The Editor Is the Novel’s Extra

“Oh, you don’t understand.”

The Roman emperor urged Berenice to leave, all while conveying she was the only one he would love until he died.

‘Well, it was too subtle to show an eighteen-year-old.’

“Whether you don’t understand or not, isn’t the time passing well because we’re watching this? Almost two hours have passed.”

-Berenice- had ended while the two were arguing. The sky became dark, and fires lit up all over the theater. The water clock was a structure that would move when the water level was full. Suddenly, the scale pointed to by the angel had moved up two spaces. The amphitheater was filled with the turmoil of the spirits cheering, then suddenly vanished as a new play began. This time, as soon as he listened to the monologue of a tall man who had walked onto the stage, he had no choice but to straighten his back out. The man held a bloody dagger in his hand, displaying deeper grief than the queen in the previous play.

“Erato!”

Even at such a distance, the man’s blue eyes, dark hair, and height caught his attention. The lights on the stage brightened, reflecting the back of a woman lying at his feet. And in the next scene, all the spectators shouted as if to echo the dead woman’s name.

“Erato!”

Erato was the dead woman, and the man was her murderer. Kleio hurriedly turned on Perception. It was clear that, when he used the skill, the spirit on the stage had a face that resembled Tasserton Tristein. Arthur yawned dryly next to him, seemingly unconcerned about the appearance of the spirits.

‘What is this?’

No matter how much he went through his Memory, the previous manuscript didn’t mention the content of the play staged in the dungeon. It couldn’t be helped, as those who had entered the dungeon were Arthur and Isiel.

‘A drama is a device that explicitly implies or exposes the inner story of the narrative… There was such an important device hidden here.’

“Arthur, have you ever seen these plays in your vision?”

The prince responded loudly.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if the visions were fun, showing something like a play? Unfortunately, there has never been such a thing.”

“Okay, got it.”

“These are stories I’ve never heard of in my life, but it’s more amazing that you’re not surprised at all.”

“It’s because of my prediction.”

Arthur didn’t seem to be lying. Then, the person Kleio should be suspicious of is the author or the system of this world.

‘When my level of involvement is lacking, it was said that I could only be conveyed information in a way that I can understand. That’s why I received Clio’s message by email.’

If so, wasn’t this play also a device inserted to convey something to Kleio? He focused on watching the play. Next, masked choruses poured in from the left side of the stage, and one of them stepped forward. The head of the choir turned to the man on the stage.

“How did you murder God?”

“Because humans cannot possess God. Because God’s love is fair to all.”

“Is the grace of the God of love lacking?”

“It was too much, but I wasn’t the only one.”

The man loved Erato, the goddess who gave birth to the world, and thus understood that she couldn’t be his. He killed a god who loved the whole world unconditionally, a god who didn’t answer him alone, who recorded the world on a slate. The chorus sang lamentations as the curtains fell. While the man and the goddess vanished from view, the choir continued their orchestra.

“Goddess, tell us about this oldest being. About Erato, your sister, and the first line of the first story.”

All epic poems were originally songs of the Muses. The first authors of humanity wrote the first line, asking her a story. When the stage moved again, the man’s sword was stuck in his heart, and he perished beside the woman as he knelt down. The singing grew even louder.”

“And the first world perished for love. The history and myths of the first world are stillborn, strangled by the umbilical cord.”

“Because love is fragile, prone to failure, and without guarantees. The world of Erato ended before civilization even began. The goddess will sing of this tragedy.”

“When the world dies, humanity dies. Its painful disappearance, indescribable suffering. Then, where do the gods go?”

“Second. To the second world. We, to the place where the chorus was born.”

“If the second world ends?”

“To the third world. To the night where the stars were born.”

Erato was a very esoteric play. The background and world changed, and each time the man called the other person under a different name, appealing for love, but the other didn’t look back. The ending was always the same, as the man killed the subject of his love. The invisible actor was initially a woman, then a young man, an older woman, then a boy, but it was clear the spirit had some continuity. The lines of spirits resembling Tasserton became shorter and shorter, and the deaths of the two became simplified. This time, the choruses left of the stage sang.

“History has been repeated countless times.”

“Before reaching history.”

“Even after reaching history.”

After repeating the same mistake a dozen times, the man screamed out.

“I do not ask for love. It is excessive for humans. All I want from my god is eternity. May we die for God even though we may not be born together? I want the uniqueness that won’t turn into love.”

The one opposite the man, who turned away from his scream, looked down at the poor creature. There wasn’t even contempt for the one who added another sin to the history of sin. Darkness covered the spirit’s face as it eloquently spoke of the kind of beauty that couldn’t be witnessed. It was difficult for Kleio to believe what he saw. However, that unique shape couldn’t be mistaken for any other.

‘…That spirit is a perfect match with Melchior.’

Kleio had only considered Erato as the goddess protecting Melchior so far. He had also thought that the last world meant only the previous revised manuscript. However, what if not only this manuscript had been written eight times?

‘Arthur, Melchior, and Aslan continue to be rewritten under the same position and name, but Erato changes their identity on the stage. If you continue to reincarnate like that, would you completely escape the content of -The Prince of the Albion Kingdom-?’

At that moment, Promise flashed as Memory rewound.

‘The reincarnation of □□.’

It was the title given to Tasserton. All sorts of hypotheses began to overheat Kleio’s head. Maybe this place was literally the last world that came after the previous ones?

‘The people living their recurring lives in this manuscript are not called reincarnations. If so, was Tasserton moved from a world other than this one?’

That hypothesis still couldn’t explain the existence of Erato or Melchior. Clio had said Melchior was someone who was subjugated to this world and had belonged to it from the moment of its birth.

‘…Anyway, one thing is clear. Between Tasserton and Melchior, there is a long life beyond eight revisions.’

And the author wanted his editor to know that. It was impossible to guess more than this.

‘I’ve already seen some half-hearted corrections, but this is practically a series of films.’

The lights on the stage faded and the play ended. While the performance was paused, a strange noise cut through the hum of the spirits.

Drool-

Kleio had focused on the stage to the point that he couldn’t see his surroundings, so he hadn’t noticed the guy next to him dozing off.

‘How can he sleep in a dungeon?’

Kleio kicked Arthur’s ankle.

“Arthur, hey, get up. Are you completely out of touch these days?”

“Uh? Is it time?”

“No matter how boring it is, to doze like that… are you sane?”

“Lei, you’re the only one excited about watching the play… Even I didn’t know. Nothing here is conscious of my existence either. I can sleep because we’re completely ignored…”

Arthur was right. None of the spirits paid them any mind.

“So, are you really sleeping? Knowing what will happen? Tsk.”

“I wasn’t sleeping; I only closed my eyes.”

Kleio’s eyes narrowed.

“You were drooling. High-level knights are said not to need sleep for a few days. Did you stay up all night before school started?”

“Oh, how did you know?”

“…No, what else happened?”

“Huh, I can’t fool your eyes. Well, that’s it. I went into the mountain because I wondered if I could raise one more level. I didn’t know the aftereffects would come like this.”

The wrinkles of the wizard’s face grew deeper.

‘I understand that you’re the main character, but you’re level 6 at eighteen. That’s already a legendary feat.’

“Don’t just doze off now. You know well what kind of magic [Fever] can do.”

“Hey, hey, I don’t think that’s a good idea — we have to save ether.”

Kleio smiled slightly with an expression that made others think he was exactly like Baronet Asel.

“Don’t worry about ether. It’s not what I do because the mana stone ruby will.”

Even after making the heating plate, more than half a box of rubies remained. As he shook his subspace wallet, Arthur straightened his back.

“Oh, I got it. I’m not going to sleep.”

“Because we only have a couple of hours left.”

Kleio’s voice became short. There was nothing difficult about it for Arthur, but for Kleio, all this sitting was giving him back pains.

‘Three plays in a row… My limit used to be two movies. Somehow, phew.’

The last drama began as Jungjin mentally complained. It started with a conversation between two women, Antigone and Ismene, with the scene of Thebes’ palace behind them. It was clearly -Antigone-. Kleio felt like crying. It was a tragedy of Sophocles, which was just right for an amphitheater, but it was a painful performance to watch at 10 PM with a tired body.

‘The author has no mercy.’