Editor 69

After Hardship Comes Settlement (1)

Splash, splash.

It was the hot bath he had so desperately wished for inside the dungeon.

It took a week for his body to recover enough to bathe, but in the end, as long as you get to Seoul, the route doesn’t matter.

“Ah, this feels so good….”

Cleio, sitting in the tub, poured fresh water over Behemoth’s back as the cat pawed at the water in front.

Behemoth was in many ways not a typical cat, but it was stranger that he liked bathing more than drinking alcohol.

“How can you say something this hot feels refreshing?”

“It’s the heat that’s refreshing. Maybe you don’t know because you’re a cat.”

“You must have lost your mind from being bedridden for so long.”

“Exaggerating over just a week, really.”

“Honestly! While I was in deep sleep, you brazenly barged into Mnemosyne’s Gate, came out covered in blood and couldn’t get up for days—can’t you ever stay still for a moment?!”

“Well… it wasn’t like I meant to…”

“Eh, stop making excuses.”

SPLASH—

Behemoth turned his back and kicked water with his hind legs. His legs were so strong it was basically a water cannon.

“Ugh.”

Caught off guard, Cleio got water up his nose and felt stuffy. He grabbed both sides of the tub and slowly stood up.

On the left index finger, now shriveled from the long bath, ‘Promise’ still shone with a smooth light.

But the item name shown in the message was not the same as before.

The moment the cumulative narrative intervention rate was set at 23.1%, the name properly appeared as if a seal had been broken.

[Bound Item: ‘Cleio’s Promise’]

Cleio.

That name could not be mistaken.

‘Cleio is the Muse of History. Cleio is just the Greek pronunciation of Clio, and it also means “fame”… To have a custom-named item, should I call that considerate or not?’

At this point, it was clear that names held incredible power in this world.

In a world like this, how did I recklessly name a giant greedy cat after the demon Behemoth? Cleio regretted it for about a second.

Anyway, since the blank spot in ‘Promise’ was Cleio, there was a good chance the names of the other muses were attached to ‘Fascination’ or ‘Palimpsest’ as well.

The Lyre of Terpsichore had already appeared in the . That meant, except for Clio and Terpsichore, the answer must lie among the names of the remaining seven muses.

‘But, so what?’

Knowledge is power, but even after learning the hidden names, none of the secrets of the world were revealed.

He just ran into an even bigger mystery.

No matter how many times he overturned the manuscript, which he could now recite by heart using [Memory], there were no more clues to be found.

‘Holy relics are from another world. Abilities named after muses are elements from outside the story. So no matter how much I search the manuscript, I’ll never find the answer.’

Cleio thought as he scattered the scroll in his mental landscape.

His suspicion now took on a clear form.

What if the he read was not a faithful depiction of this world, and its perspective was not comprehensive?

That could explain the omission of muses’ descriptions, or how parts never mentioned in the book were still fully constructed in the world.

‘But such an assumption requires ignoring the fact that this world is fiction written by an author. That only makes sense if you’re describing a pre-existing world in writing.’

Questions arose one after another, shaking the premises he’d taken for granted.

What on earth was this world? Had he too easily assumed the event that brought him here was just a transmigration into a novel?

He accepted the concept that the manuscript was a world in itself quickly enough. He’d grown up escaping reality that way countless times.

There was plenty of evidence this place was the world in the manuscript.

‘Melchior definitely knows the manuscript is being rewritten. He even tested me with it, so that’s certain.’

So how could a real world be revised and rewritten over and over?

‘Editor privileges’ were the same.

If this place was an entirely independent space-time, not a fictional world, how could a few proofreader’s marks reverse time and undo what had happened?

‘And above all, there’s the author!’

There was definitely someone who sent the email to bring ‘Jeongjin’ into this world and created an archbishop resembling Minsan.

‘But if the self-proclaimed Clio is the author, that’s just weird. Would the Muse of History write a web novel and kidnap people from Dongjak Bridge? That’s just ridiculous.’

Regardless, if he dug into the fact that Minsan’s likeness was put into the , he might find a clue about the author.

He could only speculate; the author’s true purpose still eluded him.

‘I wish I could meet Archbishop Historia at least once. Even when I ask Zebedee, he keeps saying the archbishop’s condition is bad.’

He’d heard Archbishop Historia was over a hundred years old. The holy power kept her looking young, but it was understandable if she was frail.

This was as far as he could guess. He was still desperately short on information.

Cleio let out a long sigh and splashed hot water on his face.

Instead of worrying about an unsolvable problem, he reached for the weekly magazine on the shelf behind the tub.

This week’s magazines were abuzz with stories about Arthur.

The seventeen-year-old prince who broke through the ‘Remembered World’ was starting to pique the public’s curiosity.

Despite his young age, his ether level was already 5, and his appearance reminded people of Leonid I, so he naturally drew attention.

Cleio casually flipped through the pages with pen illustrations.

‘What the—. Compared to when I was in the news, they even made the illustration look more handsome, even though it does resemble him.’

Arthur, standing gallantly with a sword and showing his chiseled profile, had the looks of a chivalric literary hero.

‘In reality, he almost never makes such serious expressions.’

While skilled swordsmen were not rare, a ‘prince’ with such prowess was a rare presence in the royal family’s thousand-year history.

The people of Albion, founded by the Conqueror King, still believed in the myth of a sword-wielding king nine centuries after the founding.

It was an ancient veneration.

A king of knights with halo-like hair and eyes like the western sea.

‘Aslan is also a high-level swordsman, but his actions and appearance are too gloomy to have popular appeal.’

Who knows what Aslan himself thought, but it wasn’t just his black hair and eyes. His cold personality and twisted, dark passion ruined his impression.

‘He’s not even thirty, but his foul temper already shows on his face. If you knew him personally, I doubt anyone would like him.’

Of course, he had a concrete support base: the queen’s faction led by Count Ramsdale and Duke Cruel.

Among them, Duke Cruel, who commanded the southeastern army and had his own order of knights, was one of the most powerful nobles in Albion.

The Cruel duchy was a domain on the border with Brunnenn, and until just a hundred years ago, it was Brunnenn’s territory.

History class taught that after Absalom II’s victory, the Clotho River basin became Albion’s territory, and the land was subordinated to the Leogunan royal family as a term of surrender.

Thus, Cruel supported Aslan, the son of a Brunnenn princess and Albion’s king.

‘From the perspective of Albion’s citizens, he’s a suspicious royal.’

Cleio, having skimmed the articles about Arthur, closed the magazine, now damp with steam.

‘Huh!?’

What caught his eye then was an ad on the back cover.

Over a finely detailed copperplate illustration of a splendid building, the words “De Neige Est Hotel” were written stylishly.

Reading the small print at the bottom, it turned out to be an ad previewing the completion of the De Neige Est Hotel. Construction seemed to be progressing quickly.

‘I think I heard you can build faster with magic. I should go see it sometime.’

.

.

.

Cleio had just wrapped Behemoth, who was shaking water all over the living room, in a towel.

“WEOOOOWK! (Don’t rub my silken fur the wrong way while drying me!)”

Trying to catch the cat as he squirmed away, Cleio’s freshly changed clothes were soaked again. Over the chaos, a clear, crisp voice rang out.

“You said you couldn’t even get up, so what’s all this fuss, young master!”

“Lady Dione.”

“I’ll dry Behemoth, so put on socks and at least a sweater and come out. Now. What are you doing with lips that blue!”

Pushed by Dione’s forceful energy, Cleio unconsciously obeyed.

When he came back out, the once-chilly dormitory living room was now warm from the stove, and a cup of hot tea sat on the table.

Dione, in a lilac outing dress with rows of pearl buttons, didn’t care if her skirt got wrinkled as she fussed over Behemoth.

“Our Moat looks even more handsome after a bath!”

“Weng (At least you have good taste).”

While drying Behemoth’s fur, Dione scrutinized Cleio from head to toe.

Her eyebrows gradually rose, as if she didn’t like what she saw.

“What’s with your complexion? Are you advertising that you almost died? I thought you were finally starting to look human these days.”

“Lady Dione….”

He couldn’t even say, “That’s a bit harsh.”

“They said you came out of the gate looking all ragged, and the city guard wouldn’t even let me in because they were running tests. Do you know how worried I was?”

In fact, Cleio had slept for three days after coming out of the gate. While he was out of it, Arthur and Ishiel took the initiative to handle things.

By the time he woke up, he was already back in the dormitory bedroom, so he didn’t notice any problems. He’d heard they contacted the manor, but hadn’t realized Dione was this worried.

“I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“If you know how to say sorry, don’t cause trouble in the first place.”

Her words were harsh, but her eyes glistened with concern. Cleio, unable to stand making others cry, was on edge.

It was so unfamiliar to have someone worry about him that he didn’t know how to react.

“If you’re going to blame me for entering the ‘Remembered World,’ you’ll find out later, but there were unavoidable circumstances.”

After giving Behemoth’s head a quick pat, Dione elegantly sat in a chair. Even just lifting the teacup in front of her, her mood was clearly low.

Cleio’s words came out faster and faster.

“It wasn’t all loss. I got a magic stone amber and rose quartz. And a magic tool…”

“You don’t have to make excuses to me. You didn’t go into the ‘Remembered World’ for magic stones or tools. It was for Prince Arthur. What surprised me was that you’re already openly confronting His Highness Aslan. Baron Aser is also very worried.”

Dione, having composed herself as she finished her tea, took a sealed letter from her handbag.

Since there was no seal, it must have been delivered by hand, not post.

“It’s from your father. Read it.”

He must have entrusted it to Dione, worried the contents might leak if sent by mail. Cleio opened the envelope.

[Open confrontation is the worst move.

Deliberate carefully before acting.

Take care of yourself.

Gideon Aser]

As always, Baron Aser’s message was brief and curt. Without even reading the letter, Dione quietly continued as if she knew its contents.

“Now that you’ve chosen Arthur, anyone with ears knows it. Father will be in a tough spot.”

“He’s capable; he’ll manage.”

“Ray, Baron Aser isn’t worried about himself, he’s worried about you. Prince Aslan has sent people to find out who ‘Cleio Aser’ really is. That move has even reached Aser Trading’s investigation department.”

“Well, my magic is enough to protect myself now.”

“How foolish. Do you think magic can solve everything in life? Even if you scatter fire and call down spears, there are things you can’t do.”

Dione put down her teacup and gestured with her eyes toward a paper box placed between the coiled-up, sleeping Behemoth and the table. He didn’t know when it had been brought in.

“What’s that?”

“Invitations to the manor, greeting cards, letters proposing various meetings. I sorted out the useless ones and only brought those worth responding to. When I came up earlier, I heard that even more mail has arrived at the dormitory, several times this amount, but you were too sick to be told.”

“Why? I thought things passed quietly this time since nothing about me was in the paper.”

“No way. High society is already in an uproar because the ‘Hero of the Capital’ broke through the Remembered World. His Highness the Crown Prince himself intervened to keep the press quiet.”

“…What motive did he have for that? Should I be grateful?”

“Of course you shouldn’t be grateful to His Highness. Thanks to him, Aslan now considers you a triple-starred person of interest. He wants to know whether you belong to Melchior’s or Arthur’s faction, or if it’s proof that the first and third princes have some secret pact.”