The Editor Is the Novel’s Extra

The fate of Tasserton and Melchior was like a terrible knot. Melchior had made the duke his closest henchman because the faulty being was beyond the reach of God’s will.

“Also, the existence of the God-killer proves one event. If humans could’ve killed God at some point in the past, wouldn’t we able to do it again in the future? Isn’t that right?”

The garden continued to remain quiet. In the silence, Melchior nodded in satisfaction. Kleio realized that a name that went against the example was an extremely natural choice for them. Only that name was unique to that knight; even if he’s been called nine times, it was always the first time for himself.

“In this deep darkness, a hint of truth shone like the dawn. You are truly a messenger of God.”

“I couldn’t tell you anything. How do you think that?”

“You’ve been honest with me, and that’s the virtue I value most in a knight. I know you don’t possess a perfect revelation, as the future isn’t fixed.”

Promise grew hot. No message came to mind like if Melchior was trying to read him, but it was an urgent and direct warning.

“If we are all just tools to be swayed by God’s will, why should we continue this vain confrontation?”

Instead of following God’s will, let’s make an alliance against it. But was that possible? In a world where God monopolized absolute authorship? How could a superior and outstanding entity like Melchior escape the bondage of fate that was impossible to break even after eight attempts?

“How can we do anything beyond the will of God if both of us are just tools?”

“God knows what his creatures have done but not what they will do. This condition applies equally to you.”

Free will.

Melchior’s whispers sounded like the devil’s temptation.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears. The possibility that there was a way out of God’s predestination was a fascinating idea. What if they could get rid of all these obligations and restrictions to live in a different way? As long as Arthur was alive, the world wouldn’t perish. If so, did he have to go through an age of blood?

To defend Arthur as king, and not to doubt that it was his own will, making the world choose magic and not science as its primary technology…and to ensure the door of Mnemosyne wasn’t destroyed. This was the will of God, as Kleio assumed it.

As long as they belonged to this world, they were under that desire that couldn’t be countered, so he felt that should be put into practice. But, it would be a lie to say he hadn’t considered any other possibilities. Had the ending to be reached not been decided, had his mother not been murdered and he not raised under the threat of assassination, would Arthur have pursued the throne?

Arthur, as Kleio knew him, was someone who could feel enough joy from a simple life. He had the qualities fitting for governance, but his ambition was far from pursuing that as his only life goal.

‘That’s why he may be able to be a great king, but….’

Arthur and Kleio were opposites from appearance to personality, but the two both wished for peace and rest. The days they knew each other were short, but those times had formed a solid foundation for their friendship. They would drink alcohol that suited the season, play-practice with swords, and spend time fishing. If no one had to be sacrificed, Arthur would never refuse such an idyllic life. As he habitually stroked the ring, the lukewarm metal aroused his mind. Separation added to the intensity as if sparking a flame. His hand was growing sore, so Kleio pressed the ring hard.

‘Oh, fuck. Am I almost going to agree right now?’

Kleio’s desire to live a life where nothing happened was powerful. The crown prince hadn’t used his skill, but goosebumps were rising on his flesh.

‘But it’s too late to come up with an exit strategy. We both know that.’

The structure of the narrative was already solid. It had begun when Arthur was foretold to possess the crown. Theophila was brutally murdered, and the third prince grew up wet with the blood of assassins. Aslan had already committed terrible human experimentation, and Melchior didn’t even blink when he ordered the torture of his younger brother.

‘How could things go back…?’

Still, it was impossible to confess to Arthur that his whole life was just the result of the tip of God’s pen. The children of the Riognan royal family were not of the temper to bow down to the will of others like themselves. After the revelation, Kleio didn’t have the courage to cope. Nevertheless, for just a few seconds, he felt like he knew why the author started the manuscript over and over again. Was it impossible to make such perfect corrections even with the power of rewriting?

‘This manuscript can’t sustain that much now.’

Kleio already knew the end of the perished world. As Erato was reborn, the Gods survive, but humans couldn’t. That was the end of the world. Of course, the crown prince would be happy to welcome the end, but Kleio couldn’t be. He didn’t want the world with the people he loved to come to an end. The wizard, barely controlling his expression, responded as politely as possible as he tucked his wand away.

“The subject of the confrontation between God and man seems difficult to discuss at my level. It seems that the discomfort of your body seems to have been resolved, so may I withdraw?”

“Ah, yes.”

As soon as permission was granted, Kleio nearly bounced up out of the chair to get up, but the crown prince held him for a moment. He removed the strainer in which the tea leaves had dried up the rummaged through the old wooden box on the table. There was no rush at all in his movements, and Kleio wanted to see what was going to happen, so his gaze remained on the prince. Before long, the prince produced a black envelope from the box.

“I have one more mission for you.”

Kleio’s reply came without enthusiasm.

“What’s going on?”

“Please participate in the seance that will be held at a mansion in the Nodus district. This is an invitation.”

The words’ Invitation from Madame Lamor’ was stamped in silver ink on the matte black paper.

“A meeting…sitting around with a spirit medium, the souls of the dead…am I correct in assuming it’s that kind of activity? Or is there some meaning I don’t know?”

“You know it well. An act of attempting communication and requesting a response to prove a world exists outside of this one.”

The educated prince knew how to express it in a poetically cool way. Kleio didn’t have the time to admire him, however. He just wanted to head home, wash up, and lay down.

“I see…what do I have to do at this psychic meeting?”

“Madame Lamor’s séance is a form of a ball, so its scale is quite large. I hope you will report what you see in the mansion. Also, see that your face is covered like everyone else’s.”

“Isn’t it necessary to act separately?”

“First of all, from the report.”

A new trend seemed to be on the way in the new capital, sweeping away Kleio as he didn’t see Dione as often.

‘Psychics are becoming popular. It really is the end of the century.’

“If that’s the case, wouldn’t the police have to go?”

Kleio’s meaning was exact. He wouldn’t do it if it weren’t necessary, mostly if it were complicated and annoying.

‘I mean, it’s annoying to deal with humans in love with the occult.’

The prince smiled slightly at Kleio’s attitude.

“The nobles want this done quietly. So I sent my loyal agents into the mansion, but after seeing something, their memories were cut off unnaturally.”

If Melchior said that, it meant their memories had disappeared even from his skill. It wasn’t normal.

“…The Nodus district, that’s an area where retirees live… why would such a crowd come together in that place?”

“As it’s usually a quiet area, neither the police nor the Defense Forces were concerned about defense.”

Kleio gently took the invitation card.

He hated it.

He really didn’t want to do it.