The Author Just Won't Die
Is there an irreversible hierarchy between a story that's written and a world that isn't?
Is there an absolute pecking order between someone born and someone written?
Are characters inherently less than human?
When these questions arose between "Kim Jung-jin" and "Cleio Aser," an easy yes refused to come.
If he had to keep just one of his two lives, he couldn't find a single reason to choose the first.
'The author really has an eye for people. If I'd had even one thing tying me to my old world, I'd have clawed my way back somehow instead of clinging here—but they picked me, the guy with nothing to go back to.'
The author had allotted "Jung-jin" a place in this world. The welcome was sweet, even if conditional.
Maybe the reason the so-called Editor's Authority wasn't some convenient skill, in spite of the grandiose name, was because this was a world founded by an author—limits and all.
'Authors do whatever they want with the important stuff. They tell you to speak freely and then get mad. I mean… if they were the sort to listen, they wouldn't be able to sit there and crank out hundreds of thousands of characters.'
Whether he'd been a first-year or five years in, "Jung-jin" rarely got his way when he clashed with authors over editorial direction.
Given that, keeping Arthur at arm's length all the way out here felt like stubbornness for its own sake.
Besides, at this point, the only person in the entire world who could be certain Arthur would be king was Cleio himself. He knew that future was fixed.
'Other people back Arthur like they're gambling, but for me this isn't a gamble. Siding with him now is like buying Samsung Electronics in the '90s.'
Too much self-justification? Maybe.
But rather than resist until he broke and got dragged along helplessly by the narrative, it seemed better to ride the current and seize the high ground.
Above all—
'If I'm going to stop Arthur from throwing himself into a death trap, I have to stick close anyway. Since it's come to that, I might as well get something out of it. But… what should I even ask for?'
Ishiel, Chel, the Angelium twins, and every companion yet to join—they all wanted something from Arthur.
Arthur was the only one who could grant their hopes. That was why their support was so fervent.
When he ascended the throne, Arthur would keep the oath he made with those who shielded him.
'But I don't need to inherit a house or hold power. Let others chase the grand stuff. Maybe I should ask for a cushy title—like Royal Magical Adviser—with tons of pension and no work?'
Not a bad idea.
He had no desire to grovel through politics and cater to egos, but wearing a title bestowed by the king was a different story. Fewer people would dare give him grief.
'Arthur knows some of what's ahead, and events are moving up the timetable—his coronation could happen sooner too. If things go well, he could be king in a few years.'
The manuscript he'd read ended with Part I, but once Arthur took the crown, no force remained that could threaten him.
'Structurally, Part II can only turn into a hymn of Arthur's reign… When His Majesty ushers in an era of benevolent rule, I won't have to scramble to keep him alive anymore.'
He pictured himself: a landowning Royal Magical Adviser who retired young, living off pension and rent.
It was an attractive life plan.
…
Cleio went downstairs for the first time in a while, picked at some breakfast, then put on a proper shirt and trousers instead of pajamas and sat at his desk.
'First, let's整理 what I've got so far.'
First, assets.
1.2 million dinars from Father: I'll probably have to return this eventually. Keep it in cash. When the time comes, I'll throw it back in his face.
'Gideon said he's been sending lavish gifts to the First and Second Princes. If his son declares he's siding with the powerless Third Prince, there's no way he'll welcome it.'
5.5 million dinars from the Lira sale: Dione is diligently buying up land. She reports over two-thirds of the landlords have sold.
'The mine is being surveyed at the same pace as in the previous draft. Not much left. Once the railway plan is announced, prices will triple overnight. Soon it'll be worth at least 15 million dinars. Keep as-is.'
Second, magic.
Current ether level: 3.Simultaneous formula slots: 3.Memorized formulas: 100.
'From second term on I have to stay at rank 3, and if I'm going to keep up with that menace Arthur without letting him get himself killed, I need to level up fast. Better memorize Volumes 2 and 3 of the Grimoire right away.'
Third, the bound item "Promise."
'Let's see, it has four parts.'
Base effect: Infinite ether receptivity.
「Memory」: Perfect recall of any text read.
「Understanding」: View others' "Unique Skills," ether level, and the identity of magic tools.
「Perception」: Sharpened senses that easily detect danger.
After writing that much, he bit into the butter cookies Madam Canton had sent up, saying his meal had been meager. The sharp sweetness made Cleio's brow knot.
It had been like this for a week—he couldn't eat properly. At first he thought the cooking was off, but…
'I need to deal with 「Perception」 first.'
He popped a cookie into Behemoth's ever-watchful mouth. The cat crunched away with gusto.
"How is it?"
"Perfect, as always. The dessert chief in your household deserves a raise."
As expected, the food itself wasn't the problem.
"I'll pass that along."
'Wages come out of Father's pocket anyway.'
"By the way, O wise and illustrious grave-mew, might I ask your counsel…?"
"You don't need flattery for me to answer—but go on."
Over the break, Behemoth had polished off wine at a rate of a bottle every two days; body and spirit alike were magnanimous. When he purred, his quivering belly was a thing of splendor.
"Ever since the day I was carried back, it's like I used too much ether—every sense is ten times sharper. I can't stand it. People's voices are too loud, food tastes cloyingly sweet or overly salty."
"Hrrmm."
"Cats are higher lifeforms with keener senses than humans, right? How do you scarf down human food and still sleep soundly at night? Is there a way to modulate it?"
"There is. This venerable mew calls it… 'click.'"
"Please explain it so that even a simpleton like me can understand."
"There are Mages whose senses suddenly become hypersensitive depending on their item loadout or training method. You can ease it by adjusting your ether channels. Just assign yourself a signal. It's like turning off a faucet or closing a door."
"A signal!? How do you assign one?"
"You're asking that too? Hmph. Something simple—tap your fingers, blink your eyes—then imagine contracting the expanded senses back into your heart!"
Cleio did exactly as Behemoth instructed—blinked, tapped his fingers.
"Nothing's happening. It's the same."
"…Ah. Right. That only works once your ether level exceeds 4. I momentarily forgot yours. It's so pathetically low."
"Ugh. So there's no fix for now?"
"Once you reach Level 4, you'll be able to precisely control ether flow. You won't need to dump it in crudely like now. No easy path exists—only training."
"I've been circulating ether every day, but leveling up isn't as easy as it sounds, is it?"
"It isn't—but I could guide you. Ahem. However…"
He didn't even need to hear the rest.
"O scholarly and illustrious Grave-Mew, what vintage of wine would Your Eminence desire?"
"Since it's summer, champagne. Two bottles of Sunset in a Golden Chalice, 1888—made only from northern Chalon's black grapes. Serve it with roasted foie gras and fig compote."
"But of course. Would butter-toasted brioche suit the occasion as well?"
"You are a quick-learning pupil indeed. This mew is most gratified."
Cleio immediately called for a servant and sent them off to the wine merchant.
Thus began Behemoth's Hellish Special Lecture.
Even in midsummer, Lundein never got terribly hot, but by mid-August the air had turned cool day and night.
The King's Birthday Festival was a week away; once it ended, the new term would begin.
Dione, busy buying up land in the Oreils district, had been hard to see for weeks.
They set Saturday afternoons as regular report days, and every meeting, she proved her zeal with solid results.
With an eight-percent commission promised on the total transaction volume, her enthusiasm was understandable.
Though heir to a trading house, she had yet to inherit her family's wealth; Cleio had calculated that forty thousand dinars was enough to make anyone sincere.
"How's it going?"
"Very smoothly! Just two more holdouts, and all twelve plots will be ours! I guess the Oreils fire turned out to be a blessing—property values there dropped to zero."
"Quick work is good, but you're keeping my name out of it, right?"
"Of course. I'm saying an Oreils-born entrepreneur who made his fortune abroad is investing. Who else would pour that kind of money into Oreils without a local tie?"
"Well, once I've bought that much land, it is my hometown. Let's say the tie starts now."
"You've got a point. Twelve lots—some small houses, some that used to be big apartment buildings. Altogether, that's quite an area. Do you really need that much space for a hotel?"
"No."
"Then some other use?"
"For the time being, I'll leave it as an empty lot. If the city complains, put in a fountain and some cheap landscaping."
"Why?"
"When the time comes, I'll tell you."
"My partner's just full of secrets."
"Do you dislike that?"
"Oh, you impish young master! Fine, fine. Anything else?"
"Actually, yes. Does Greyer Trading still have any stock of mana-bearing bronze or pig iron?"
Whether inside or outside a circle, metals that could hold ether—known as magic ore—were rare and costly.
Unlike gemstones, they were found only in tiny quantities, already processed, inside ruins or relics.
By contrast, mana ore, which could contain ether only inside a circle, was cheaper—sometimes unearthed in bulk during old sewer excavations.
Ordinary metals, meanwhile, couldn't retain ether unless a user maintained direct contact.
"We've got a fair amount of mana ore, but it's rusty and unrefined—it'll take time."
"How much?"
"About fifteen kilos of bronze and eight of pig iron. Why?"
"I'll handle the refining. Sell me all of it—I need it for magic practice."
"Ah! Trying to raise your ranking to dodge conscription, right? But iron and bronze… those are only good as catalysts for offensive spells. Hardly anyone works with them; that's a rough path."
"Think the other way around. If no one else does it, it's easier to stand out."
"Ha! You really have a knack for schemes. Fine, that's music to my ears as your patron. I'll sell it all to you at wholesale!"
"Thank you, Lady Dione."
"Don't mention it! Once it works out, you'll give me a demonstration, yes?"
"Certainly. I'll show you soon."
"Sounds like you're confident."
Cleio only smiled in reply.
Shhhhhhhh—
Hot, black dust settled slowly over torn-up earth.
A clean execution.
He'd finally achieved control.
How many days had it taken to reach this point?