Cleio Aser, Registered at Seventeen (4)
"That kind of thing has happened several times. When I was twelve, the day a boy I didn't know opened the door to Isiel's old successor's room—same thing.
I'd never seen him before, but his face looked familiar. He looked exactly like the pale little ghost I used to see coming out of Isiel's room.
That boy was Isiel's sixth cousin—and the unwanted male heir. What I saw wasn't a ghost at all, just the future."
Arthur described the details of the "visions" he experienced.
Behind his blank expression, Cleio's mind was racing.
It's like the deleted drafts got mixed into the new manuscript, forming this weird inner consistency. Maybe it's because he already knows the future that the character 'Arthur Leogunan' is being completed earlier than he should be.
"…I see. If those events have already happened, then it stands to reason that the other visions will also eventually come true."
"Yeah."
Arthur's reply carried a mixture of resolve and resignation.
"Then, do you also have future memories about the other princes?"
"Ah, future memories! That's the perfect way to put it. Yes. The second-oldest 'future memory' is about Melchior. He stands amid blood, raises his hand, and points at me. Then he declares, 'Destiny will be fulfilled. You are…' It always cuts off there."
It took all of Cleio's self-control to maintain a neutral expression. He knew that scene—it existed in the latter half of the manuscript.
A minefield of spoilers, just great.
"Every time I had that dream, I'd get so scared I'd go knocking on my mother's door. So the next one felt a little less terrifying.
In the third-oldest vision, my sight is drenched in red, and Aslan is strangling me with all his strength, shouting, 'You should never have been born!'
Well, it loses impact when Aslan's said that to my face a dozen times already!"
Arthur gave a short laugh, amused by his own joke about Aslan.
The prince truly seemed to be speaking only the truth. Of course, it wasn't the kind of story a seventeen-year-old boy should be able to recount so calmly.
Just because the sequence of memories had changed, the protagonist of
Cleio let out a deep sigh from the bottom of his chest.
No, it's too late to fix any of that now. The only thing I can do is cushion the blows—so that when it all happens, it doesn't hit him all at once.
"Ray, I've answered everything. Now it's your turn—just one question. That stigmata of yours, is it related to 'prophecy'?"
"You could say that."
He gave Arthur the same answer he'd given Dione. It didn't help to invent too many lies—he'd only lose track of them later.
If it ever gets out that I've got something like an 'editor's privilege'... that won't end well. If this guy takes it the wrong way and triggers some world-ending event, what a mess that'd be. For now, I'll bluff as long as I can.
"You never give a straight answer, do you?"
"Arthur, of all people, you should know best—prophecies are always incomplete. The futures I can 'read' are fragmented and lack all context. Until they actually happen, it's impossible to know what they mean."
"'Read,' huh. So your unique skill manifests in the form of reading."
"…Yeah."
Both Dione and Arthur were masters at catching the tails of his words. Cleio felt that same sting of being caught off guard again.
"Can you tell me? What did you read?"
This time, he didn't need to fabricate anything. Instead, he simply recited the very lines memory pulled from the manuscript.
"A prophecy that a conflict will arise between two princes and two rivers. A foretelling that an age of war is approaching."
"..."
And that's your era. Your suffering is proof that you are the 'chosen one.'
The "protagonist," soon to be the eye of the storm, flinched—startled by something.
Then Arthur rubbed his chin with his thumb, as if mulling over Cleio's words.
A habit from deep contemplation. One of the few unchanged details carried over from the previous manuscript.
The shadows of sunset stretched across the forest, where insects sang—a farewell song for the last days of peace.
Cleio drew up his ether and overlaid it upon his words.
"'I speak in good faith.' I, Cleio Aser, will stand by your side whenever the need arises."
'I speak in good faith' was an old expression—a simple ether formula from basic swordsmanship textbooks.
It was merely a declaration of faith, not a spell. It held no binding force when broken, nor did it guarantee loyalty as a [Pledge] would.
It was a statement based purely on trust.
"I know your purpose and your will. I'll lend you all my strength to see them fulfilled."
"How long does this promise last?"
"Until Arthur Leogunan becomes the one and only king of Albion."
It was a direct statement, neither evasive nor metaphorical.
Arthur's eyes widened at Cleio's firm but quiet declaration.
Even speaking those words aloud was an act of treason, yet Cleio uttered them lightly.
This unmotivated, faintly existing friend was always like that—
crossing boundaries no one else dared, before anyone could stop him.
While Arthur stood frozen in astonishment, Cleio waited for the System's notification.
A beat later than usual, strings of light scattered before his eyes.
[? User's Narrative Involvement has sharply increased.]
So that's the author's intention, huh. This time, Arthur too.
"Are you not making a [Pledge]?"
A [Pledge] was the oath knights made to their king during formal investiture—
the same vow Isiel Kishion made to Arthur Leogunan at twelve, and Arthur to Isiel in turn.
Now Arthur wanted that same lifelong covenant from Cleio.
Even if Cleio could expect a reciprocal [Pledge] in return, he had no intention of granting the request.
"No. I refuse."
"!!!"
Words bound by ether in a [Pledge] became unbreakable vows. To violate one was to lose, by its curse, the most precious memory in one's life.
Knights who broke their vows had appeared in the previous manuscript too.
Back then, I couldn't figure out why they ended up that way, but after hearing about the War of the Rose, it all lines up. Those knights who lost their memories had broken their loyalty [Pledge] to the late King Edward and sided with Philip instead—hence the penalty.
The nature of what was forgotten differed for each person. Some lost trivial things—their favorite horse, or a treasured weapon. Others forgot their families or lovers.
The problem was that you never knew what memory would be taken until it happened.
That was a price Kim Jungjin could never afford to pay.
He had decided to remain as Cleio, to live as Cleio, but losing his memories… that was another matter entirely.
'Either way, I can't defy the author's will, so there's no need to wear a second shackle. If I don't make a [Pledge], Arthur's the only one who'll feel uneasy—not my problem, right?'
If Arthur were to die during the journey ahead, everything would vanish along with him.
So at the very least, Cleio wanted to face that destruction with his memories intact.
I know it's meaningless. From the moment I opened my eyes here, NPCs like me were at a disadvantage. But so what? I'm not making a [Pledge].
The author was essentially a god in this world, and the world's protagonist was both the god's heir and his adversary.
The author wished for characters to obey the plot, while those with will wished to live.
When the two wills opposed each other, the world fractured—but when they aligned, the narrative force grew stronger.
Cleio knew very well he was just a piece on the story's chessboard. He could never be compared to Arthur.
But even a man wearing the shell of a character—Kim Jungjin—had something he must not lose.
His mother's rough yet warm hands. The peaceful sound of his sleeping sibling's breath.
Memories of people who would vanish completely if Kim Jungjin forgot them.
That was all.
Kim Jungjin's life had been shabby, his thirty-two years filled with hardship without purpose or meaning—
unlike the life of Arthur Leogunan, the center of this world.
"Arthur, someday you'll understand. This world now turns for your sake.
It's an utterly unfair truth—but one that's also inevitable."
Because you're the protagonist of this story.
In a world where the divine right of kings was common belief, Cleio's words would sound like a simple metaphor—especially to Arthur, who gazed toward the throne.
Even so, Cleio chose to speak—as a person standing at the edge of a written story.
"But I will never become your vassal. Instead, I'll be your ally."
Cleio reached out his hand to Arthur, offering a handshake between equals.
He had his reasons.
It's not just about feelings. You know how people feel different going into and coming out of the bathroom, right? This guy's going to keep gaining followers anyway. If I want my fair share later, signing an exclusive contract would be stupid.
The prince did not hesitate.
Arthur firmly grasped Cleio's outstretched hand.
"'I speak in good faith.' I, Arthur Leogunan, gladly accept Cleio Aser's accord."
Arthur's reply was also an idiom of trust.
There was no contract or compulsion here—only a belief that required constant vigilance to uphold.
"Don't expect me to treat you like a prince from now on."
"You say that like you've ever treated me like one before."
"You started it! What, do you want me to use some ridiculous honorifics now? Huh?"
"Ugh, just imagining it feels awkward… Anyway, that aside—don't you want anything from me?"
Finally asked, huh. "Of course I do. Once all this is over and Zebedi retires, give me the post of Royal Mage Director."
"What? That's just an honorary title with no real power."
"But it comes with a pension. Three times a professor's salary."
"I can't tell if you're modest or greedy."
"I'm not modest. Magic stones, artifacts, and cash—those three things are always welcome.
When the time comes, I'm taking everything I can."
"Considering I'll be serving the future Archmage, I wouldn't mind… but you do know I'm broke, right? I don't even have a proper sword, let alone a magical tool."
"We'll see about that later. Just don't go back on your word."
Once the dungeon opens, it'll be a whole different story anyway.
"Got it. But, Ray—is that part of your prophecy too?"
"One question costs ten thousand dinar. No free answers."
"Hahaha! Now that joke was actually funny."
Arthur's bright, ringing laughter pierced the darkness—
and so Cleio missed his chance to say, It wasn't a joke.
Still, laughter was contagious. Even Cleio, who'd been wearing a crooked frown, couldn't help but chuckle faintly along.
At that moment, the familiar System message reappeared before their eyes—
but this time, with something new.
[? User's Narrative Involvement has sharply increased.
? Calculating cumulative Narrative Involvement ratio (□□%)]
Wait—so Narrative Involvement is tracked by percentage now?
Distracted by the unfamiliar term "cumulative ratio,"Cleio failed to notice the Door of Mnemosyne behind him begin to glow faintly.
A pale light shimmered silently within its empty frame—then vanished.
Moments later, the fractured edge of the wall trembled softly.
Sensing the disturbance before any human could, the birds took flight into the distance—
and the two boys, unaware of the anomaly, left the forest.
Rumble—
Thud!
A tremor from beyond the Gate of Another World shook the sleeping earth.
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