Chapter 39: Chapter 39

Kleio Asel registered at age 17 (3)

Arthur’s performance ended there. Rosa lightly parried Arthur’s heavy attack, causing it to dig into the earth. Arthur, unable to stop his momentum, rolled over the dirty floor. Rosa’s sword lightly touched the nape of his neck a second later.

“Wow!”

“Woah!”

“Ooh!”

The students and assistants who watched the duel from a distance shouted out. Rosa, laughing openly, reached out and pulled Arthur up.

“Dear, that was a good match.”

“It was an honor to fight you. It is my dream to fight you and make you use all your power someday.”

Arthur’s wound wasn’t deep, as his blood quickly stopped flowing. It was a match against a student, so Rosa had been gentle on Arthur.

“You can only use the [Attack Circle], but the power in your sword is close to level 6. If you try a little more, you will quickly cross into the next level.”

“Thank you!”

“Just one thing. Fix your habit of taking a step too early before you attack.”

Rosa threw out that advice while she brushed the dirt off of Arthur.

“It’s good not to know fear, but an actual battle is different from a duel. Those who lose their cool will die first.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

As he stared at them, Kleio fell deep in thought. The ordinary skill [Attack Circle] was the symbol of an advanced swordsman of level 6 or higher, and it was the ability to use one’s sword remotely.

‘There’s… what, around thirty people or so in Albion that have that monstrous ability of a level 6 swordsman?’

It started to make sense why this world’s degree of scientific development in the world was as advanced as it was—the power of ether filled in the gaps that science had yet to fill. The clocks along the train station used the power of etheric conduction instead of electricity, for example. In combat, instead of developing things like firearms or bombs, they relied on a swordsman’s capability for ranged attacks.

‘It makes sense that battle is that way. At around 8th level, one’s existence becomes comparable to a tank or a tactical bomb.’

Recalling the fierce battles described in the second half of the last manuscript, Kleio nodded to himself.

‘The diameter of an 8th level swordmaster’s range is one kilometer, so it’s ridiculous. In a world where people still rely on carriages, such power is terrifying.’

Kleio, locked in thought after turning his Perception off, only noticed Arthur had approached after a dirty boot came into his field of view.

“Kleio, what are you doing here? Did you watch me fight?”

“Well, yes.”

“What do you think? I trained a bit on vacation.”

“I imagine you will become a swordmaster before graduation.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“…Think what you like.”

“Hold on!”

Kleio, ignoring Arthur, moved toward the dorm, but Arthur immediately caught up with him and intercepted his path.

“What?”

“Go somewhere with me.”

“I’m tired, so later.”

“No, later the ice will melt, and the alcohol won’t be the right temperature. Are you okay with that?”

“…What alcohol?”

Kleio raised his head almost reflexively, and Arthur smiled as if he knew that would be his reaction. When he realized that he was caught, embarrassment came over him.

‘I’m not Behemoth.’

“I have to talk about alcohol to get a reaction. It’s champagne made by blending the Lucatel and Glycina variety. It’s very delicious.”

“Isn’t that the drink that they served at the palace?”

“Right! You must’ve had some at the ballroom! Riognan pays the price of production, so it’s used at royal events. It’s hard to drink unless you have a prince as your friend. What do you think?”

Hearing Arthur’s words, he remembered the taste vividly from the party. Kleio, thinking of the soft acidity and elegant scent, immediately changed his mind.

“Let’s go.”

.

.

.

On a September evening, when late summer intersected with early autumn, the air in the forest was soft with the remaining heat of the day. The quiet atmosphere around the Door of Mnemosyne and the stones surrounding the ruins remained the same.

‘I didn’t know what this tombstone was before. It must’ve been the barrier stone sealing the door…’

Even though he knew its identity, he still leaned his back against it. Kleio stared at the liquid in the glass with ecstasy as he sat down against the rock. He didn’t get tired of observing the air bubbles dancing in the liquid no matter how much he watched it. It was an even better drink when he was enjoying it in a comfortable place.

‘If you had the time to contemplate my heart, Melchior, then send me a box of this. Not clothes I can’t wear.’

Arthur filled his glass and returned the bottle to the bucket of ice.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve drunk here. Before, the alcohol was delicious too.”

“Are there any eyes around us this time?”

“I’ve already looked around. But it’s okay. I thought there was someone at that time… It was a student like us, so I didn’t pay them any mind.”

“Who was it?”

“What, didn’t you know? It was Fran Wight who wrote the article. That stupid gray-haired glasses guy.”

“What?!”

“Isiel already knew, but I told her not to say anything. It was just a joke.”

“What if it wasn’t? Don’t you have a grudge?”

“Why would you think that?”

After emptying his drink, Kleio shook his glass at Arthur to fill it back up.

“I’ve lived a life without shame.”

“Anyway. The eldest son of Counter Werner Niels Hyde-Wight is spurring to uncover the falsehood of the ruling class.”

Kleio, looking over at Arthur, turned to his conversation partner instead of a new glass of champagne.

“He… What sort of royalty are you?”

“It seems that they are working in some underground organizations. Melchior must have some more convincing evidence.”

Kleio ignored the alcohol now, a scream ringing out in his mind.

‘Fuck! Isn’t that guy supposed to be busy in the mining bureau lab? This novel wasn’t that genre!’

Well, what could be done in a fantasy featuring a swordsman and a wizard? If Arthur hadn’t grabbed onto the lower part of his glass with his quick reflexes, he would’ve been likely to throw away the precious liquor. What sin had alcohol committed? Kleio continued to drink the remaining alcohol as he went over it in his mind.

“Hey, drink slowly.”

“I can’t slow down because I’m sick of it now.”

His suspicions deepened that the author, who might’ve been a colleague himself and Minsun, had added this odd setting. Of course, it might’ve been the evidence of the manuscript’s collapse, but he was frustrated that he had no way to verify it.

“…Sometimes you talk like a real old man.”

‘Well, I am older than you.’

Not that he could say that out loud, so he just grimaced. From Arthur’s point of view, it was just a standard Kleio expression. The sunset began to gradually color the sky as Arthur quietly refilled Kleio’s glass every time. The two drank without a word until the alcohol had run out.

“The previous ‘positive review’ hasn’t changed?”

“…”

‘He’s asking about that now?’

He still wanted more to drink, but the bottle was empty. Kleio put his glass down.

‘Okay. The author’s identity is unknown for now. Fran is also a problem. Let’s make an alliance with this guy and then solve that.’

“Before that, I have a few questions.”

“Ask anything; I’m happy to answer it.”

Arthur faced Kleio head-on. His deep and sincere eyes sparkled fiercely under the setting sun. Kleio remembered all the sentences in the manuscript that described the protagonist’s eyes. A light that burned blue, a sea that never froze, the will of his generation. He knew now that the expressions he thought were excessive were, in reality, generally correct. Arthur’s features were even much vivid in person than how he was written. A cool wind blew between the two boys, bringing with it a decisive premonition. This was where history began.

A message sparkled in the air between them.

[-User’s narrative involvement has increased.]

Whether they were serious or not, Promise didn’t have a sense of timing or mood.

‘Ah.’

The oddly solemn feeling faded away, the colic being broken. NPCs, who had to perform their mission as a guide, weren’t allowed to feel determined.

‘It’s like the notification came to tell me not to immerse myself in the manuscript but to work on time.’

In any case, to lead the development properly, he needed to check what the protagonist had learned.

“You mentioned it before. You don’t know what the things the other princes will do, but you know the consequences. Ominous things will occur, and the princes will see blood.”

“That is… You have a really good memory.”

“Stop talking and answer my questions. What do you know about the future? What does it mean to see blood?”

Arthur took a moment like he was deciding what to say before he finally answered.

“There are only a few scenes I see. The first and oldest was from the moment I knelt in the King’s hall and raised my head. It was when I was four years old when that ‘memory’ came to me.”

The King’s Hall was where all the kings of Albion were crowned, and Arthur knelt there at the end of the manuscript to receive his crown.

‘It’s a vision of the moment he’ll be crowned…’

Kleio compared the contents of the manuscript with Arthur’s words. That scene corresponded with the conclusion of the manuscript, which meant it would happen.

“At the time, my father wasn’t as poor off as he is now, and there were times he would stand in front of others. The day he met with a lower nobleman, I noticed the crown worn by my father. I shouted because I was happy to see it. ‘That’s mine.’”

“In the end, did you have to leave the palace for that?”

“It was a sin of ignorance. And I didn’t know it even after I paid for it. In the vision, I was waiting to be crowned. It was a disrespectful thing for a child born out of wedlock to say.”

Without waiting for Kleio, Arthur continued calmly.

“When I was younger, I thought all of that was an illusion. Until I witnessed the landslides in Kision’s territory.”

Even after he had been confined, he was afraid to stay in the main building of the summer palace. He would often run out crying, so his mother had to use a small villa instead of the main building. Half the main palace had collapsed during a landslide in 81, and their old bedroom had been buried in dirt and stone. They would’ve died had he slept there. At the time, he was eight years old.

“I knew enough about what was happening then. What I saw in my dreams… those sinister fantasies were moments in the future.”