The Editor Is the Novel’s Extra-Chapter 188

Chapter 188

Theophila’s Theory of Transformation (1)

The busy day in the spotlights had passed, and now was a night of rest. Arthur, walking along the Tempus river to settle his thoughts, felt the presence of a patrol of knights from a distance. Wanting to avoid trouble, he stepped toward the Asel mansion. He went over the familiar wall and hid. The tranquil garden of the villa surrounded by darkness was a great place to organize his thoughts.

He thought about Kleio. He had passed the back road of this garden just a few days ago. The last time he saw him, Kleio still was unconscious. He didn’t hide his power and wasn’t small, but his friend was oddly weak. The existence of that boy was a fixed point that ceased the shaking of the world. From there, the repetitions stopped, and the old situations became fresh.

Arthur now knew that change was pain and that newness didn’t necessarily mean only joy. With evidence of God’s choice on the back of his hand, Kleio still endured suffering. Kleio awakened a sense of helplessness anew in Arthur.

He realized when he was being tortured in the dungeon under the north gate. The truth was a little different than he explained to Kleio. Had Melchior taken a few more days, Arthur would’ve had to choose between Kleio’s comfort and his convictions. It had been a truly strange and unfamiliar experience that left a deep impression on Arthur.

He reflected again on the piece of future memories given to him through visions. His brothers would shed more unjust blood someday in the future. However, he was unable to prevent that. His own growth was too slow—still, a student, penniless, and only with a small alliance of faith and covenant. Even so, he didn’t feel inadequate before meeting Kleio. Training with the sword, gaining support from the frontiers, trained as a commander, mastering geography and topography…at the end, he thought the crown would find its way to his head. It felt like it was natural.

Someday later, a war would break out between the two rivers. A civil war between two princes; however, neither prince lived to taste victory. Thus, the crown and sword would be given to the only prince of Albion who survived the war. The survival he knew was neither a natural condition nor a light mockery. Life was the most difficult thing to achieve and to keep without compromise. He knew neither subservience nor compromise. It was a natural law, as rivers should always flow only from upstream to downstream.

Until now, those old memories of the future were the shackles that held Arthur’s life and guided him through the dark path. No other way was seen as he followed the inner constellation given to him with confidence and certainty. But now, a ray of light was shining through that perfect darkness, making him perceive things in a completely different way from before. The convictions that he had, many times now, were broken by Kleio and renewed by him. In the midst of the anxiety brought about by novelty, Arthur saw the desolate wilderness uncovered under the light and the bloody footprints on the road.

The hardships of his colleagues would be later rewarded with greater rewards, and their disgrace replaced by a higher exaltation. He knew it would be. But, Isiel, who followed him steadfastly, lost her hometown. Could that loss be compensated for? The sculptures that contained their memories had been destroyed, and one-armed John, the man who treated them as grandchildren, had died.

All by allowing Melchior to suppress the actual crimes of Viscount Kision for the purpose of imposing an [covenant] on Arthur. Even though the Viscount had been released, even if they healed the injured, and erected tombstones for the dead, what had happened couldn’t be erased. On the nights when they couldn’t sleep, Arthur and Isiel would share their blades in the dark, letting go of what couldn’t be said.

Arthur had asked himself one question as he looked at the swordswoman before him. Was he worthy of being supported by the lives of others? What was the benefit of being with Kleio, who wanted not for reward or honor but was subordinate to God’s will?

There was no clear answer. If it did exist, it wouldn’t be a positive answer. In the past, he wanted to be king to make his mother’s prophecies come true.

But now Arthur knew. His mother was a real prophet, and her truth was self-evident without needing proof. The night in Tristein’s estate cleared all his doubts; Arthur fully believed in his mother. She had predicted that Kleio Asel would exist in his life, and he had come to do God’s work. Therefore, for Arthur, the throne had to be more than a proven truth. The heaviness on him wasn’t comparable to the weight of the sword he held.

Arthur looked down at his short, crooked nails that had just started to heal. Kleio’s [healing] and [reduction] in the reception room of the royal castle had been so enormous that the caster was immediately exhausted. Kleio, barely on his feet, called a chariot with a pale face, but he never looked back at what had happened. The pain may have passed, but the words he heard from Vesna during his nights in the dungeon weren’t erased. The hardships that Kleio might have had to go through.

Arthur Riognan still wasn’t sure that his choice was right. The visions and foresight that had intervened between him and the world throughout his life were fading. Every and each day, without any defense, was full of both joy and fear. From time to time, awful anxiety and urgency came.

It was a very strange feeling to Arthur. He felt he hadn’t been able to fully understand Melchior until now. The being that shared half of his blood was perhaps even more desperate than himself. He did everything he could to achieve his purpose. Now, Arthur realized the same blood was flowing through him. His words about the poor servants and maids were sincere, but they weren’t entirely selfless.

To preach the value of equality and justice and to represent the voices of those who cannot be expressed. It wasn’t Arthur’s primary purpose to determine whether the committee’s decision was right or wrong; it had been a decision made after first weighing if it was efficient.

For the past few years, Arthur has had his school life during the day and street life at night. The capital was like a different world for Arthur, who grew up poor but with little inequality in a border camp. After moving to the capital at the age of seventeen, there had been no pubs he hadn’t visited in the alleyways, no land he hadn’t trekked with his two feet. Arthur kept his ears open all the while because he remembered his mother’s advice. The voices of the times weren’t as clear as God’s revelation, but the direction of the great flow couldn’t be mistaken.

He heard a seminary student dressed in white and a law student in black debating the necessity of progress in a coffee house at 3 AM. The theology student argued that the age of kings and emperors would come to an end, and the century would come when all humans would decide their own leaders. Under God, we are all equal, and that even those whom God has chosen and blessed to be worthy should be tested for the mandate of government. However, the law student refuted his claim, stating their immediate task was first to stipulate that sovereignty doesn’t come from the miracle of a solar eclipse. The people’s mandate was sacred, and the government should be formed in accordance with the written constitution legislation by the parliament, which represented all citizens.

The two became increasingly vocal before their argument devolved into a fistfight, breaking chairs and tables.

Arthur was used to such things. Even though the abolitionists were oppressed, young men in black clothes appeared in the coffee house every year. Arthur recalled that moment at dawn when he had to duck his head to avoid a tin kettle flying toward him.

‘Those who have strong faith don’t get excited. But things grow stronger when your beliefs start to shake….’

Another vivid memory after the night at the Tristein Estate was the day he went to work with his mother. The memory rose like a revelation. At the age of four, the situation around him was as clear as polished glass. Arthur was young, but he knew the words people said were meant to insult his mother. A girl with brown hair turned up like a garland blocked Theophila, who held her son in one arm. Her name was Vesna Driscoll, the same Vesna who one day would torture Arthur. In retrospect, Vesna was desperate to hurt Theophila. It was because she couldn’t convince herself that Theophila, who was a heretic, possessed God’s blessing.

“It wouldn’t be that the Goddess made you the most blessed daughter to carry your bastard child and hold your head up.”

“Vesna, poor daughter. What do you think God’s blessing is? Do you know that it is only under the law of the church to operate human institutions in the cities of the earth?”

Theophila had a commoner’s accent, but her language was noble in her clear, low-pitched voice. His mother’s words, thinking about it now, always sounded like a revelation, and that made some people uncomfortable. It must’ve been particularly so to those who drove her to madness.

“Are you trying to define the blessing of the Goddess in a different way than the consensus of the church? That is the logic of those who’ve abandoned God.”

As the conversation lengthened, Arthur turned to look at the little priestess. Even young Arthur could feel the heat and anxiety in her eyes. Although she dogmatically used God as an excuse, it was clear that the one who had truly lost faith was not his mother but this new lady. His mother didn’t doubt the Goddess’s presence for a single moment of her life.

“The Goddess pities the crowd of people walking blind in darkness and will take one of them as a guide. A small cane laid down to traverse the narrow path between rough roots and distant swamps so that they can reach their inevitable consequences. That is divine power.”

Arthur was held in his mother’s arms, so he could feel the sorrow vibrating in her words. Theophila had a look that resembled Arthur. She was tall with a straight back and blonde hair that looked like melted gold, with eyes deep like the open sea. Until Arthur grew up, his mother used to lift him up in one arm. She was a beautiful woman like a lion.

“Hah, I can’t imagine you were once a fortune hailed as the next Archbishop. This is why God’s blessing left us.”

When Vesna turned away from the door, Theophila took a step forward, lifting her left hand. There was neither light nor sound. However, he instinctively knew that she was going to use the trace of the divine power.

“Little Vesna, don’t take your disbelief to blame. In this life, your faith will come to you too. God is not necessarily the object of faith.”

“You do this again…!”

The calm voice of this new lady shattered sharply. The air in the room became mild and felt refreshing to breathe. Arthur liked the space filled with divine power, finding his mother’s arms even cozier. Contrary to her hysterical reaction, Vesna was also wrapped in the warm aura, causing her expression to loosen.

In an instant, Vesna backed away a few steps and vanished back the way she came, neither laughing nor crying.