘Certainly, in the era of radio, the press and broadcasting had tremendous authority. If you control the media, you can control public opinion.’

Since ‘Jeongjin’ had lived in an era of media excess, it might have been an overlooked fact.

This world was still passing through a time when people rode carriages and mediums tried to communicate with the dead.

In such times, for this crown prince to calmly predict the heyday of mass media—just how far into the future was he seeing?

For what purpose was someone already so close to the throne making such preparations?

“I absolutely need that child’s talent. Can you understand that I was actually trying to protect him?”

By killing Francis’s companion?

By isolating that child completely?

Why on earth?

Questions kept arising.

Cleio was confused.

“Why… are you going this far? Someone as noble as yourself.”

Cleio glanced with frightened eyes at the bedroom where a curtain had been lowered to cover the corpse.

“Because I must become the King of the Kingdom of Albion.”

“The throne will be inherited by Your Highness, won’t it?”

“…Will it, really?”

Melchior, who had risen from his chair, walked around the table and stood next to Cleio.

“As I am qualified, so are all my siblings. Primogeniture is not an established tradition in the House of Riognan. In other words… just like my siblings, you too may have a chance to wear the crown.”

“What are you saying…!”

Cleio’s forehead, tilted up at an angle, became drenched in cold sweat. He didn’t even try to hide his embarrassment.

The crown prince, chin slightly tucked, wore an expression that looked almost innocent.

“Even though you become so easily agitated and show your feelings as if they’re within reach, it gives a strange feeling that I still can’t be sure of your true thoughts.”

Feeling like a hunted beast, Cleio poured out his resentment.

“I don’t know what misunderstanding you’ve had from before, but I am definitely the second son of Gideon Asher, Baronet. It may be presumptuous to say this… but if you’d seen my father even once, you’d understand what I mean.”

“Yes, he does look just like the baronet. Reliable people say so, and those with sound judgment are certain of it. The Asher baronet and his wife were said to be a particularly devoted couple. Even that cold-blooded businessman truly loved only her.”

Melchior’s tone, relaying the anecdote, was indifferent and dry.

“If not Philip, then Edward; if not Edward, then George. Or perhaps Anne-Marie or Margaret made a secret mistake—I checked all over again.”

The names Melchior casually listed all belonged to those with the surname of Riognan.

He confirmed the results of his history classes, but it was hardly a happy feeling.

“The adventure of re-examining the royal genealogy of the past 100 years was quite amusing. Especially since there was no answer there.”

‘It’s enough to know your father wasn’t unfaithful, but did you have to investigate every single relative’s private affairs…’

His tenacity was enough to give chills.

“Yes. You certainly do not carry the blood of Riognan. So then, if the cause can’t be found among humans, isn’t it the work of a god or a demon?”

Cleio couldn’t even blink.

Whatever answer he gave, it felt like Melchior would read what he didn’t want to say.

“There exists a coercive force in this world that tries to fix the flow of the world in one direction.”

Melchior, leaning on the table, came even closer and observed Cleio’s reaction with cold eyes.

Since he couldn’t invade Cleio’s mind, he obsessively searched every bit of information that showed.

“Now I am certain. Those who must die, die even as they desperately cling to life, and those who must live can never close their eyes, even in pain like death.”

Was he perhaps saying that he had tried to kill Arthur? Or….

‘Just what has the author made? This man knows far too much that he shouldn’t!’

Perhaps even more than Arthur.

“When the dormitory of the Academy of Science burned, I thought that maybe the Tiphlaum problem wouldn’t be solved in this era. But even if Francis didn’t do it, a new figure appeared to complete the formula like this. As if that problem absolutely had to be solved at this time.”

Now it was certain.

Melchior remembered the ‘previous manuscript.’

Not only remembered, he even tried to change its content.

‘No wonder the manuscript is a mess!’

“All those years, I wondered. Must the river always flow from upstream to downstream? Can’t the flow of water be reversed? Is it impossible for a human to change the course of history?”

This question was not for Cleio.

It was for the author’s will that Cleio represented, the being beyond the book’s pages.

To the one who repeatedly thwarted his attempts to defy fate.

Just as a time traveler cannot revise the present by changing the past, perhaps even someone who reads human thoughts and wields the power of fascination cannot win against the predestination of fate.

The sense of dissonance Cleio felt when first meeting Melchior—the feeling that a character within a work was gazing out beyond it—was intensified by such actions.

The modifier of Melchior’s stigmata, □□□.

His degree of narrative intervention had increased, yet his true nature remained unknown.

‘Is this man really just a character in a book?’

There was a sense that something fundamental was wrong.

There weren’t enough clues to solve the mystery.

What was he missing?

Melchior did not give Cleio time to continue thinking.

“What do you think about the idea that history repeats itself?”

“…I understand it as an expression referring to similar types of events recurring in human affairs.”

“No. I mean the concept that the exact same life, the lives of knights and heroes, the defeats of madmen and traitors, return in cycles. Seven times, or even eight.”

It was such a significant question that it was bewildering.

If it was a question about the eight lives he had to live, it was all the more overwhelming.

At times like this, the only option was to pretend he didn’t understand and steer the conversation to generalities.

“Even if you present a philosophical topic to someone like me with little learning, I wouldn’t know what to say… For now, I don’t believe in eternal recurrence. How could the same thing happen again?”

“Indeed, you are not someone who has existed twice. That is both interesting and strange to me.”

In Cleio’s ears, it only sounded like Melchior was weighing whether to let him live or kill him.

At that moment.

Ring ring— ring ring ring ring—

The sound of the telephone ringing at the break of dawn was ominous. Even after passing through another world.

From the drawing room adjoining the inner chamber, the sound of Melchior’s attendant answering the phone could be heard. Soon the attendant lightly knocked on the door of the inner chamber.

“Come in.”

Melchior stepped back from Cleio and turned calmly, not in any hurry.

“Your Highness, sorry to interrupt. There is a top-priority message from the capital.”

“Report.”

Taetherton, who entered, moved like a carnivorous animal. Despite his height, his footsteps were silent.

His jet-black hair was cut short like spilled ink, and his navy eyes were sharp; the man had a suppressive presence equal to his master.

Cleio instinctively shrank back.

“What news?”

Taetherton politely acknowledged Cleio’s presence. Melchior’s reaction was unexpected.

“He may listen. Go ahead.”

Taetherton obeyed like a tamed wolf. His deep voice relayed the details of the ominous news.

“The ‘Gate of Mnemosyne’ has opened.”

‘!!!’

Cleio opened his eyes wide.

It had come.

‘I expected it… but this is too fast. Arthur’s ether level is only at 5.’

As if he had anticipated it, Melchior’s response was extremely calm.

“What color does the gate glow?”

“They say it is blue.”

When the entrance to the dungeon was blue, it was still safe.

If it turned red, the inside would reach its limit and monsters would begin appearing outside the gate.

The two-headed wolf, Varg, that Cleio had fought before, must have appeared in this world in that way.

“The monsters won’t break out, then. How are we responding?”

“Currently, Zebedi Physis, Mage Inspector, and Master Rosa Fehite are guarding the ‘Gate of Mnemosyne.’ Knights from the Royal Capital Defense Knights and mages from the Mage Corps have also been urgently assembled.”

“Understood. Prepare the carriage, and contact the station to arrange for an express train. We are returning to the capital.”

“As you command.”

Taetherton left the inner chamber like the wind.

Only then did Melchior turn to Cleio and speak.

“It’s time to end our amusement. It was an enjoyable conversation, Sir Cleio. Then, enjoy the last day of your field trip. I’ll see you in the capital.”

.

.

.

‘An enjoyable conversation? Amusement?’

If he enjoyed that kind of amusement twice, he’d have a heart attack and die.

Thinking of the crown prince’s calm expression, even with a corpse lying behind him, sent chills down his spine.

‘How are they going to deal with the corpse? They were bastards who deserved to die, but still…’

The face of ‘Quick Paul’ flashed through his mind for a moment. And Bill’s foot, which must have stiffened coldly inside his boot.

‘Ah, whatever. It’s not like it’s their first time killing someone, the Secret Intelligence Service or whatever will handle it. Who would find it if they buried it in the King’s Forest anyway.’

He staggered out from in front of Melchior’s inner chamber. He was exhausted even though he had barely reached the hall. The winter palace was so vast, it felt overwhelming.

Thinking that he had to walk all the way down the winding, endless corridors, go to the annex, and then climb up to the third floor, he just wanted to lie down right there in the corridor.

His whole body and mind hurt terribly.

After losing a bucket of blood from a nosebleed and fainting, the aftereffects of using both “Perception” and “Separation” at the same time hit him honestly as soon as he woke up.

Cleio, moving slowly while leaning against the wall, collapsed in front of the passage connecting the main building and the annex.

He really didn’t think he could take another step.

‘The night before last was hard enough, but today is even worse.’

It was an excruciatingly long night.

He kept thinking he had to get up, had to get up, but his eyelids grew heavier and heavier….

“Hey, if you sleep here, your face will go numb.”

A hand shook Cleio’s shoulder.

Cleio, nearly unconscious, didn’t come to his senses no matter how much he was shaken.

“I said get up. Ray.”

Arthur persistently tried to wake Cleio. Only after a long while did Cleio finally open his eyes with difficulty.

Under the faint gas lamp hanging in the corridor, Arthur was there.

To wake the collapsed Cleio, he too had knelt on the cold corridor floor.

He had the same blond hair and blue eyes as Melchior, but was a completely different person. That’s why, oddly, Cleio felt both relieved and suddenly annoyed.

If this guy’s death didn’t mean the end of the world, Cleio wouldn’t have been entangled in this filthy succession war.

‘What am I suffering for, getting involved with these prince bastards.’

“Why are you collapsed here? Go sleep in your room.”

“Leave me alone.”

“What the hell? Why are you so prickly?”

“Seeing your carefree face just pisses me off.”

“Hey, what do you mean carefree? I was worried sick all day because you were nowhere to be found and got dragged off by Melchior.”

Now that he noticed, Arthur was dressed for outdoor activity, even wearing boots at night, with ‘Beg’s Sword’ securely belted at his waist.

“If my nerves were completely shot, I’d be ready for a fight. Why, did you think your brother buried me somewhere?”