Editor 94

The Battlefield on the Tablecloth (2)

On the wall at the far end of the hall, opposite the entrance, a heavy canopy was draped. Beneath it were the thrones of the king and queen.

Below and to the right of the throne was the crown prince’s seat, and one step lower than that were the seats of the two princes.

Each step was only a few handspans high.

But the amount of blood that would flow while the princes of the Kingdom of Albion struggled to climb those steps, one by one, would be enormous.

‘No. Blood has already been shed, and that symbol will demand even more blood.’

Cleio, once again, was thoroughly sick of thrones, heirs, and everything to do with them.

‘If it weren’t for the damn fate that glued the Third Prince and this world together, I would’ve just packed up and run. Wouldn’t even have looked back at the palace.’

In front of the thrones, a large table was laid out horizontally. Candelabra several times more ornate than the others stood on both sides, and the royal banner was draped behind the table.

Anyone could see this was the table for the royal family.

Two attendants, looking experienced, stood in line to serve the meal, but none of the royal family had appeared yet.

People were just beginning to pass around aperitifs.

Led by royal attendants, the guests moved to their assigned seats. On each place setting was a card with the guest’s name.

As he entered, Cleio heightened his “perception” and saw that the Duke Cruel and Commander of the Knights, Klagen, were seated at the place of honor closest to the royal table.

Next were Tadeus, the commander of the Capital Defense Mage Corps, Zebedee with a deathly expression sandwiched between them, and even here, Ezra remained bustling and noisy.

Then came the Earl of Ramsdale and nobles who had brought spouses or children, and the seat of Benjamin Beaton, the wealthy commoner and Speaker of the Commons, was much further back than theirs.

Despite his influence and authority, he was seated even farther from the thrones than barons and junior baronets because he was a commoner.

‘I see. The distance from the thrones shows the guest’s status. The banquet, from the royal family’s perspective, is an annual, publicly announced power ranking chart. One that’s entirely open to all.’

Arranging the guests’ seats must have required as much serious consideration as the deployment of an army.

Children of the non-central noble houses, like the Angelium viscountcy and Kishion viscountcy, were guided with Cleio to a small table beneath a wall alcove.

Most military families had received their titles and lands during Absalom II’s restoration, so their situation was different from the old noble families who founded the House of Lords.

The out-of-the-way seats near the waiting room clearly showed their current status.

Of course, Cleio actually liked the seat, since other guests’ gazes would be less stinging, and he needed to feed Behemoth people food anyway.

‘Besides, who could eat with the high table right in front of them? Wouldn’t you worry about brothers stabbing each other during the meal?’

The table prepared for the royal family was made of solid oak, its thick legs visible beneath the banner, and looked nearly impossible to overturn—thank goodness.

There was still time before the banquet.

Under the round-arched alcove, separated from the main table of the central hall, it even felt cozy.

Six seats were prepared for Cleio’s group.

‘Huh? If it’s for those sitting here, it’s me, Isiel, and the four Angelium twins—so why are there six seats?’

The Tempête de Neige family was a noble house in exile, but thanks to Katarina’s skill, their place at the central table was quite far forward.

If Dione, who was away in the Principality of Crater for business, had seen this, she would’ve made some snide remark.

“Chel, are you sitting with us?”

As if she’d been waiting for the question, Chel shrugged proudly.

“I got my invitation under my own name, instead of the family’s. My birthday is January 1st, so after midnight I’ll be eighteen. Haha, I’m a full-fledged adult now.”

“Uh, congratulations. I didn’t know it was your birthday. Then what’s with the extra seat?”

Rifi and Letitia, beating slow-walking Cleio to the table, checked the name plate at the sixth seat.

“Look! The name plate says ‘Asser Cat.’”

“There’s no wineglass or cutlery, but the chair has a cushion. It’s linen, so a cat can scratch it!”

“Sit here, Behe!”

Boing!

The giant cat leapt nimbly and settled contentedly onto the linen cushion. The cushion was just high enough for his muzzle to reach the table comfortably.

“Meowwwwwwoooooong (To recognize and serve me thus is appropriate hospitality.)”

While the twins and the cat purred and giggled in harmony, Cleio was left speechless.

“Seriously, who does the guest arrangements? How did they know I’d bring a cat?”

“You could call this magic. It’s Lady Hilleida. She’s the sister of Viscount Seidel, and this is one of the many magics at the command of the chief royal lady-in-waiting.”

Hilleida Seidel.

Cleio knew the name as well.

She was the one who told Arthur last summer about the true motive behind Aslan’s repeated attacks.

Hilleida must be the person who best understood the power structure and upper-class relationships of the Kingdom of Albion.

‘The chief lady-in-waiting acts as if she doesn’t favor any prince, or perhaps even helps Arthur behind the scenes… It could be professionalism, but maybe she also thinks it’s not only the first or second who can become king?’

The group, some overly silent and some overly loud, all took their seats.

Their table’s attendant brought stiffly printed menus and water.

“Wow! The menu is amazing again!”

The banquet menu filled a whole page.

It began with two kinds of potage—shrimp and chicken—followed by a variety of hors d’oeuvres with caviar and truffles, a fish course with sole and sea bream, then lamb marinated and roasted with seven spices and a fond de veau sauce, veal and sage fritters, venison stew, and finally four kinds of dessert.

The two pairs of twins and the cat looked ecstatic just reading the menu.

A beverage attendant brought champagne to the table. The distinctive aroma of Riognes champagne tickled his nose.

‘Is it because I’m thinking I can’t drink? Why does it smell even better than last time?’

But tonight, Cleio made a heroic decision to abstain from alcohol. He stopped the attendant from pouring for him.

“I’m fine without alcohol, just sparkling water please.”

“Certainly.”

Once the attendant had only filled Chel’s glass and left, the twins’ attention turned to Cleio.

“Why aren’t you drinking for once, Ray?”

“Meowwoooong? (Why aren’t you drinking such good wine?)”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m trying to take it easy tonight. This is a tough crowd, and I might make a mistake.”

“Good thinking. That may be the best decision you’ve made all year.”

“Come on, Isiel… was that necessary…?”

Even this event, with all three princes present at once, hadn’t been included in the manuscript.

That manuscript was thorough in its depiction of big events like dungeons and wars, but in retrospect, it seemed to skip too much of the process by which the princes’ rivalry heated up into open conflict.

‘The brisk pace and omitted details made for a style with an epic charm, but now that I’m stuck here, I wish the manuscript had more explanation.’

The literary quality of the manuscript as seen by an editor, and its excellence as a guide from the perspective of someone stuck in the book, were not proportional virtues.

‘Real life isn’t built out of grand narratives. The smallest things, hatreds and kindnesses lighter than feathers, end up deciding the future. That’s how human behavior works.’

Stalin trusted Hitler, even maintaining a kind of admiration, right up until the non-aggression pact fell apart, and that led to the destruction of the Soviet air force in the first week of the war.

Events that should never have been connected became cause and effect; that is real history and real human action.

Trying to get by in such a variable world, relying only on a guide full of omissions, meant you had to keep your wits about you in a place where all three princes gathered at once.

“Ray, you can drink all you want and never even blush, so what’s up?”

“No, Letitia. It’s because I’ve drunk too much up to now.”

“That’s true too. If you keep drinking like Ray, your nose will turn red before you’re twenty!”

“Hey, what do you two think I am…?”

“What else? A drunk.”

“Yeah, Cleio. I hope you take something from what Rifi and Letitia are saying.”

“Well, looks like I’m the only one drinking at our table? Then this Riognes blanc de blancs is all mine. It’s only been made from Glicini grapes without blending for ten years, and production is really low! Thanks!”

Chel snickered, pulling the silver-plated basket the attendant had left closer to herself. Watching, Behemoth leapt up from his seat and fluffed his tail.

“Meowwwwwwrk!!! Myaak!!! (You’re planning to drink it all yourself!!! No way!!!)”

“Chel… I’m fine, but please pour some for Behemoth’s bowl.”

“How does a cat drink so much? Dogs and cats aren’t supposed to drink alcohol.”

“Well, I think whether he’s really a cat would require some deep consideration… He’s drunk and lived to a hundred in cat years, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Chel, counting on her fingers as if a hundred in cat years meant about twenty years, poured the wine for Behemoth.

“Really amazing. His fur is so shiny, and his eyes are clear. I thought he was a much younger cat. Here, drink up!”

Gurgle gurgle, pour—

The cat’s eyes rolled after the golden liquid. When Chel tried to stop pouring, Behemoth slapped the table with his paw.

“Mewnya (More).”

“You want more?”

“Meow (Yes).”

“Honestly, master and cat are both hopeless.”

Cleio could only smack his lips while Chel and Behemoth polished off the bottle of Riognes champagne.

He couldn’t drink while “perception” was active. The intoxication would hit him like a truck, and every drink felt like poison.

‘Damn, if it weren’t for this situation, I’d have cracked open that bottle.’

Pettily, he turned up the intensity of “perception.” If he couldn’t drink, he should at least get some kind of reward.

With so many of Albion’s key figures gathered, he began trawling for any useful information he could pick up.

Cleio started with the nearest table. A round, plump young man was whispering suspiciously to his elder companion.

The young man’s counterpart was a middle-aged woman in an unfamiliar, deep green uniform.

‘Never seen that uniform before. What secret are those two whispering about?’

Even at close range, their conversation was oddly unfamiliar and hard to understand.

Since coming to this world, language had always been instantly understood. This was the first time it hadn’t been.

As Cleio listened intently, his “Promise” shone with a peculiar gleam.

At that moment, a new message appeared above the banquet hall.

<—‘Promise’ activation rate has exceeded 30%, and the level 2 function [Understanding] now meets the requirements for multilingual interpretation.

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

Cleio blinked, unfamiliar with the content of the message.

‘What? Multilingual interpretation function?’

Right after the message faded, the two people’s conversation came into his ears as clearly as if a radio had tuned to the right frequency.

“【It’s the first time I’ve seen all three princes together since I was posted to Albion.】”

“【It’s my first time too.】”

“【Why is that, Consul?】”

“【Don’t you know? This country has no tradition of primogeniture. Those three princes are worse than strangers to each other. Especially the second prince—he’s desperate to kill the third.】”

“【Consul, then is the so-called cursed child the second or third prince?】”

“【Where do you pick up such half-baked rumors? This time, the cursed child of the Riognan royal family refers to the first one.】”

“【Whaaat? The crown prince, who’s flawless?】”

The round-faced young man’s round eyes popped like a cartoon. He even waved both hands in disbelief.

‘They say newly posted diplomats become Melchior fans in a few weeks—this guy’s a living example.’

The content spoken by the consul in the green uniform was news even to Cleio.

He’d always thought the “cursed child” was, of course, the ill-fated Arthur caught up in a dire prophecy, but apparently there was a twist.

‘This royal family is like an onion—the more you peel, the more layers of backstory come out.’

“【Hmm, you’re twenty-four this year, right? So it’s not surprising there are more who don’t know these days. I’ll explain the details later. Let’s drop this topic. There are quite a few people here who speak Carolingian.】”

Chel, noticing Cleio listening in on other tables’ conversations, poked him in the side.

“What’s the consul and deputy secretary from the Principality of Speculum talking about that has you so alert, not drinking?”

“Ah… something about the princes, I think, but I didn’t catch it well. Hey, Chel, do people from the Principality of Speculum speak a different language from Albion?”

“That little principality is divided into regions that use Carolingian and Brunnerian, and Jacqueline Dubois, the consul, speaks Carolingian.”

“…I see.”

“Ray, you can’t act, so don’t bother trying to lie in the future. You understood everything and then pretended not to. Can’t even keep up a lie.”

“Mm… it’s just been so long, it felt unfamiliar.”

One important question was resolved.

Multilingual interpretation function. At first, he couldn’t understand the Speculum people’s conversation, but then it was as if a radio dial had tuned in.

Their words were being interpreted by “Promise.”