The Editor Is the Novel’s Extra

For an eternal peace (4)

Arthur hurriedly tried to prevent Kleio from reading, but Kleio stopped him.

“Get your hands off me!”

“Hey, stop it! What is this? It’s foul play!”

Even amid Arthur’s obstruction, Kleio was able to read all the necessary passages.

Arthur’s seven days of suffering.

Vesna Driscoll was a terrifyingly cruel human, finding the time she took to tear and destroy Arthur’s body and mind as the best moments in her life. She could punish those who persecuted her God with her own hands. From time to time, the crown prince moved beyond the thin walls of the torture chamber, seeing and hearing everything Vesna was doing.

In those moments, Vesna’s hands shook with joy. The words that Vesna, consumed by dark passion, spoke to destroy Arthur consisted of half-lies and half-truths. Whenever he used [Reinforcement], she would whisper of his friends’ suffering because of him.

‘There… Vesna was from the same time as Arthur’s mother… What is this?’

Igraine, who had produced two high priests, chose Theophila, the one with the more substantial divine power, over Vesna as her foster daughter. For Vesna, who also thought that it was God’s will, the second slap came ten years later. Breaking the pledge of chastity, Theophila violated the saints of Igraine, failing the values that Vesna had dedicated her life to. Because of Theophila, who had forsaken God’s choice and gave birth to a king’s child, Vesna lost her faith. She had taken that out on Arthur as if to claim compensation for her lost confidence.

‘You said what you were doing was nothing more than what was necessary. There was even a personal grudge, so you pushed Arthur even worse…!’

Vesna had grinned as she grabbed Arthur’s hair, speaking like she was singing a lullaby to a child.

“If you don’t accept the [Covenant], I could cut out the wizard’s vocal cords, grind his delicate fingertips, and make it impossible for him ever to read another book. Prince, that would be your sin.”

Arthur had reasonably judged that she wouldn’t really treat the second son of Baronet Asel and the future archmage that way. However, looking into Vesna’s eyes broke his belief in rationality. No sleep, no etheric cycling, no rest, no darkness… Arthur’s clear judgment was about to shake.

Still, even in that state, Arthur survived seven days without falling to Vesna. Scratching the cracked floor tiles until his nails were worn down, his body soaked with blood, convulsing.

Finally, even the prolonged hardships came to an end. Vesna used her flimsy etheric condition on a dagger. The sentence that recorded the scene of her slowly dragging them across Arthur’s wrists was engraved in Kleio’s mind.

[―Remaining time/time limit: 00:00:01/00:05:00]

The manuscript and the pen vanished as Editor’s Authority expired. No change took place in the world, as Kleio hadn’t once touched the manuscript. It was the first time he had used the valuable resource for the sole purpose of reading without revision. If he tried to correct the awful acts that Arthur had to suffer, neatly described in those several paragraphs, a larger crack would form. Arthur could be hurt more than this. Kleio had to force down his overflowing anger.

“How did you endure it? You heard that all your colleagues had been taken away.”

“I told myself I wouldn’t die in such a place.”

Arthur was more concerned about Kleio than he was himself. His eyes were black and blue, and his hair had been roughly cut. The future archmage didn’t look much better than his colleague.

“It’ll be fine.”

His words were blunt, but Kleio was shaking. Arthur pushed on.

“No, really. It’s not possible to bind Kision forever under the order of the deputy king, given his popularity among the border military command. I figured I would be released soon. I didn’t even expect it would be this fast.”

Arthur’s words were sincere; he was genuinely relieved. On the night when his room was invaded, Arthur realized that his nightmare had become a reality. His friend, who didn’t want status or honor, and who had good alcohol and a cat, was brought to the dungeon just like him. Arthur didn’t like that. So, this was a much better end than expected. Kleio didn’t like that thought, however.

“You could’ve used foreground to save yourself.”

“…I would be comfortable, but Vesna would’ve likely gone through with those terrible things she spoke about.”

“Your arm…did she try to ruin your skills?”

“Oh, right. The director tried to burn it off, like a fool.”

Vesna’s cigarette had been extinguished by Arthur’s blood, leaving a nasty scent. But Kleio didn’t seem to know that, so Arthur let out a relieved sigh.

‘He can’t tell me everything, but he’s hurt.’

It had been excruciating, but Vesna had confirmed that she couldn’t remove the stigma and had immediately healed him. He had already quit thinking, ‘Why me?’ the year his mother had been murdered. We believe that all deprivation and suffering had a cause, and when we try to fit reality into that thought, people go mad.

Arthur took those who had fallen before him as his teacher in the dungeon. He had grown up seeing many injured veterans in the military camp. Since he held a sword, he knew that one day he would be hurt too. The pain of the wound wasn’t a big deal. Instead, Kleio was the one growing so angry that he became restless.

“Vesna’s level 3, but how was she getting all of this? There seemed to be holes in their cells, but you couldn’t use your ether to help heal?”

“She had a very well-made luxury product.”

Kleio’s face suddenly darkened at the thought of how the suppression tool was being used. It was difficult for Kleio to forgive himself for not knowing what kind of hell his friend was going through. Anger burned inside of him at the thought of Arthur being abused to the limits of his emotions and his body. The world was as cruel to its protagonist as it was to its adversary. Can that sacrifice be justified to achieve God’s work? Vesna’s resentment, Melchior’s conviction, God’s fault. The gods here weren’t infallible. Nevertheless, it was painful to know that the only thing he could lean on was the magic he received from the muses and that he couldn’t live outside of God’s plan. Arthur tapped his friend on the shoulder.

“Lei, you look like you’re about to cry.”

“You, really… Huh, just shut up.”

Unlike his usually slow movements, Kleio’s arm shot out like a bolt of lightning, grasping Arthur’s hand on his shoulder. Rolling up his sleeve, Kleio swallowed back his words. There was a red line about one span above the Infinite Foreground stigma. As he had read in the manuscript, the arm had been sliced off. The wounds connected by magic didn’t have any hint of infection or necrosis, making it look more bizarre.

“…Does it hurt?”

“No, not much.”

“Will you remain quiet?”

Kleio superimposed the magic formulas of [Relief][Heal] and [Restoration] on the traces of the red cut.

Shaaaa-

His ether, concentrated into the size of two palms, was as bright as the noon sun. Arthur closed his eyes to avoid the glare, but he could still clearly hear Kleio’s mantra.

“[Dear makes us whole,

The power of destruction that belongs to death is weak.

Helpless death lowered by boys,

That death will leave no trace on the soul of a soldier,

The golden color of daffodils in the veins of the setting sun

To the purity and enlightenment.]”

By combining words that Arthur knew all about, Kleio always created a new beauty. Arthur was curious how such old words became a magical language when passed through that clear voice. The insides of his closed eyelids were lit up with pink as the light lingered on his wounds. Soon, his pain and fever faded, his feelings of discomfort washed away. It was like his seven nights underground were purified away.

Arthur opened his eyes to a warm afterglow. Even though the magic had faded, Kleio was still cautiously examining Arthur’s arm. Arthur looked at his own right arm too. Not only the trace of torture, but all the wounds Arthur had suffered over a lifetime seemed to be washed away.

It felt like he was born again. At that moment, Arthur was compelled to believe that God’s agent was with him. He felt odd and conflicted, not just a sense of joy or displeasure at being controlled. It was an emotion he couldn’t define, so he delayed his judgment a little more as he basked in the light of sensation that still brightened the inside of his eyelids.