Editor 91

Cleio, using to watch the arena and the judges’ table, let out a suppressed moan.

‘To pit Pierce against Arthur—this is bad. Isn’t this going to expose everything?’

Of course, Arthur had stopped hiding his strength to some extent, and with not only his enemies but also potential supporters among the spectators, it was good to show some of his abilities.

However, with Aslan’s intentions unknown, letting Arthur face Pierce was extremely risky.

‘Surely they’re not planning to harm the boy in front of all these witnesses?’

The possibility remained.

No one would blame the Capital Defense Corps Commander—hero of the “Rose Rebellion”—for injuring a low-born youngest prince.

If Arthur were injured in an “accident” during a practice duel? If another assassin were sent after him, now weakened?

Cleio’s mouth went dry from tension.

‘In the previous manuscript, Pierce lost to Arthur… but that was after Arthur reached level 8. No matter how much of a genius, you can’t overcome a gap of 3 levels. This is crazy.’

The spell deactivated.

Retracting her circle to focus on the duel between Pierce and Arthur, Cleio stood up and pressed close to the window. Her grip on the window frame turned her knuckles white.

‘If things look like they’ll go wrong, use the editor authority immediately.’

You couldn’t let the world end because of a final exam.

Noticing something was off, Dione came over to Cleio.

She gently stroked Cleio’s tense, bony hand to relieve the stiffness.

“What’s happening right now?”

“It looks like Sir Pierce and Arthur are about to duel. It seems to be Prince Aslan’s plan.”

“Oh dear, that’s serious. There’s no way he’ll just give Arthur a polite lesson.”

“I’ll step in if it looks like trouble.”

“That’s all we can do. It’s too late to stop them now.”

Dione drew her opera glasses close with a shallow sigh.

By then, Pierce Klagen was already entering the center of the arena.

Arthur, who had stepped back after the exams, returned to the arena with an awkward smile.

At least it was some relief that the sword at his belt was not a practice sword, but Beg’s sword.

Dione also noticed Arthur’s weapon.

“Oh, the prince changed his sword at some point?”

Looking around for the reason, they saw Isiel, standing in the direction of the dormitory, catching her breath.

She too had switched to her usual Melamid’s sword with the red grip, instead of a practice sword. Chel beside her collected the remaining practice sword.

“Looks like Isiel took action after seeing how things were going.”

“Lady Kishion truly is wise. Facing a sword master with a practice sword, the weapon would break in just a few exchanges.”

“Exactly….”

Normally, if a sword broke during a duel, it would be considered over, but it was questionable whether Pierce would follow such a rule.

Gripping his sword, the corps commander entered the arena, raising his presence from the start.

Goooo―

A massive amount of ether began to swirl around Pierce. He was one of only four 8th-level sword masters in the Kingdom of Albion.

For a corps commander to show off such power against a mere child was excessive, and a low murmur rose among the spectators.

But it never went beyond murmurs—certainly not to criticism or intervention.

No one could openly show disapproval toward the combined authority of the Capital Defense Corps Commander and the legitimate Second Prince.

“With such power and status, you’d expect him to care about honor and dignity, but Sir Pierce only ever pursues worldly advancement.”

“Skill and character don’t always go hand in hand.”

“That’s true, but it’s almost shocking how shameless he is. He’s unmarried, has no children to inherit his power, and it’s not like he’ll live forever. Tsk.”

“With that personality, it’s no wonder he could slay the king he’d to, and stab the former corps commander.”

“And this time, he’s clearly sided with Prince Aslan. He must think he has a good chance.”

Arthur, of course, would not be an option for Pierce, and Melchior—with his uncertain succession—wouldn’t meet Pierce’s standards of legitimacy either.

Assistant Calvin, wiping his sweaty brow despite the cold, picked up the magical device.

“Lord Pierce, Commander of the Capital Defense Corps, will now conduct a demonstration duel with final exam winner Arthur Leogunan.”

Above Arthur and Pierce’s heads, golden strings of text appeared. Cleio, reading the “Promise” message, was startled.

<Level 8 Swordsman

Title: □□□□ □□□ Knight

*Title forgotten due to the golden rule of Oath.>

It was the first time she’d seen such a message.

‘It’s not that my narrative intervention is too low, or that it’s a bug—it’s actually forgotten?’

This was clearly an issue.

‘What Pierce forgot by breaking his oath was his own title.’

Like levels, the titles of high-ranking knights or magicians were only displayed to their owners.

However, since titles weren’t completely secret, high-level magicians or knights could discern an opponent’s title by the ether they wielded.

But in the Capital Defense Corps’ official roster that Cleio had studied, Pierce’s title did not appear.

‘Given his background, I just thought it was unimpressive and unpublished…’

Even in this urgent moment, Cleio was glad she’d never made an .

At that moment, relayed the conversation taking place in the arena.

“Well then, I’ll look forward to your esteemed instruction.”

Even though he was forced into it, Arthur showed proper respect to his opponent, but Pierce only sneered.

“It’ll be a good experience for Your Highness.”

The tone was rude, but the formality made it even more insulting.

If he were acting as Arthur’s teacher, Pierce would omit honorifics as per school rules, but he did not.

He was declaring himself an ally of the Second Prince, who sat stiffly in the front row.

Arthur was used to insult and hardship. Such things never unsettled him.

The boy’s calm gaze passed over Pierce and landed on Aslan.

That direct look incited the Second Prince’s anger.

Crack

Unconsciously, Aslan’s ether shattered the armrest of his chair.

He felt as if the day six years ago was repeating itself.

The King’s Forest.

The arena of the student swordsmanship tournament.

The third prince, stepping into the world for the first time.

People unconsciously whispering Leonid I’s name.

The boy who, instead of Aslan, who attended as the most legitimate prince, attracted all the attention and admiration—a boy who achieved early success without knowing blood or pain.

That boy met Aslan’s gaze with vivid teal eyes.

It was a sight he could never forget, even in dreams.

There were two moments of loss in Aslan Leogunan’s life.

The first was at the hands of Melchior, the second at the hands of Arthur.

To Aslan, his brothers were not objects of affection. They were punishments decreed by fate.

Those who bore the Leogunan name were thieves who stole the glory that should have been his, obstacles in human form.

Paaaah―

Noticing Aslan’s discomfort, Pierce unleashed a powerful sword aura without even a shout.

For a level-8 like him, was as easy as breathing.

Arthur could only dodge desperately as three waves of ashen sword energy shot out in rapid succession.

BOOM!

Crackle!

KWAANG!

The deafening explosions gouged deep craters into the parade ground.

For an 8th-level sword master, the maximum range of sword aura reached up to 1km.

Pierce, despite the pettiness, was a knight of level 8 with a unique colored sword aura. He had precisely controlled the range of his attacks.

Even so, it was enough to strike terror into people.

“Aaagh!”

“Eek!”

The assistants hurriedly erected spells in front of the audience, and the faculty evacuated the remaining spectators.

Cleio, leaning out the window without realizing it, could hardly believe her eyes.

Even after coming to this world, it was her first time seeing in real life.

The long sword in Pierce’s lightly moving hand looked weightless.

The two-handed sword “Sword of Limni,” with a black onyx pommel and narrowing toward the tip, was a gift from King Philip; its might matched the sword aura of a sword master.

Even before the dust settled, Pierce unleashed another triple at the barely visible Arthur.

PAAAH!

KUKWANG!

The steel-like, murderous sword aura, separated from the sword and striking down like lightning over the parade ground, was surreal.

‘What is that, how is that even possible?!’

There was no time for shock.

Cleio sharpened her to track Arthur.

Even amid the chaos of Pierce’s attack, Arthur was preparing to counter.

He was the protagonist who would never break.

‘Nothing’s happened yet. Arthur is safe.’

If she edited a passage that included Arthur, the manuscript’s deterioration would worsen, so she couldn’t interfere recklessly.

She couldn’t pull the upright prince from the duel just yet. But if he broke while standing firm, she would bring him back again and again.

‘I’ll even sabotage Pierce’s carriage wheels so this match never happens! Better to twist the world than let it end, damn it!’

Snowflakes began to fall from the gray sky.

Unlike the snow Cleio had summoned before, this sleet was cold and pitiless.

Pierce’s mouth curled wickedly beneath his mustache.

“To think you won’t give up—admirable resolve.”

“To witness the famed skills of Sir Pierce, as you say, is a true honor.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

Since Pierce was not a teacher, Arthur did not treat him as one in his reply.

Dirty with dust, Arthur gripped Beg’s sword tightly and drew up his ether forcefully.

Though he was no 8th level, Arthur was still a swordsman. Golden ether surged brightly around him.

The boy’s face remained calm.

If anything, it was Cleio who was about to collapse from nerves.

‘That fighting spirit… geez….’

Tatata!

With ether , Arthur’s legs struck the ground with tremendous force, gouging the earth and scattering the snow.

His body, honed by years of training, was swift and free of waste, enduring the strain of ether.

After the two crossed in the center of the parade ground, Arthur deftly avoided having their swords entangle, spun his weapon, and extended his sword aura to the rear.

SWISH!

Slash!

Pierce was a man who had mastered fighting against other swordsmen.

Arthur’s sword aura far exceeded the usual level-5 swordsman, so Pierce’s retreat miscalculated the distance by a hair.

The sleeve cuff of the Capital Defense Corps Commander’s uniform was sliced off. A moment later, a thin cut appeared beneath the sleeve.

It was only a single drop of blood, but the fact he’d shown an opening to a mere student was intolerable for Pierce.

“Hah!”

The always-composed Pierce’s face twitched.

Vooooom.

With a fierce aura, the ashen, ominous ether began to envelop Pierce.

Arthur, catching his breath, spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground.

Just to cut a single sleeve, the boy had to draw up enough ether to twist his insides.

At that moment.

Pierce’s form split in two, appearing in front of and behind Arthur simultaneously.

flashed and shone.

<Shared Skill: ‘Dichotomy’

—Can create a duplicate with the same abilities as the original.>

Sssss—

Even the sound lagged behind Pierce’s sword. Simultaneous attacks came from completely different angles, front and back.

Clang!

Clang clang!

Arthur crouched and swung his sword wide, blocking both attacks, but he was outmatched.

There were two duplicates, but the attacks appeared as six swords crashing down on Arthur.

Even with ether , blood instantly soaked the boy’s back and chest.

As if trapped in a prison of blades.

Just as Cleio was about to activate her editor authority, the words of scattered before her eyes once more.

<Shared Skill: ‘Slash of the Sea-Bending Star’

—Finds a path of the sword toward the light even in the darkest isolation.>

Screeeee—

The illusory and real swords entwined, producing a chilling, soul-freezing cry.

Even amid the meticulous attacks constructed by Pierce Klagen, the boy stepped forward once more.

Beg’s sword shone with dazzling golden light, bright as a judgment.

The moment everyone watching the parade ground saw their vision go white, Arthur’s shared skill activated.

Though torn and bloodied, Arthur managed only a single strike.

Sssss!

One of the sword master’s duplicates vanished beneath Arthur’s blade.

“How…!”

Slash of the Sea-Bending Star.

A shared skill said to be granted only to truly fearless knights, and in this era, the only one able to use it was the dying Duke of Tristan.

Pierce, losing his composure, created three more duplicates.

The boy, standing while coughing up blood and supporting himself with his sword, didn’t close his eyes even as four swords, wrapped in gray ether, drove toward his heart.