The Editor Is the Novel’s Extra

“Albion has the highest literacy rate on the Dernier continent. 92% of the citizens can read. The influence of printing has become more powerful than ever before, and the printing press is as powerful as magic.”

He couldn’t follow the conversation, as Perception and Separation were at their limits. Kleio had to focus, not to pass out.

“Have you ever heard of a radio?”

“…I’ve heard rumors of such a thing.”

“Then, the explanation will be easy. The technology that can spread voice in radio waves has reached the commercialization stage. In the new century, 50 million Albion citizens will be able to listen to the same speech at the same time.”

“!!!”

“-It will be more than magical.”

That hadn’t been mentioned in the previous manuscript. He never imagined that Melchior would think of using the media politically.

“I can only admire your deep will, but what does that have to do with Francis’s unique skill?”

“If you don’t know, then allow me. Your comrade has an excellent ability for that technology, the power to sow seeds of thoughts in people’s hearts through words and writing.”

Fran’s unique skill was limited, but if used with Melchior’s ability, the power of Propaganda could be fully exerted.

‘Certainly, in the era of radio, the press had tremendous authority. If you dominate the media, you will be able to dominate public opinion.’

Jungjin may have overlooked it because he had lived in a century of media excess. The world was still passing through the time when people rode in carriages, and spirit mediums tried to communicate with the dead. In those days, how far would the crown prince, who calmly predicted the heyday of mass media, go? What was the person who was already closest to the throne prepared for?

“I really need his talent. Can you understand that as you were trying to protect him?”

By killing his companion and isolating him? Why the hell? Question after question arose in his mind, filling his mind with confusion.

“Why… You were doing it like that?”

Kleio glanced at the hidden bodies with a blank expression.

“Because I must be the king of the Albion kingdom.”

“Would the throne be inherited by the younger brothers?”

“…Is that really so?”

Melchior stood up from his chair and moved around to Kleio.

“Same as I, all my siblings, deserve succession. Inheritance by the firstborn is not an established tradition. It means that, like my siblings, the opportunity to wear the crown will come to you as well.”

“What do you mean…?!”

Kleio was soaked in a cold sweat, unable to hide his embarrassment. The prince, his head slightly bowed, made an almost innocent-looking expression.

“It’s a strange feeling that I can’t be sure of your inner feelings even though you are so easily agitated, and you express them so clearly.”

Kleio’s resentment was understandable.

“I don’t know what misunderstandings you’ve been having, but I’m certainly the second son of Baronet Gideon Asel. It may be too much to say this… but if you’ve ever seen my father, you would understand what I mean.”

“Yes, he looks just like you. Trustworthy people say that, and they are sure of it. It was said that Baronet Asel’s wife was special to him. Even the cold-blooded businessman is said to have truly loved her.”

Melchior’s voice as he conveyed the beautiful story was insensitive and dry.

“If it’s not Philippe, it’s Edward. If not Edward, George, or Anne Marie. We looked again to see if Margaret made a secret mistake.”

All the names Melchior lightly tossed out had the last name of Riognan.

“The adventure of revisiting the royal family tree for the past one-hundred years has been entertaining. In that, there was no answer there, even more so.”

‘He investigated all the circumstances of his family and relatives?’

That tenacity was creepy.

“You certainly don’t appear to be a successor to Riognan blood. If so, then, if you can’t find the cause in humans, isn’t it the work of God or the devil?”

Kleio couldn’t even blink. Melchior seemed to read even what Kleio wasn’t trying to say.

“In this world, there is a deterrent to fix the flow of the world in one direction.”

Melchior came closer, observing Kleio’s reaction with cold eyes. Since he couldn’t invade his opponent’s mind, he attempted to search for any revealed information persistently.

“Now, I’m convinced. Those who die in the midst of earnest prayers for life, and those who have to live in with the pain of death.”

Was he talking about trying to kill Arthur? What did he mean?

‘What the hell did the author make? This guy knows too many things he shouldn’t!’

Maybe even more than Arthur.

“I thought about it when the science academy’s dorm burned down. Tiplaum’s challenge may not be solved in this era. But, even if Francis doesn’t, a new character will appear and complete the formula like this. The challenge has to be solved.”

This made it clear that Melchior remembered the old manuscript. No. Maybe he even tried to change it.

‘Is that why the manuscript is messed up?!’

“All those years, I’ve been wondering. Should rivers always flow upstream to downstream? Can the water go backward? Is it impossible for humans to change the flow of history?”

The question wasn’t directed at Kleio. It was towards the author, the existence outside the book… To those who repeatedly frustrated his attempts to go against his fate. Just as a time traveler couldn’t change the past to revise the present, even one who read others’ thoughts and wielded the power of charm struggled to win against the predestination of fate. The sense of discomfort that he felt when he first encountered Melchior, and that sense of disparity like he was staring outside the book, reinforced his words. Melchior’s modifier of □□□. Even though his degree of narrative involvement had increased, that identity was still unknown.

‘Is he just a character in the book?’

He had a feeling that something was wrong with the underlying premise, and he didn’t have enough clues to solve the question. What was he missing? Melchior wouldn’t give him time to continue thinking, however.

“What do you think of the saying that history repeats itself?”

“…I know it as an expression referring to the repetition of similar types of events in human history.”

“No. Regarding the notion that the exact same life, the life of a knight and a hero, and of a madman and a traitor, could repeat. Seven or eight times.”

It was such a significant question that even he felt puzzled. When it came to a problem that he had to live through for eight lifetimes, it was even worse. In this case, he had to pretend he didn’t understand anything and turn to general theory.

“I don’t know what to say even if you present such a philosophical topic to one like me, who isn’t deeply learned… First of all, I don’t believe in infinite regression. How could the same thing happen again?”

“Certainly, I find that response interesting and strange.”

In Kleio’s ears, he heard nothing but the measured thinking of whether he would be spared or killed. It was then…

Ring, ring.

The sound of the phone ringing at the start of dawn was ominous. In the reception room, he heard Melchior’s attendant answering a call. Then, the knight quietly knocked on the door of the inner chamber.

“Come in.”

Melchior stepped back from Kleio without rushing.

“Sir, sorry to disturb you. They are contacting with news from the capital.”

“Please report.”

Tasserton stepped inside like a natural-born predator, making nary a sound despite his large stature. The man had dark black hair and sharp indigo eyes, making him seem just as dangerous as his master.

“What’s the news?”

Tasserton glanced over at Kleio, but Melchior’s reaction was unexpected.

“He can listen. Tell me.”

Tasserton nodded, acting like a tamed wolf. His deep voice conveyed the details of the news.

“The Door of Mnemosyne has opened.”

‘!!!’

Kleio’s eyes went wide.

‘I thought so, but… it’s too fast. Arthur’s ether level is only 5.’

As expected, Melchior’s response was measured and calm.

“What color is reflected in the door?”

“It is said to be blue.”

It was still okay if the dungeon entrance was blue. When it turned red, it meant it had reached its limit, and demons would appear outside the door. Varg, the two-headed wolf that Kleio fought, had appeared in this world that way.

“The demons won’t come out. How are they responding?”

“Currently, Zebedee and master Rosa Pehite are guarding the door. Knights of the Royal Capital Defense Forces and wizards have been called in.”

“I know. Prepare a wagon and contact the station to arrange an express train. I will return to the capital.”

“By your order.”

Tasserton left like the wind, then Melchior turned back to Kleio.

“It seems that the entertainment time has come to an end. It was a pleasant conversation, Sir Kleio. Please, enjoy the last day of the field trip. Let us meet in the capital.”

.

.

.

‘A pleasant conversation? Hah.’

He almost had a heart attack. Chills went down his spine as he recalled the expression of the prince.

‘How will he get rid of those bodies? Even if they deserved to die, they…’

The face of Paul and Bill’s boots momentarily passed through his thoughts.

‘Well, I suppose the secret intelligence service will take care of it for him. If they bury them in the King’s Forest, who could find them?’

He had slipped out of Melchior’s boudoir, exhausted. Suddenly, the winter palace felt too spacious. He just wanted to collapse in the corridor to the annex instead of walking all the way up to the third floor. A terrible ache was pounding through his head, the aftereffects of Perception and Separation taking their toll on him. Moving forward with the wall to support him, Kleio moved toward the annex with shaky legs.

‘It was hard enough the night before yesterday. But somehow, today, it’s even worse.’

It had been a terribly long night. He had to get to his room, but his eyelids were growing heavier…

“Hey, if you sleep in a place like this, you’ll get sick.”

A hand landed on his shoulder. Kleio tried to shake it off, but he couldn’t move.

“Get up. Lei!”

Arthur patiently woke him up. Opening his eyes gingerly, Arthur was standing above him under the faint light of the gas lamp. He was kneeling down in the cold hallway over Kleio, who had collapsed at some point. Despite the similar blonde hair and blue eyes, he was utterly different from Melchior. He felt strangely relieved as he saw Arthur’s face. If only the world wouldn’t perish if he were left alone, he wouldn’t need to be entangled in this dirty war for succession.

‘What are the hardships that tie these princes together?’

“Why did you collapse? Go to your room to sleep.”

“Don’t bother me and leave me alone.”

“What bullshit are you spouting? Why are you acting so tough?”

“It’s because I saw your easy-going face.”

“Who’s so easy-going? I’m relieved to hear you’re okay after you got caught by Melchior.”

Even though it was night, Arthur was wearing outdoor clothes, boots, and Beg’s sword.

“You look ready to fight. Worried your brother would bury me somewhere?”