The Editor Is the Novel’s Extra

‘Well… perhaps after getting killed several times already, his attitude towards Melchior is understandable.’

Despite having Separation active, sweat covered Kleio’s forehead as he faced the crown prince.

“His loyalty is from stealing death from Isolt, bought over eight times, to force life.”

It was the exact opposite of what Kleio was prepared to hear.

‘Stealing death…what does that mean? Didn’t he kill him?’

To force life? It sounded like something from the ancient Albion language that he wasn’t familiar with. It made him doubt that the translation function of Promise was actually perfect. Melchior seemed to take Kleio’s reaction a little different.

“What is so amazing about having memories of chapters that have already passed? If you were the one chosen by God, you couldn’t be ignorant of the structure of the world woven with letters. Memory is a curse that has been given only to those bound by history’s purpose but isn’t the main characters of it.”

Melchior gently swept the back of his right hand.

“…The protagonist of our history is exempt from such a punishment.”

If this were written down, Melchior’s words would be written in red ink.

“You can easily develop technologies beyond the ideas of the time. Did you call it a momentary portrait? That was great.”

Kleio knew that the prince wasn’t asking him about technology but presenting evidence that he already knew that the history of this world has an ultimate purpose.

“I wonder where your memory and soul come from. Anyway, it is clear you aren’t the child of Baronet Asel.”

Seeing that Promise remained silent, it seemed that he wasn’t using his skill, but it seemed like a faint golden glow was emanating from under his glove. Kleio felt a chill run down his spine.

Melchior seemed to sense his fear.

“Oops, I’m not trying to accuse you. Because the night in the Tristein estate overloaded me with memories that I couldn’t afford…it is a burden that I cannot bear alone, so I’m asking for your help.”

Kleio managed to move his lips as he felt beads of cold sweat roll down his back.

“I don’t know if it’s something I can do.”

“Aren’t you the messenger of the Gods who was sent to stop me? In this world, stigmas have different purposes, but all of them are divine tools. You have no choice but to understand me.”

Melchior’s words were true to an extent. He couldn’t forgive what he did, but he could understand the cause of his actions.

“Our Goddess had a protagonist who will start the next millennium. That period is the critical point of history. At that time, it repeats over and over again until the world is established in the direction God wants.”

Kleio’s restless trembling ceasing at the unimaginable revelation.

“The protagonist of the last millennium was Leonid Riognan, and he struggled with betrayal and love to achieve the history God wanted.”

The story that a certain period of repetition to refine the direction of the next era’s history occurred every thousand years was something he had never heard of before.

‘Then, did this man have that Memory? Of life before becoming Melchior…?’

As seen in the amphitheater, Erato had to live over and over again. It was no wonder that one of them was queen Isolt, as Melchior was holding the covenant of eternity that Lancelot had sworn to Isolt.

‘But even Isolt’s life was repeated.’

So how many times had this man’s life been repeated? His head seemed to be spinning as he learned the identity of the darkness that the crown prince mentioned earlier. Eight times was already enough time to go mad.

“It wasn’t just Leonid who suffered while leading history.”

In such a world, when the protagonist suffered, those surrounding him would’ve as well. If the protagonist were to suffer the loss of a loved one, then someone would have to die, and to struggle with betrayal, someone would have to violate their faith.

“Queen Isolt had to live eight times until those with ether sensitivity were revered as knowledgeable of the divine grace and magic that became the truth of the world, hoping only for the rest of death.”

The prince stopped talking, gently bowing his head as if to look for signs of the person behind him before turning his gaze back to Kleio. The scarlet in his eyes was almost gone, thanks to the [Reduction].

“Of course, due to man’s dogma, the plan was shattered, and Isolt, who fulfilled her duty to the hero of the times, couldn’t vanish. What did you read from the duke, who forgot about the repetition?”

That was a reference to Lancelot and Tasserton Tristein. Even Tasserton, who remembered his previous life as Lancelot, seemed to be unable to go back to his origins.

‘If the actual event is dramatized, it will inevitably be condensed. Just appearing in -Erato- dozens of times, how long must it have been in reality…it wasn’t just the manuscript that was degraded by overwriting.’

Memories overlapped and became entangled over time, losing their accuracy. It was common for people who had experienced the same incident to have mixed recollections. Kleio looked behind the prince now but was unable to see the hidden swordmaster. In the quiet garden, it was easy for their words to be heard. Kleio’s response would be passed on to both the man before him and the invisible one behind the pillar. His self-protection instant rang out with a bright red warning light.

‘What should I say to this?’

He wanted to be rid of both of them quickly, but Kleio had to drink the bitter medicine given to him quickly.

“It’s a surprise, but to our Excellency…he was marked as the one who killed god.”

“What god?”

“I mean “□□□□□□□□□□ □□□…ah. No, why…?”

Kleio had tried to say Erato, the child of the Goddess Mnemosyne, but his words made no sound. He had felt something like this before when he had spoken to the Archbishop. The powerful deterrent of the narrative was being expressed.

“Repeat it.”

“…□□□.”

His voice was muted once more. It was the same no matter how many times he tried it. As he forced himself to speak, the scent of blood began to emanate around him, and Kleio’s face turned blue. Even if he tried to write it, the pen fell out of his hand. The name of the Goddess was impossible to write or convey in words. Eventually, the prince stopped his attempts.

“You can’t deliver it, so stop.”

“Ah…”

Melchior looked delighted even though he didn’t get an answer.

“Hahaha! I couldn’t even imagine something like this! That’s right; this is something I should never know.”

It was the pleasure of a sniper capturing his target in the scope.

“Perhaps the name of the God is the most accurate keyword given to me.”

“What does that mean?”

“I remember everything that happened in my life, but my overly vast knowledge has lost its structure. A library without a classification isn’t a repository of knowledge but a maze of paper. The name of the God who made my skill was buried somewhere.”

‘Then…!’

“This is my most recent memory. There’s no theory of magic in the world yet, Mount Helicon was high, and even when I wasn’t Philippi’s son, the title given to the duke was a God-killer. Even Lancelot himself couldn’t find out the identity of the God he killed.”

It was unthinkable. The crown prince, who seemed to know everything that happened in this land, didn’t know the identity of his skill and the origin of his knight’s title.

‘Is God trying to keep Melchior from knowing who he is?’

Existence was bound by countless limitations, and overwhelming memories have shuffled the information he needed to know.

Melchior hated the Gods of this world. If he realized that he wasn’t only a tool of God but also one of the Gods who once created the world, what would happen? Would his antagonism continue? Would he go against God still?

‘Is it possible for him to become the king, the master of human history?’

No, that question was wrong. The possible or impossible wouldn’t affect Melchior’s behavior. He did whatever he could, much like Arthur. No matter how much he fell, he wouldn’t give up until the end.

‘I know why Mousai is trying to achieve his will with the blood of the Riognan royal family. They’re as durable and tough as titanium….’

The crown prince pointed to where Tasserton stood.

“And that being, who kept getting reborn, is like a stain of ink in a book. He’s staining all the pages in exactly the same shape without any context. So… I made him my knight. Because he’s the only one I don’t have to share with God.”