Editor 84

What Will You Do

Gehaim’s body, once his breath completely ceased, crumbled away without even leaving bones, like a beast’s corpse, and scattered as red dust.

Only the bloodstains left on Cleio’s knees and hands seemed to prove Gehaim had ever existed.

The three boys were silent for a moment.

Behind his glasses, Fran’s gray eyes burned fiercely.

“What more do you know about this? You’d better explain it properly.”

Cleio, whose aether was worn down to the limit and who looked as if he might collapse at any moment, didn’t have the strength to answer Fran.

Blood welled up in his throat. He just gritted his teeth and endured. Even just seeing the “Promise” messages made his head ache.

Arthur, noticing Cleio’s state, quickly supported him and stepped in front of Fran.

“What I can tell you is that I, too, have been attacked by those red-eyed assassins over the past half year, and only very recently have their attacks stopped.”

After hearing Arthur’s brief explanation, Fran clenched his jaw as if holding back the urge to rage, and soon came to a conclusion.

“…Then the one who tried to kill Gehaim, the one who conducted those filthy experiments to make Hydra’s Venom, might not be a villain at a level that the Chief Constable or the City Guard Commander can catch.”

“Yeah.”

Arthur smiled bitterly.

Before the Chief Constable or City Guard Commander could “capture the mastermind,” they’d have to be judged whether or not they were in league with the mastermind themselves.

Shrewd Fran opened his mouth as if trying to dig into what Arthur had left unsaid, but before he could utter a syllable, the subspace began to dissolve.

<―Time Remaining / Time Limit:

00:00:01 / 00:30:00>

The three of them suddenly found themselves sprawled in the dusty equipment passage.

Before they could regain their wits, the hatch above was roughly opened.

“Here! Survivors!”

.

.

.

Sometimes, even lousy stamina could be a blessing.

At the very moment the police found them, Cleio started to gush nosebleed in large quantities.

At the scene of an unprecedented incident in which a singer was attacked by her counterpart in the middle of a performance, the one holding the pale, bleeding youngest son of the Aser family’s right arm was the kingdom’s prince, and the boy holding his left arm was the count’s eldest son.

Their real identities were a persecuted illegitimate child and a fiery leftist youth, but outwardly, that’s how it looked.

‘Class society sucks, but it’s nice when it works in your favor.’

The police, unable even to request a statement, followed Arthur’s confident demand and escorted Cleio and company back to school.

While the attendant on night duty left to wake Zebedi, the three boys were lucky enough to have time in the infirmary to get their stories straight.

Fran was the first to ask Arthur.

“It’s clear the police can’t handle this case. The assassins’ corpses will be handed over to the City Guard lab, but can they even get anything from that?”

“No, from what I’ve seen, the aether level of those red-eyed assassins is temporary. Once they’re dead, they’re just like the corpses of ordinary humans.”

Fran didn’t ask how Arthur knew such things.

Instead, he jumped straight to a conclusion several steps ahead.

“For now, let’s cover it up.”

“Francis, there are times when you and I agree.”

“Stop with the annoying talk and listen up. There’ll be witnesses who saw you run onto the stage to save the soprano and Aser healing her. Package it as the heroic deeds of City Guard students.”

Arthur nodded. Fran continued in a low, quick voice.

“The police know I was snooping around the theater, so I’ll say I was searching for clues that night, heard the commotion, and ran in. The three of us were restraining Gehaim when suddenly mysterious assassins attacked us, and while they and Gehaim fought, we hid in the passage.”

“Then they won’t try to get information about Gehaim’s whereabouts from us.”

“That’s right. But I still have plenty to ask you, so don’t think of slipping away.”

“Got it. From now on, let’s do our best to play the role of brave, admirable City Guard students.”

“Damn, how did I end up with guys like this.”

Fran clicked his tongue but agreed with Arthur. Normally they’d be a mismatched group, but when it came to these things, they worked together smoothly.

“Ray, you heard, right? Let’s stick to that story.”

With nothing to add, Cleio just nodded, leaning against the bed.

Moments later, Zebedi arrived in his pajamas and fussed over the three boys as he treated them.

To take the testimony of these precious youths, the inspector sent by Lundain’s Chief Constable had no choice but to wait until the boys’ treatment was finished.

Meanwhile, the sky in the east began to brighten.

It had truly been a long night.

---

Two weeks passed after the incident.

Cleio told the full story to Ishiel, Chel, and the twins.

The serial murders around the opera house had completely stopped.

As before, the police refused to acknowledge any connection between the previous murders and Gehaim when Fran tried to report it.

Gehaim Zinger was placed on a wanted list for attempted murder of soprano Lily Rose.

A warrant that would never be resolved.

.

.

.

After hectic days, Fran, Arthur, and Cleio finally met in private for the first time since that day. Fran got straight to the point without even a greeting.

“From the start, the police have tried to cover up the very existence of the serial murders. At first, I thought it was just negligence to hide their own incompetence, but by now I suspect some kind of political pressure. Which is it?”

“I intend to find out. Even if it’s just a hollow title, a prince is still a prince, so I can stick my head in among those who think their blood is blue.”

Cleio filled in the missing piece.

“And the City Guard should be investigated as well.”

All byproducts of the beast that appeared after a thousand years, except for the magic stones, were collected by the City Guard lab.

The “new specimen” Gehaim mentioned was most likely Barg’s blood.

“It wouldn’t have been hard to recruit a mage or two to get beast blood. If they succeeded in completing Hydra’s Venom with the new specimen, there’d be no need to mass-produce imperfect red-eyed assassins anymore.”

“Damn, I was even used as a garbage bin for their experiments. Disgusting.”

Hearing Arthur’s muttering, Cleio carefully infused aether into and magic formulas again.

Fran’s room was already in a remote area where people rarely came, but she didn’t want to leave even the slightest possibility.

It had been three weeks, so Fran must have had plenty of time to think.

He asked directly.

“The queen, or the prince? Among the dark-haired ones.”

“Does it matter to distinguish?”

“It does. It’ll help decide where to start digging.”

“My answer will put you in danger. Fran, let’s stop here.”

“Don’t talk nonsense! For the sake of the innocent dead, I have to get to the truth!”

Fran slammed the table, his anger flaring.

Arthur, completely unruffled, responded as calmly as ever.

“From your political standpoint, the dark-haired prince or I are just the ruling class of the old regime to be overthrown in the end. From here on, this is my area of battle, and for you, it’s just another disgusting power struggle.”

Oddly, it was Fran who turned pale at Arthur’s words.

“Francis Gabriel Hyde-White, I, Arthur Riognan, ‘speak in good faith.’ I, too, want to reveal the unresolved truths and get justice for those who died unjustly. As far as I am able, I’ll do so.”

“Riognan…”

“But I have neither clear evidence that Aslan did this nor the authority to investigate. This isn’t something that can be done in a day or two, or even a year or two. So I can’t ask you to trust or wait for me, and I regret that.”

Fran paced back and forth in front of the table with a terrifying expression. His clenched jaw jutted out so much it was clear how tightly he was biting down.

After a long pause, Fran finally spoke.

“…If I find definite proof for you, Riognan, can you make sure they pay for their crimes?”

“That’s something I must and will do. But you have your ideals to pursue. There’s no need for you to change your path because of me.”

Fran was a very clever boy.

He understood exactly what Arthur meant: ‘Whether it’s that bastard Aslan or his mother, dealing with them is my goal. You do your part to establish a republic.’

The boy let out a hollow laugh, as if he couldn’t believe he was being told by a royal to keep pursuing revolutionary ideals.

“They say the third prince of Albion is cursed and completely crazy.”

“Hahaha. Well, I hear that a lot.”

Arthur laughed heartily.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll end up like the royalty of the Carolingian kingdom?”

“If that’s the will of the people, I’ll accept such an end. That’s the result of the kings’ rule. If you think ‘every act in the world demands a price’ doesn’t apply to royalty, isn’t that a naïve conclusion?”

Fran stopped his hurried pacing and stared at Arthur. Arthur never avoided his gaze.

Even without “Perception,” it was clear.

At that moment, something moved.

[―User’s narrative intervention has increased.

Cumulative ratio: 29.7%]

‘Huh, it rises just by watching? Narrative intervention?’

Trying not to disturb the two, Cleio, who was activating and magic for the third time, thought to herself.

‘It does feel like the scene for some grand narration…’

“Promise” was named by the Muse of History.

Perhaps, here, watching the unfolding of a narrative destined to bear history’s name is part of her duty as well.

Finding connections between separate incidents, identifying a past moment as the cause of a future one, giving chronological order to a mere series of events—these are history’s own tasks.

‘If a biography of Arthur is ever written, this scene will probably be treated as quite important.’

Arthur was a reader of the times.

He might instinctively understand that the future the world will reach will not belong to kings and princes.

Though history is not linear, every chronicle has points of irreversibility.

He would become a great king, but she felt he would not be the king of an eternal dynasty.

‘After all, the 1890s are not a good time to glorify a dynasty. Since this story references the real world, it’s only natural, but even if wounds are healed by magic and swordsmen unleash sword aura stronger than artillery, none of that creates the conditions for monarchy to continue.’

Why did the author choose this era as the background for a story about princes’ war for the throne?

While Cleio was lost in thought, the two boys also remained silent.

Then, breaking the long stillness, Fran declared,

“I do not support you. I only intend to help temporarily because I believe revealing the truth is more important than sticking to my own beliefs. ‘I speak in good faith’—I’ll find you clear proof of their crimes. Not from the social circles, but from digging in the dirt, asking colleagues, and following the railways—there’s evidence that only appears there.”

Whatever the experiment, it was done by people. Unless they killed off every worker or merchant involved, evidence would surface if you kept digging.

‘It’s just that the process is hard…’

Fran’s resolve looked firm. It was Arthur who tried to dissuade him.

“Francis, you already have other responsibilities.”

“The banner is no longer mine to hold. I’ve drawn too much attention, so now it’s time for me to go underground.”

“!!!”

“But the comrades who remain will help investigate the power behind the sacrifice of the powerless and poor. I’ll show the nobles that even the laborers they treat like beasts have eyes and ears.”

Fran’s words were half resignation, half relief. He had saved the friends he needed to save, and eliminated all that needed eliminating, for those who had already gone.

“I’m not sure if I deserve your good faith, Francis, but I’ll do my best as far as I can.”

Arthur wore a very serious expression.

Then, following the etiquette of knights, he paid respects as one would to a superior.

With his right hand over his heart and one knee to the ground, he looked as if he were making a vow.

Even on a cloudy winter day, Arthur’s deep golden hair shone like a halo.

Even Fran paused for a moment.

Some images and moments sometimes possess a persuasive power that transcends reason.

That was Arthur’s strength.