Editor 92

Farewell

Just as Cleio was about to activate [Editor Authority],

KWAANG!

With a tremendous roar, scarlet ether swirled around the boy.

Amid the cold blizzard, Rosa’s white hair whipped fiercely.

One Rosa shielded Arthur, while the other Rosa struck down Pierce’s three duplicates.

She sliced through the backs of their knees, drove her blade between their ribs, and stabbed their throats.

All three Pierces scattered and vanished in gray ether in an instant.

It was such speed that it was hard to believe, even witnessing it with one’s own eyes.

Even though intervening in a fight between sword masters was a mortal risk, Chel held Isiel back as she tried to rush in to protect her lord.

As the scarlet ether overwhelmed the winter, Rosa shouted.

“Pierce, just how low are you planning to stoop?!”

It was the first time in 27 years that Rosa used informal speech with Pierce. The urgency of the moment had brought out her original tone.

Forced by her to lower his sword, Pierce frowned, his face not even sweating.

“What are you talking abou—ugh.”

Pierce hastily grabbed his head with his left hand, not holding his sword. A headache, like an electric shock, stabbed through his brain.

“You weren’t so despicable back then, not someone who’d persecute a mere child. Why have you become like this…!”

Pierce felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

It was as if, in the past, there had been an incident exactly like this, when she had raised a sword against him to protect a young man she believed innocent.

The emotion left at the end was anger.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Rosa Pehite, that old, fallen knight.

But Rosa was not someone with whom Pierce had any personal connection. She was simply a former corps commander who lost her position for misreading the times.

Pierce ignored the confusion in his heart. Though memories twisted out of order burned like embers in his head, he maintained a facade of composure.

“Professor Rosa, I won’t hold your rude words against you. I admit I was a bit rough; let’s just say it was out of concern for the student.”

“……”

“But if we fuss over a flesh wound, how could anyone become a knight of the kingdom? You’re being overprotective.”

FWOOSH—

Raising ether, Pierce flicked Arthur’s blood from his sword and sheathed it.

The boy’s wounds were far from shallow, contrary to Pierce’s words. With lips tightly pressed, Rosa stared at Pierce with her one remaining eye.

Though her breath was steady, Arthur, wrapped in her arms, knew she was suppressing her anger.

“Professor. Please, just for a moment.”

Battered and torn, Arthur slipped out of Rosa’s grasp and stood on his own two feet.

Standing between two sword masters, the boy wiped the blood from his torn eye and spoke.

“I thank you, Sir Pierce. It was a fine lesson.”

Then he managed a smile, more like a grimace.

On the surface, it was an ideal ending.

The third prince, ignorant of his place, received a lesson from the corps commander and the match ended.

As expected, the sword master Pierce had overwhelmed the third prince, but the day’s events brought him not a shred of satisfaction.

Pierce glanced up at the audience.

The previously packed seats were now sparsely filled, and the front row where Aslan had sat was now empty.

There was no need to waste any more time on such trivial matters.

Pierce said,

“Well then, until next time, Your Highness. Do apply yourself to your studies.”

Shwaa.

The snowfall intensified.

Pierce turned away, taking his cloak from his waiting attendant.

Arthur, who had stood his ground until Pierce disappeared, suddenly collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Isiel was the first to rush to Arthur’s side.

Zebedee, having heard the news late, hurried over, and Cleio too ran until she was out of breath.

It was a day when the blizzard raged without end.

---

A week later, with the end of the second semester, graduation was held.

The snow that had begun on the final exam day had not let up, even for graduation.

Due to the rare heavy snow that paralyzed central Albion’s transportation, some students who couldn’t return home stayed in the dorms, then went out to a pub in town to drink.

Among the students were Arthur, Chel, Cleio, and Fran.

Lundain, with the Festival of Light approaching, was bustling east and west of the river. Drunks sang in the snow-covered streets, and shops stayed brightly lit late into the night.

At a noisy pub’s corner table, Chel sat with arms crossed, acting cocky.

“Hey, just sit down and drink whatever they bring. Stop wandering around making it hard to guard you.”

Blocking Arthur from standing with his long legs, he looked no different from the local ruffians.

“Hey! What do you mean guard. You just came to drink, didn’t you?”

“Isiel asked and asked again, how could I let you out alone?”

It was snowing enough in Lundain, so of course there had been an avalanche in the Kishion domain.

Isiel had rushed home to help her father.

Though there was an ‘official heir’ boy, Shuliman Kishion always treated Isiel as his successor.

He had discussed all matters of the domain with her since she was a child and made sure she looked after the people in times of disaster.

Arthur planned to stay at the school dorms until he fully recovered.

Pierce’s wounds were from a sword master’s sword aura, so even Zebedee’s healing magic couldn’t heal them at once. To make matters worse, ether depletion had left him completely drained.

Arthur stayed bedridden for three days. The dean said it was only thanks to his natural toughness that it wasn’t worse.

The Angelium twins had returned to their estate early, so Chel, based in the capital, took Isiel’s place.

Of course, Arthur insisted everyone was worrying too much.

“It’s not like assassins are knocking at my door every night for a midnight snack anymore!”

“There are still plenty who’d like to stick you, even without that. You saw Lars Abelman at graduation. Even after receiving the top graduate certificate, he looked furious about graduating after losing to you.”

“Well, he’s a proud probationary knight of the glorious Capital Defense Corps now. He wouldn’t do something so disgraceful as stab a mere student, would he?”

“Do the big shots in the corps even know what honor is? The commander used a dichotomy skill on a student, for god’s sake.”

“You’ll be in mandatory service after graduation too, so that’s a bit much, hey.”

Ignoring Arthur, Chel snatched a pint of dark beer from Cleio’s precarious hands as she arrived.

“Whoa, it’s overflowing. Ray, hand that here.”

“There are so many people.”

“Yeah. How do you expect to have a conversation in this racket?”

Fran, who followed Cleio, set down two pints of ale on the table with a thud, looking sullen.

Arthur quickly grabbed one.

“Thanks, Fran!”

“I just carried it. Aser bought it.”

“That guy’s loaded, make him pay for drinks.”

“I’m not getting my stipend just to pay for your booze, Arthur.”

“Come on, it’s all good. Or say it’s to celebrate me being top in magic.”

“Whatever. Overall rank was only 10th anyway.”

Arthur barely scraped by in everything except swordsmanship, so there was no point talking about rank, and Cleio’s ranking had also dropped since first semester.

The higher difficulty of swordsmanship was a problem, and just barely passing the midterms had affected her.

Of course, Cleio no longer cared, since her grades were no longer tied to money.

Exemption from mandatory service would be based on her rank after completing all fourth-year practicum courses, so there was no need to worry now.

What she cared most about now was Fran’s well-being, as Fran had taken an indefinite leave.

After some bickering, Chel and Arthur left for the restroom, with Chel insisting on going along.

“You’re even following me to the bathroom?”

“Why not. Our loach prince never cares where he causes trouble.”

“Hey!”

Taking advantage of the moment, Cleio spoke up.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, thanks to you.”

Having resigned from her post as Scholarch of the “Banner,” Fran had no reason to continue at the Capital Defense School.

Cleio had handed over all the materials she’d copied from the king’s archive 1793 diary, including the wild site of Ezra’s stylus, an ingredient for Hydra’s poison, exclusively to Fran.

‘If there’s one person in this manuscript who’d never abuse that, it’s this kid.’

Compiling the materials, Fran resolved to uncover the truth behind the scarlet ether and human experimentation, and planned to leave for Fesselrn City as soon as the snow stopped.

Fesselrn, bordering the eastern frontier, was where the late opera singer Geheim Zinger had said she was kidnapped.

Fran said she had contacts among the union members there as well.

“If you need anything, contact me through the mailbox right away. This matters a lot to me, too.”

“Yeah, Aser, you can spend a little money.”

“Right. So don’t worry about funds. Save your effort, and if it can be solved with money, use money. Never do anything dangerous.”

“I know you care, but why does it sound so annoying when you say it?”

“Hm, in your terms, maybe because it’s capital built from exploiting the people?”

“Ha, seriously.”

Though Fran looked like she’d be a light drinker, she downed the pint smoothly and easily.

Cleio emptied her glass as well, following Fran.

The strong dark beer brought warmth to her veins. Her hands and feet felt less cold, and her tongue worked better.

“Fran, to your eyes, I might be the son of a capitalist and a conservative clinging to the illusion of divine monarchy, but I don’t disagree with all your views.”

Fran squinted, surprised to hear such words from Cleio.

‘She’s so easy to read, it’s nice.’

“One day, maybe republicanism will become the world’s main political system. But for now, it’s hard to take root in Albion. We had Absalom I and Compromise King Thomas, and now we have the House of Lords and Commons.”

No matter how small, a pot with a vent won’t explode. Fran knew that better than Cleio.

“I know the tripartite system isn’t a perfect solution. But this land can’t become the Carolingian Republic or the Krater Principalities. Our revolution isn’t red, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Their red flags are dyed in blood. Is that direction always progress? Isn’t a slow step still a step?”

“…You sound like Robert.”

Robert, who had survived Victor Moreau’s great purge in Carolingia, would naturally have kept his distance from radicalism.

“Honestly, I think the chances of a bloody revolution like Carolingia’s are very low in this country. And I’m glad for it. I don’t want a history that demands lives as if it’s natural.”

‘No matter how you look at it, the author modeled Albion after a country where there was no modern revolution. So, Fran, your road is open… Just work hard organizing unions.’

Cleio couldn’t say it aloud, but her true feeling was that even if republicanism happened, the end wouldn’t necessarily be good.

‘The National Socialist Workers’ Party also came to power through elections!’

Recalling the half-remembered content of her European Modern History supplementary textbook, which she took as a sophomore and remembered through , Cleio’s eyes grew cloudy.

‘And you know, progress in the world is great and all… but I hope nothing happens, at least for as long as I’m alive here. Please understand that.’

This is why people turn conservative when they buy land.

Fran, deep in thought, finally spoke, almost to herself.

“So you’re someone who actually thinks.”

“Moved that you realized it at last.”

“If you were just another conformist, I wouldn’t have relied on you.”

“I know, that’s you. But just this once, you can trust someone I’ve chosen.”

“…I’ll watch and decide.”

“Then, how about another round?”

“I’ll have dark beer for the next one too.”

“Sounds good.”

Arthur, having returned to the table, raised his hand energetically.

“Ah! Hey, me too, next round! Dark beer!”

Arthur’s hair was a mess and his clothes were stained with snow and mud, as if he’d gotten into something.

“Did you go and make a bathroom yourself? What took you so long? And what’s with your appearance?”

Chel, who came in after Arthur, was just as dirty and complained.

“The righteous prince, despite not being fully healed, just couldn’t ignore a shop girl in trouble with some drunks and had to play the hero again….”

“No need to ask.”

“In the end, I did all the work and Arthur got the thanks.”

“Hey! How could you leave someone struggling like that? You’re a knight, you shouldn’t do that.”

“I’m not saying to leave them, just wait until I handle it. You only just stopped coughing up blood!”

Chel smacked Arthur on the back of the head. Arthur’s face turned red as he rubbed it.

“Treating an injured man like this…”

“Enough. Just drink. If you pass out, I’ll drag you back to the dorm.”

“Good idea. I’ll get the next round! Chel wants dark beer. Ray and Fran, what about you?”

“I’ll have the same.”

Fran, looking at Arthur’s open demeanor, answered a beat late.

“Me too, dark beer.”

“Okay, four dark beers! I can carry them all at once! I’ll show you!”

Exhausted from acting as Arthur’s bodyguard, Chel followed him back, asking in exasperation,

“What are you going to do with that skill, you’re not going to be a bartender.”

“Hey, you never know. Every skill comes in handy somewhere!”

Fran’s gaze was fixed on Arthur as he wove his way toward the bar.

Cleio found herself smiling without realizing it. Fran, seeing that, frowned and turned away with a “Don’t think I’m agreeing with you” look, but in the end, she too was seeing Arthur differently.

At that moment.

Clio’s Promise emitted a faint light.

[―The user’s narrative intervention has increased.

Cumulative ratio: 30%

[Bound Item: Clio’s Promise]

[―With the increase in narrative intervention, 30% of the bound item’s functions have been unlocked.

*The activation rate of the bound item is proportional to narrative intervention.]