The Editor Is the Novel’s Extra

Guikyung (2)

Fran climbed the platform stairs, looking up at the high ceiling with wide eyes. The arch made of cast iron and glass reflected light below. Kleio, watching Fran closely, noticed his expression.

“This must be your first time seeing it.”

The Lundane east station had opened while Fran was away from the capital.

“Yes.”

“How do you feel?”

“It’s too flashy.”

Kleio smiled as he lowered his voice.

“If you look at it from the outside, it’ll look even bigger.”

Fran exited the atrium with an expression of doubt and expectation. An overwhelming statue of the goddess Mnemosyne was set atop the ornate pillars outside, gazing down upon the people going back and forth. The statue’s arms held a massive clock, a reference to the goddess’s domain.

The figure at the entrance of the station was the new pride of Lundane.

From the station, a three-hundred-meter-long avenue opened up in a straight line. New buildings had lined up on both sides of the road, with clean exterior walls and shiny metal decorations on the balcony. A drinking fountain and trees occupied the plaza in front of it. A large department store with a vast banner announcing a discount resided on the far right end of the avenue, and the building standing at the crossroads at the end was the de Neju Est Hotel.

“This isn’t at all like the Orails district of the past.”

Fran seemed dizzied by the various sights that had changed since he left the capital. As he walked alongside Kleio, he frowned at a sign at the beginning of the road with Melchior

“This…”

“It’s the name of the person who led the transformation of the Orails district.”

There were no wagons on the broad avenue, but there was a fair bit of foot traffic. Afraid that some dangerous remarks might come from Fran, Kleio hurried his steps. As the taller one, Fran had to jog to keep up practically. The road ended divided left and right with the Neju Est hotel right in front of them. Kleio led Fran to the right, quickly entering a narrow alley.

.

.

.

After walking about a kilometer away from they had entered a quiet alleyway. Signs advertising lodging were placed everywhere, and older adults sat in the street chatting.

“The further away from the station, the more ordinary it becomes. Cargo workers are gathered around here, so it will be easier to get a room. There are so many daily workers coming and going, so the boarding house owners won’t ask for details.”

Kleio opened the door to a simple pub, which had a boarding room upstairs. It was the restaurant recommended by Gael, the chef he had brought to the mansion from Tristein. Fran was indifferent to eating, so Kleio made the order. Lamb sausage flavored with coriander and crispy baked potatoes with a glass of ale.

‘The potatoes have been sprinkled with crushed red pepper. They’re a little spicy.’

The two sat at a table in the corner, right beside an open window. Loud noises from the traffic on the road buried their conversation.

“I heard that the back of the passenger station is the cargo station, and the volume of traffic is noisy there. Why is this neighborhood so busy?”

“It’s only for today. The transport union declared an alliance strike in support of the railroad union’s reduced working hours. The carriages and loading docks stopped at the same time and see — it makes a statement in front of Congress.”

Fran’s smile could be seen beyond the opaque ale glass. The Lundane east station boasted a considerable volume of transport not only for passengers but also cargo. The terminal station departed to and from the Dubris mine, making it the center of industry and logistics.

The tiplaum processing complex, established in the Greater Lundane and Selva provinces, had attracted young people from all over the country. Products and parts using tiplaum were transferred back by train from the east station or loaded onto the dock on the Tempus river and put on a ship. Unlike artisans belonging to a traditional union, factory workers and daily porters didn’t get paid well and had no place to complain even if they suffered excessive labor without holidays. The People’s Flag had increased power among them, resulting in the strike.

‘A fire spread from someone’s ember.’

The young man, who was the exact cause of this incident, sipped at his ale without raising an eyebrow. Then, Fran wiped the beer foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. The movement looked so natural that it couldn’t have formed in a day or two.

‘Oddly, it doesn’t suit his normal impression.’

It had been two years since they met face to face, but Kleio had grown familiar with Fran. The two had exchanged dozens of letters to exchange information, and eventually, they had also begun to share personal stories.

Now, Kleio knew about Fran. Count Werner Nils Hyde-Wight’s only child loved ale more than wine, and among them, he preferred spring beer. The Memory of Promise hadn’t forgotten a single word of the private letters.

‘Wine is distracting, and as it is a drink of the bourgeoisie, he hates the smell of it.’

Kleio had to press back his rising laughter.

“Here, this ale is made in the spring every year. It’s called March Rabbit ale.”

“Well, that’s pretty good.”

As soon as he put down the glass, he went to buy a new drink, so it seemed he liked it. With two pints of March Rabbit ale in hand, Fran returned to the table.

“I’ll buy this round.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Well, in a way, it should be me thanking you.”

“What are you talking about? It was thanks to your investigation that everything went as well as it did.”

Kleio briefly conveyed what had happened to Arthur and the others. Fran’s face grew red and blue as he spoke, and the tendons in his neck grew tightly. When he heard that Melchior had admitted to ignoring human experimentation, Fran could no longer hold back his anger.

“That dirty and sneaky… The king and his surrogate son of a bitch won’t say a word even if they smell the scent of slaughter.”

In the face of Fran’s righteous anger, Kleio was forced to put down his beer.

“…And, in addition, I’m sorry for using your investigation for political use. I had to spread an important issue to free Arthur.”

Fran’s report had allowed him to use the media to their advantage. Fran picked up his glass without a word, and Kleio could feel the lump pressing heavily against his heart releasing. As Fran took a big gulp of his ale, Kleio did the same. It felt like his head was spinning as the refreshing alcohol scratched at his throat.

“This ale is great. White ale in the east wasn’t bad either, but I missed Lundane’s ale.”

Feeling at home from the taste of the alcohol, Fran looked more like an adult. Kleio smiled and extended his arms out.

“Welcome back to Lundane. I’m happy you returned safely.”

No matter how well-funded he had been, it wouldn’t have been easy to wander around alone. It seemed that he had been working on his skills blending in, however.

‘What about how he ordered at the bar? It seemed like he was some apprentice at a craft house.’

Fran blended in with the cozy air of the bar like it were as natural as breathing. During his journey in investigating the Hydra’s poison, Fran had been able to blend in his own way.

‘In a certain sense, this child is suited for a modern protagonist… Somehow, he was born in this world.’

“If there is a strike, how did you meet me on time?”

“I came on a bicycle. I stowed it at the back of the station, so I’ll grab it later. Thanks to that, I also saw the St. Folio’s posters on the road.”

“Hmm.”

After emptying his glass, Kleio looked at Fran with excitement.

“I have a hunch on who Saint Folio is.”

“You’re free to guess, but you won’t have evidence.”

He didn’t say so; thus, it was the correct answer.

“I don’t need to look for evidence. Who wants it?”

Fran’s eyes were focused on the cup in his hand. Kleio remembered a moment when that hand wasn’t there, in a dark forest scene during chilly autumn.

‘It isn’t known knowledge that even if the body is damaged, the stigma can’t be removed.’

Big-footed Bill and Paul had cut his hand off because they hadn’t any idea.

‘The two of them didn’t know, and neither did Vesna.’

It is something that could only be destroyed by death.

‘Fran’s skill and Melchior’s don’t match, causing a conflict.’

The brainwashing skill worked temporarily, and it didn’t last long on disobedient foes. The prince knew well about Fran, describing him as an ideological activity that sought to understand honestly. He couldn’t be killed or brainwashed, as he had a necessary skill. If so, there was a high possibility Melchior would act carefully until the decisive moment arrived.

‘If he’s someone even the crown prince cannot use, he might’ve thought nobody in this world could use his power.’

It was a judgment Kleio made based on what he knew about Melchior. With that, Kleio had brought Fran to the capital.

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