The Principles of Investment (1)
The instrument that became the most expensive auction item of the entire year 1890 had even become a topic of discussion in the capital of Albion.
"The Lyre of Terpsichore. In the original manuscript, Vasco Greyer bought it at a bargain price, repaired it, and later resold it for five million dinars. But now Vasco is said to be on the Centrum Continent… If no one recognizes it, I'll claim it myself."
In his previous life, he hadn't even managed to save up a proper seed fund, let alone invest.
But now—things were different. He had both capital and information.
Whether inside or outside the manuscript, human life was the same.
He knew well that acting passively only led to being swept up in others' demands.
"Whether it's Father, the protagonist… or even the author."
This world itself was the page where all those wills collided at once.
"If I'd died on page two, that'd be different—but now that the author has given me both a name and power, he has no intention of letting me go. No matter where I run, he'll drag me back to the center of the story."
Dione and Gideon Aser were also beings bound by the author's will.
Even if he managed to elude them, other characters or forces would appear to capture Cleio again.
"Besides, even if I can use 'editorial authority' again once Chapter 1 ends, the author never listens to suggestions about developments he doesn't like. Yet he doesn't directly say what he wants either. How troublesome."
In a way, he thought the author wrote quite economically—
making one of his own characters handle the editing too.
That thought led to another.
"If he's going to drag me into the story like this, why doesn't he just come in himself and move it forward? Why go through such a bothersome and convoluted process?"
The manuscript, scrawled on tattered paper that couldn't even be rewritten, gave him the sense that perhaps even the author found it difficult to modify.
If the author really had infinite authority, he would've erased Arthur's stigma first.
The more he thought, the more questions arose.
But bound by others' demands, he could neither investigate freely nor act as he wished.
"Wealth is power—it gives a character freedom of movement. Even in war, if you have money, you can survive. There's no point relying on a father who pushes a clueless son into politics and cuts off his allowance when displeased. The setup's already garbage; I'll have to secure my own way to live."
If getting caught up in the narrative was inevitable, he would at least arm himself with the means to resist.
"If you know disaster is coming, you can prepare for it."
Once he set his goal, the fog in his head lifted, and countless plans formed at once.
Cleio, still barefoot in his pajamas, dashed out onto the balcony and shouted toward Dione, who was crossing the garden.
"Lady Dione! Before we depart, could you procure a few items for me?"
"What is it that made you rush out like that? Tell me, I'll get them for you!"
Seeing Cleio so full of energy, Dione smiled broadly and looked up toward the second floor.
"The strings of a lyre gilded with the golden sand of time, and a magic stone—opal, please!"
"Oh my, we happen to have those in our storage. How did you know that, as if by magic?"
"Pure coincidence. And one more thing—please get me a copy of The Auction Rules Guide for Sellers."
If Colphos was the trading port city at the western edge of the capital, then Novantes was the resort city at the southern tip.
Once Cleio abandoned his sickbed and Dione hurried things along, everything proceeded swiftly.
They departed as soon as the reply arrived and reached Novantes three days before the party was to be held.
A resort city with countless yachts moored in a deep blue bay.
From the train station, they could already see the De Neige Hotel atop the white cliffs.
Dione, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, squealed in delight at the view beyond the window—but Cleio's eyes weren't on the scenery.
The moment he stepped off the train, he sprinted toward the nearby Trinity Auction House.
The train had been delayed an hour, and he feared he'd miss the auction.
His weeks of daily runs around the school grounds had paid off—Cleio reached the auction house quickly, gasping for breath.
He bought an entry ticket and sat at the rearmost table. The auction hadn't yet begun.
"I'm not late!"
Dione, slower in heels, entered the auction hall about ten minutes later.
"You should've told me, young master! How could you just leave your companion behind like that?"
"Sorry. But this was important."
The auctioneer began with witty jokes and small talk about the weather.
It felt more like a bit of leisure in a resort than a serious auction.
Meanwhile, only Cleio sat with burning determination, eyes locked on the platform.
"Then let's start with the first item! A perfect ornament for decorating a ruin-themed garden—an ancient artifact salvaged from the seas of the Centrum Continent! A genuine piece, starting at one thousand dinars!"
The stone-carved lyre on the platform looked so old that its age was indeterminable.
Only the upper third resembled a lyre, while the lower part was fused with limestone that couldn't be separated—at a glance, it didn't even look like a carved instrument.
It was a mood-setting item, meant to warm up the audience before the main auction began.
As Cleio examined it to confirm whether it was truly what he thought, dazzling golden letters appeared before his eyes.
[―The second-stage function of "Promise," 〈Understanding〉, is activating.]
[Lyre of Terpsichore
―Sacred Relic
Status: Restoration Required.]
"That's it! No doubt about it."
The second-stage function 〈Understanding〉 of Promise was quite useful—it could display not only stigmas but also information about magical artifacts.
Cleio was deeply pleased.
While he was quietly moved, most of the audience were chatting and sipping champagne, hardly looking at the stage.
"This year seems rather dull."
"I saw the catalog. The malachite dining table today was stunning—perhaps that's why the other items got less attention?"
"But Mrs. Silium, there's always a steady crowd fond of ruin-themed decorations."
"Though no one would spend ten thousand dinars on that."
Letting their idle chatter pass by his ears, Cleio carefully waited for the right moment to raise his number plate.
The bid prices climbed slowly.
"Three thousand six hundred eighty dinars—number twenty-one, three thousand six hundred eighty. Any higher offers?"
Number eleven seemed to be discussing whether to go higher, while number sixty-seven flipped their paddle down.
Now seemed like a good time.
Cleio raised his number plate.
"Ten thousand dinars."
"Oh, we have a customer with refined taste! Yes, ten thousand dinars—bidder number eighty-two, ten thousand dinars!"
People around turned their heads, wondering who would spend ten thousand dinars on such junk. When they saw the bidder holding paddle 82 was just a young student, the mood shifted to amusement.
"The lyre fragment goes to bidder number eighty-two for ten thousand dinars!"
Laughter broke out across the room. Jokes followed about how they had overcharged the poor kid.
"I can't wait to see their faces the day after tomorrow."
Cleio paid no mind to the mockery. Dione, too, simply watched him quietly—she must have sensed he had a plan.
When they presented Chel's invitation and checked into the De Neige Hotel, they were given a suite on the third floor.
It was a two-room suite connected by a sitting room—clearly assigned out of consideration for Cleio, who had checked in with his private tutor.
The moment he entered, Cleio spread the bed sheet on the floor. Then, instead of waiting for delivery, he took the lyre fragment he had carried himself and laid it out.
Beside it, he carefully arranged the lyre strings coated with the golden sand of time and the opal magic stone. Even with Dione's "special discount," the materials alone had cost a total of fifty thousand dinars.
"The lyre fragment slipped past the Trinity Auction House's appraisers because it can only be restored when all the original components are assembled. Vasco managed to restore it only after testing dozens of different material combinations."
Without even knocking, Dione entered Cleio's room, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she approached.
"What are you doing? Can I watch?"
"You wouldn't leave even if I told you to, would you?"
"That's true. I'm a research mage too—how could I not be interested in restoring something this ancient?"
Dione pulled up a chair and sat down. Cleio formed a small magic circle. Light enveloped the lyre fragment and the materials within a narrow, two-meter-wide circle.
There was only one formula—but it was incredibly complex, appearing at the very end of Volume 1 of The Book of Magic.
"[Restore!]"
The spell circle flared brilliantly for a moment, then flickered and fell apart.
"As expected, it doesn't work well without an incantation."
If only he knew Vasco's incantation—but Vasco had only appeared with the completed artifact in hand. Cleio tried reciting a few other phrases, but while the lyre trembled faintly, the motion soon stopped, and even the loose limestone fragments stayed stuck.
Listening to his attempts, Dione asked,
"You must know what this object originally looked like, don't you?"
"I do."
At his firm reply, Dione looked surprised.
"Then try using a more detailed incantation—one that commands it to return to its original form and function."
Cleio folded his arms, frowning down at the lyre.
"Damn magic, always making me work for it."
Coming up with incantations was always a struggle—but thinking of how much the restored item would be worth gave him motivation.
"There was a reason Vasco, after studying the old texts, named this the Lyre of Terpsichore. An instrument said to have been played by a Muse herself, producing divine tones."
Cleio spent five minutes trying out different combinations of words, muttering and revising. It was another of those 'I should've majored in literature' moments. At last, he finalized the incantation.
Carefully, he expanded the circle and loaded the formula. Dione silently marveled at his precision and speed.
As the circle's light grew radiant, Cleio spoke the incantation aloud.
"[Return to the form you bore in the Muse's hand—bringer of joy through sacred hymns!]"
The once-brilliant light of aether became a blinding flare that spiraled within the circle, dyeing the space in pure white.
"Ugh, this formula sure eats up a lot of aether."
Only after a long while did the light subside. Even the bold Dione looked dumbstruck—she wore the face of someone who had just witnessed the impossible.
In the center of the sheet lay a lyre shining with an iridescent glow, its surface shimmering like nacre and opal. Seven strings gilded with the golden sand of time stretched across it—it truly looked like an instrument of the gods.
"This is… unbelievable."
Overwhelmed, Dione stared back and forth between the lyre and the young man who had restored it.
"Young master, may I cast a few analysis spells on it?"
"Go ahead."
Dione quickly spread a circle and activated the [Trace] and [Analyze] spells. The combination produced results fast, but couldn't fully analyze an incomplete object—a flaw that didn't matter now.
"[Reveal the true age and origin of this object!]"
Her circle flashed. Because of the 〈Understanding〉 effect, Cleio could see the phrase [Mage Level 3] float briefly in his vision.
Dione bit her lip as she read the results—then jumped up, forgetting all decorum.
"It's over a thousand years old! Classified as a Sacred Relic!"
Her voice trembled with excitement.
The restoration—was a success.
The tension drained from Cleio's shoulders.
"Good. Now all that's left is to sell it!"