He didn't even resemble him down to a single toe.
"What the hell—how did the topic jump there?!"
Enduring the dizziness, Cleio barely managed to sit upright. After bowing his head in thanks to Isiel for looking after him, he activated 「Perception」 once again.
With a completely renewed sense, he studied Arthur carefully.
He'd thought all he needed to worry about were the first and second princes—but even the protagonist, who was supposed to embody justice, had a dog-like twist hidden inside.
"Say that again, Arthur Leogunan."
"I said I'm glad I don't have to kill you. If a Mage—who's about to become the first 8th-level after Zebedi Physis—joined hands with those bastards, I'd have had to cut the sprout myself while I still could. I honestly hate the idea of pointing a blade at a friend."
"I thought I made it clear before that I wouldn't stand with those guys."
Still sitting on the floor, Arthur looked up at Cleio with a bright, almost boyish face.
"I'm not saying you're lying. Honestly, I never thought you'd side with that stiff-necked Aslan either. The real problem was Melchior. I was so tense thinking you'd get caught in his snare—my leg cramped up from the stress."
Cleio could understand why Arthur had been so on edge.
'With two "unique skills" like that, most people probably can't resist him.'
Even Cleio, shielded by the protection of "Promise," had barely managed to fend off that skill. Others would've had no chance.
'But still—thinking of killing a classmate you've been friendly with?'
Cleio's expression hardened. Arthur, oblivious, continued passionately, his face glowing as though he'd found a rare kindred spirit.
"Even if the whole world calls me a liar, you know the truth now. I can't tell you how relieved I am that Melchior's tricks don't work on you."
Arthur's heartbeat, as perceived by 「Perception」, was calm and steady. His words—that he didn't want to lose Cleio—were genuine. He simply made no attempt to hide that, if necessary, he would sacrifice personal affection for what he deemed right.
'…Guess this guy grew up too rough. Never really learned proper socialization.'
Cleio sighed, choosing not to press further, and slumped limply against the seat back.
"Even those who bad-mouth Melchior forget all of it when they face him. Even Queen Julayka can't say anything cruel to his face. Now you know why."
"Yeah, he's quite something. But with that level of power, why would he bother investing in one still-student Mage?"
"He's interested in any Mage who isn't a pacifist. I was sure he'd take an interest in you."
"Interest…?"
"Melchior has everything—except military might. The Royal Capital Guard Knights technically answer to Father, and Aslan's got Duke Cruel's knights and the southeastern defense forces. Melchior, though, doesn't have a proper force of his own."
"He's got his loyal vassal, Taeserton Tristein. What about his knights?"
The 「Memory」 scroll clicked in Cleio's mind, picking out inconsistencies.
"You sure know a lot for someone who doesn't look the type. The Tristein territory's way up north—most people in the capital don't know those details."
"My father's a merchant and a shareholder in the railroad company. Why wouldn't I?"
"You're missing the full picture. Even if he's at death's door, Duke Theo Tristein's still alive, which makes Taeserton only a young lord. He can't issue orders to the knights yet."
'!!!'
In the original manuscript, Taeserton had been leading his knights from the start. Cleio hadn't expected such a small but crucial revision.
"…Even so, rather than clinging to a Mage who might reach Level 8 someday, wouldn't it be faster to win over the Royal Capital Guard Knights?"
"Ordinary knights all adore Melchior. But their captain, Pierce clagen, looks down on him for having a commoner mother. When he's standing before Melchior, he acts like he'd hand over his guts if asked, but once the prince is out of sight, he talks differently. The man doesn't even realize how dangerous Melchior really is…."
A different possibility crossed Cleio's mind. Couldn't the effect of "Insight Structure" or "Charm" shorten when used on a high-Ether-level swordsman?
In the previous manuscript, a swordsman who'd broken through with higher Ether levels had appeared—someone capable of overcoming "unique skills."
'That guy—Arthur Leogunan.'
"So how could the ordinary knights go against their captain's will?"
"So Melchior's trying to sway a student with no affiliation yet?"
"Not just that. He's always got this weird fascination with odd things. And you—you were practically waving bait in his face."
That was true. Regardless of what Melchior's real identity was, Cleio had accidentally triggered the Crown Prince's curiosity to the extreme. After all, he was under suspicion of being the prince's illegitimate half-brother.
"A man who thinks anyone immune to his charm is strange. What kind of lunatic lives like that?"
"Hahaha, exactly. Every foreign ambassador posted to Albion ends up becoming Melchior's fan within weeks. The House of Commons, much of the business world, and even the younger nobles' faction support him…."
Cleio understood the unspoken end of Arthur's sentence.
'—No one knows what he might do in the future.'
He might not know the details, but Arthur likely sensed the coming catastrophe as well.
Utterly drained, Cleio buried his head in his hands and folded himself into the corner of the seat.
"…And yet, in the middle of all this, you've got the guts to ask me to take your side. I'm honestly impressed."
"Well, what else can I do? It's the right path!"
The hat was gone, the ribbon missing, and the neatly dressed clothes came back soaked with sweat—Dione nearly fainted when she saw Cleio.
His tutor didn't ask a single question, simply drew a bath and tucked Cleio straight into bed.
He even skipped dinner and slept as if ill.
He'd learned something unexpected about the author, faced someone like Melchior, and been bombarded by Arthur's excessive information dump—the mental overload was severe.
When he finally dragged himself out of bed, the new term was only a day away.
That evening's dinner table was overwhelming.
Faced with a menu full of artery-clogging fats, Cleio settled for just a little soup and a few bites of duck breast with orange sauce.
Mrs. Canton looked disappointed, but Cleio had his reasons for feeling full without eating much.
'My land deed. I've got to bring it to the Academy.'
Now more than ever, his resolve about that land had solidified. No matter what chaos the princes stirred up or what kind of war might break out—the land wouldn't vanish.
Unlike when he first came home, this time he needed a large suitcase to return. It was to fit the safe inside.
He placed the safe flat on the bottom and neatly stacked bottles of wine from the cellar in the empty space above.
'One for Behemoth, one for me.'
Whether Cleio was packing or not, Dione clung to Behemoth, petting and hugging him like she couldn't bear to let go.
"My dear Moo-ah, don't you want to come live with me and big sister?"
"Ewoong, ewoong-ewoong, ewoooong! (This cat must return to tend his own domain.)"
"Oh no, what will I do without my Moo-ah!"
Dione finally let go—though reluctantly—after tying a brand-new ribbon around Behemoth's neck.
Then Mrs. Canton looked back and forth between the uniform she'd hung up and Cleio himself, tilting her head slightly.
"Hm? Cleio, try on your uniform right now. I don't think it fits anymore."
"It's only been half a year since it was tailored."
"Young master, you're still growing. No arguments—hurry."
Before Dione could glare, he obediently did as told.
And sure enough—her eye for detail was uncanny. The sleeves and trouser legs had become awkwardly short.
Every night he'd fallen asleep exhausted from crafting spells, his knees had ached from the chill; apparently, he'd grown taller.
'It's been so long that… I didn't even consider growing pains.'
Surrounded by princes and knights with tall, athletic builds, he'd occasionally resented the author for giving him such a plain NPC-like appearance.
But considering Gideon Aser's physique, it was a relief that at least Cleio might grow taller, even if not broader.
'I was never handsome to begin with, but at least I wasn't short. I've got to live in this body forever—being short too would've been too cruel.'
Dione called for a maid and quickly let down the hems as a temporary fix, vowing to have a new uniform made soon.
"When the break ends, your position as tutor ends too, doesn't it?"
"I renewed my contract with your father. The Centrum Trading Company still shows no sign of returning, and besides—we'll need to keep meeting, won't we? Having an excuse makes it easier."
"You're still accepting the tutor's salary, of course?"
"It would be foolish not to accept money that's offered."
Dione covered her mouth with a laugh. She always carried herself with an admirable consistency.
"By the way, are you leaving all the Crown Prince's gifts behind?"
Cleio's hand froze mid-motion, just above the remaining wine bottle. His expression looked as though his light dinner had just lodged in his throat.
While he'd been sleeping like the dead, a thank-you gift had arrived at the Aser estate for attending the birthday celebration. But the Crown Prince's offering was far from the usual cakes or stationery.
The large crimson chest still radiated presence from a corner of Cleio's room.
"How could I possibly take something like that with me?"
"You have a point. What on earth did you do at that celebration to be granted something so grand—and so unshowable in public?"
Stamped with an ornate royal seal and accompanied by a handwritten card from the Crown Prince himself, the chest contained an extravagant ceremonial uniform and its matching sword.
On the sleeves was embroidered the royal family's surname; every button was pure gold. The crimson and gold dress uniform gleamed so brightly it would catch eyes from a hundred meters away.
After inspecting its size and condition, Dione remarked that it looked like the ceremonial attire the Crown Prince had worn in childhood.
"In the Leogunan royal family, passing down a superior's uniform is a way to emphasize fraternity and legitimacy…."
"I thought maybe the royal budget was short, and they'd started giving out secondhand gifts."
"As if! This can only be worn by royalty. Anyone else putting it on would be guilty of lèse-majesté."
"Then the ceremonial sword would be an issue too, wouldn't it?"
"Of course. There's no visible insignia, but still—"
Dione deftly lifted the sword adorned with its tassel, drew it in one graceful motion, and held the blade to the gaslight. Her small lips moved as she read the inscription etched upon it.
"'He who knows the power of hymn, enjoy eternal authority.' That's the Leogunan royal family's motto. With this carved right into it, it's not even something you could sell. It's the formal sword a prince carries at official ceremonies."
"Ughhh…"
Clutching an empty wine box, Cleio groaned unconsciously.
"Isn't it about time you told me what really happened? What did you do with His Highness the Crown Prince?"
Sliding the sword back into its scabbard and returning it to the chest, Dione sat down squarely in front of him.
Her eyes sparkled—clearly brimming with curiosity for a new story.
"It's complicated, but… to sum it up—Crown Prince Melchior suspects that I might be Prince Philip's illegitimate son. He sent this gift to test my and my father's reactions."
"Ahaha—wait, what?! How did that even happen? Anyone with eyes could see it—you and Gideon the viscount are identical!"
"It's not about appearance…."
"The Crown Prince sees you as his brother—what in the world happened? I'm dying to know!"
Cleio was at a loss for words.
He couldn't very well blurt out something like 'That Crown Prince can read minds—and later on, well…' It would sound like the ravings of some cult preacher.
"…When the time comes, I'll tell you everything. Please just wait a little."
"That damned 'when the time comes' again!"
Now properly riled, Dione grabbed Cleio by the collar and yanked him nose-to-nose.
"Listen here, Mr. Cleio Aser—let's get one thing straight."
"I'd appreciate a bit more personal space…"
"Quiet. The servants are in the hall."
Being close enough to see her eyelashes flutter was… less than ideal for his mental stability.
Dione pinned the flustered Cleio in place with all her strength—and immediately unfolded a circle.
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