Editor 96

In any case, thanks to attending the banquet, I had learned the improved functions of Promise that came with increased narrative intervention.

I learned that the terrifying crown prince was not omnipotent.

I got a general sense of the opinions of the capital’s upper class.

Meanwhile, Behemoth and the two pairs of twins were focusing on demolishing the course meal.

Apparently satisfied with the food, Behemoth—who would get noisy if fed anything he disliked—didn’t let out a single meow.

The well-trained attendants, even seeing a cat eating human food and drinking wine, simply brought out the next dish with calm expressions.

‘I was so distracted that I couldn’t even taste the food properly.’

With “perception” turned on, every dish was too salty, greasy, and bitter.

His soup had gone cold after just a few spoonfuls, and the caviar on the tiny pancake tasted so fishy he couldn’t even finish a teaspoon. The lobster in bisque sauce and the sole sautéed in butter all went by uneaten.

Before he knew it, the meal was over and after-dinner drinks were being served.

‘I want to eat all this again in a better environment. What a waste.’

At the royal family’s table, Melchior was at the center seat, with the queen and the second prince to his right, and the third prince to his left.

It wasn’t a particularly good arrangement.

After Melchior finished his short year-end address, and while he performed the customary act of hanging a sprig of mistletoe from the pillar and lighting the last candle of the nine-branched candelabra, he would have been the only one anyone saw.

As well as the youngest brother, who looked just like him.

The two princes dressed in the royal red uniforms looked more alike than ever. Gold was the royal color—a noble and rare shade.

Even in Albion, where people’s features were Western, the number of people who kept true golden hair into adulthood was extremely small.

People with even gold eyebrows were so rare that you might not see one even once a day in the bustling city center.

‘And with those striking red uniforms, even if you saw them passing by on an SRT train, you’d know they were brothers. Technically only Aslan is legitimate, but when they’re sitting lined up like that, it’s Arthur who looks out of place.’

If you’d lived like that for nearly twenty years, and if you thought even the crown prince’s seat—what you’d never doubted was yours—had been “stolen” by an illegitimate brother…

‘It’s not impossible that Aslan might make an irrational choice. I’d better contact Fran in the new year.’

From the middle of the banquet, the queen became expressionless and barely ate, and after raising a glass for health, she disappeared at some point.

Aslan, left alone, sat with his usual terrifying expression, radiating a low-pressure atmosphere, Arthur pretended not to notice anything, and Melchior proceeded with the banquet smoothly without batting an eye.

He acted as naturally as if he’d done this his whole life.

He joked at the right times, raised his glass, followed old customs, and kept the atmosphere from becoming too solemn.

‘What can I say—even the clothes. Normally, that level of splendor would overwhelm a person, but on this crown prince, it suits him as if he were born in it.’

The cut and fabric of the three princes’ uniforms were similar, but the crown prince’s was far more ornate.

A long cloak edged with sable fur and a blue sash, gold cords layered on the shoulders and sleeves, and gold-and-gem decorations on the front.

It was an outfit that would never suit Arthur, and that was the truth.

He would never, even for a moment, be the crown prince.

Finally, Cleio turned off “perception.”

With the queen gone, there would be no more to overhear. He was just getting ready to properly enjoy dessert.

.

.

.

…If it hadn’t been for the crown prince coming all the way to this out-of-the-way table, Cleio’s resolve would have borne fruit.

‘This isn’t some wedding reception buffet—why are you wandering around? Shouldn’t you be sitting at your seat, listening to those high-ranking nobles’ greetings and flattery? Damn it.’

With the untimely arrival of the crown prince, everyone except the cat had to stand and pay their respects.

Sip, sip, sip

Lick

Chel cast a longing glance at the last sip of her Budigala wine, and the cat, unconcerned with the crown prince, licked his plate.

‘That fond de veau sauce with the main must’ve been tasty enough to lick clean. As expected, humans are nothing—cat life is the best…’

“It’s been a while, Sir Cleio. Lady Chelestes, Lady Isiel as well.”

“We greet Your Highness the Crown Prince.”

“We greet Your Highness.”

“That’s enough greeting; let’s all sit. Were you all waiting for Arthur? You’re still close as ever.”

As the crown prince took a seat at their table, attendants appeared noiselessly to bring him a chair and set a small after-dinner liqueur glass before him.

‘So this time he’s in “concerned parent monitoring his little brother’s friendships” mode. He knows none of the kids here believe it, but he acts so naturally—he really is consistent.’

Whatever the distant future might hold, right now Arthur was still a wild eighteen-year-old boy.

Behind Melchior, standing as if to guard his brother’s chair, Arthur could be seen mouthing something.

‘Hey! This wasn’t on purpose! I was trying to sneak away and then my brother suddenly followed! I’m going nuts!’

Isiel pretended not to see, and Chel didn’t let on that she’d read Arthur’s lips.

Arthur clearly intended to come to his friends, but not to bring the crown prince along, judging by how he scratched his head, tousling his honey-gold hair that someone had carefully combed earlier.

The sight was so ridiculous that Cleio focused on his dessert, afraid he’d laugh in front of the crown prince.

It was easy to distract himself.

A cake with crème diplomate between almond sponge, flavored with stewed apricots and apricot liqueur, was decorated on top with a meringue and icing in the shape of the Mnemosyne Gate.

People murmured in admiration at the skill of the royal patissier. The attendant slowly wheeled the trolley, showing the cake to everyone before serving a slice to each.

As if to flaunt Albion’s near-monopoly on trade with the Meredias continent, another trolley was piled high with exotic sweets—rose-scented lokum and dates stuffed with pistachios—like a tower.

It was all delicious.

While Chel put on a rare saleswoman’s smile for the crown prince, Cleio diligently worked through his dessert.

Fueled by sugar, all sorts of hypotheses popped into his head.

‘When Melchior instantly knocked out Fran with Insight Verse on the field trip, it was because the situation was critical, and it seems he doesn’t use that skill much otherwise.’

Maintaining his composure, Cleio added a third item to today’s realizations.

‘My editor’s authority, Arthur’s, Fran’s—all the stigmata aren’t unlimited; they have strict conditions and restrictions. So Melchior’s stigma must be the same, right?’

Unlike “enchantment,” which can affect multiple people at once, “Insight Verse” seemed usable only 1:1.

‘He’s not like Professor Xavier from X-Men, able to pry open anyone’s mind at will. And when he tried it on Fran, there was interference between unique skills, not just mine.’

For example, if he peeked into Isiel’s mind right now, he could get all the latest info on Arthur, but the crown prince showed no sign of doing so.

Even as he thought, Cleio kept spooning dessert and tea into his mouth.

They say people are creatures of adaptation.

Even the crown prince, who once seemed terrifying, wasn’t as scary after bumping into him several times.

Plus, since he’d barely touched the main course, dessert was going down especially well.

Cleio crunched through the ice cream and brandy wafer that came after the cake.

As Cleio energetically cleared his plate, Melchior spoke to him rather kindly.

“Chef Antoine is a patissier by training, so he always puts his all into dessert. I’m glad the banquet’s dessert suited your taste, Sir Cleio—it makes the invitation worthwhile.”

“It was truly exquisite. The dessert was a work of art. Thank you for the honor of inviting me to such an event.”

“I didn’t want to hear only stiff praise, so please enjoy yourself to the end.”

“I am always grateful for your consideration.”

As Melchior and Cleio exchanged awkward words, Arthur smoothly cut in.

“But if you stay here, brother, nobody will remember what dessert tasted like.”

“Haha, even on a night like this, you talk just like a street rascal.”

“I’m not much different from a street rascal, am I? Right now, all the people hoping for a word with you are staring holes in my back—I’m afraid I’ll get a hole in this fine suit.”

“Then I should make way so you and your friends can greet the New Year together.”

Sensing the shift, Chel seized the moment.

“Your Highness, it would be an undeserved honor for us to greet the New Year with you. Of course, since there’s mistletoe at every window, I trust you’re prepared to compete for the kisses of all us ladies?”

“On the contrary, I think I’ll be the one blamed by all the young ladies of the capital, so I’ll be sure to rise before midnight. I wish you all a bright New Year.”

“We wish Your Highness a bright New Year as well.”

“And Sir Cleio, please take better care of your health.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Cleio let out a small sigh of relief. ‘Is this really the end?’ he thought, half in doubt.

But Melchior always had to have the last word.

“Be sure to keep that cheerful promise. Only then can you grant my request, right?”

“…Request?”

“Have you forgotten what happened in the royal archives, clever as you are? The final exams must have been hard. What I asked of you wasn’t an unreasonable favor.”

Melchior’s voice rang out clearly amid the guests’ drunken chatter and the music.

The royal archives.

The crown prince’s requested favor.

It was nothing much in reality, but the way Melchior said it made the words sound like code for some secret pact or conspiracy.

‘All he wants is a guide for a dungeon run, but he makes it sound so grand.’

For a moment, the table’s mood froze.

As things unfolded, Cleio actually felt a kind of resigned calm.

It wouldn’t have made sense for nothing to happen with Melchior appearing.

‘This bastard, he’s doing this deliberately, right here and now. The king of sowing discord.’

The Mnemosyne Gate was an artifact managed by the Capital Defense Knights, and they were a royal institution. If the crown prince wanted to enter the “Remembered World,” there was no grounds to stop him.

Whether Pierce Klagen supported Melchior privately or not, with the king in a coma, the highest authority in the land was the crown prince.

If the crown prince merely “requested” an escort from a knight, the only relationship possible was command and obedience.

‘Not that others will see it that way.’

Melchior always preferred efficient solutions.

By coming to this out-of-the-way table, he had the entire banquet’s attention, and his casual remarks about Cleio’s health would spread like an epidemic.

Now, by tomorrow, everyone would officially consider Cleio part of Melchior’s faction.

‘Aslan, try to keep a straight face. I can feel that ether burning all the way over here. Ugh, my head hurts.’

The expressions of those with ether sensitivity among the spectators stiffened.

Implicitly, it was considered bad manners for a knight to stir up ether in a non-combat situation.

‘But who’s going to call out the second prince for bad manners?’

To make matters worse, Promise taunted Cleio with a sparkling message.

<—User’s narrative intervention is increasing.

Accumulated rate: 33.2%>

Narrative intervention had now shot past thirty percent.

Seeing the clear letters, he felt more than Aslan’s killing intent that he’d long since passed the point of no return.

‘Now all that’s left is to reach the destination or crash. Ah, now I know how a pilot feels flying through mountains and oceans in a storm.’

The problem wasn’t just Aslan.

Standing behind Melchior, Arthur still wore a smile, but in his deep blue eyes, a fire seemed to burn.

The hottest flames are blue.

Cleio wanted to hit the escape button. But since there was no such thing, he could only stare out the distant window.

Promise sparkled again, as if to tease him.

<—User’s narrative intervention is increasing.

Accumulated rate: 34.5%>