The Editor Is the Novel’s Extra

Eight years had passed since the grand marriage. The proud queen Juleika had studied Albion intensely, but when speaking to her spouse, she still spoke Carolingian. That was because Carolingian was the official diplomatic language of the Dernier continent before the revolution. Philippe’s own language skills weren’t quite up to par, a fact which was often clear.

Born as the princess of a vast territory, Juleika, whose father was the emperor’s younger brother, was rather close with the emperor. She could neither conceive of nor forgive, that she, a noble, had to live with a commoner woman at the place. Therefore, they didn’t make a [Covenant] that promised the couple’s sincerity. It wasn’t a big problem, as Juleika fulfilled her duties as queen, and Philippe didn’t force her to commit more than necessary. It wasn’t the way of one with blue-blood, after all.

Even though she knew all their circumstances, Hilleyda kept her mouth closed tight and gained the trust of all the nobles. The king and queen, who rarely showed consensus, readily agreed to entrust their children to her. As a result, she had rolled up the hem of her dress to cross the lush, forested cottage garden in pursuit of the little prince. Prince Aslan had sprinted into the bedroom of the second floor of the cottage. Having caught up with the prince in haste, she confronted the child as she caught her breath. The boy, Aslan, turned to her and spoke in impeccably perfect Carolingian.

“[Hilleyda, Hilleyda! Why are you resting? Can’t you even speak?]”

Hilleyda could not deter Prince Aslan’s curiosity, as the lively and honest prince wasn’t an easy opponent for even the seasoned maid. The royal family’s child, expected to become the crown prince in a few years, was a curious and healthy child. He couldn’t stand still even for a second as he wandered the whole palace, and he seemed to consider the dark cottage in the shadows of the forest as a base for special adventures. She was terrified of the anger of Juleika should she know of that.

‘I’m glad it’s time for Lady Eleanor to go pray.’

Increasingly confused, Lady Eleanor now spent most of her days kneeling before a small statue in the palace in prayer. Only one new maid had been brought on to take care of Eleanor’s welfare. Still, she didn’t know when she would come back, so Hilleyda hurriedly grabbed Aslan.

“[Master Melchior is very sick.]”

“[So he can’t talk or listen, can’t eat by himself, and can’t walk in the garden? Is he an idiot?]”

“[Your Majesty, you shouldn’t say such words.]”

Aslan knew quite a bit about the idiot, as the adults had kept talking. He didn’t seem to understand Brunnen, but Aslan understood his own mother’s language quite well. All the noble maids from Brunnen had said the same thing. He was an ominous child.

“[Why?]”

“[That’s a bad word. It isn’t suitable for the high-ranking majesty. Now, let master Melchior take his rest.]”

She naturally wrapped up Aslan and led him out of the bedroom. While holding the hand of his favorite maid, the seven-year-old prince glanced back.

“[He’s been laying down every day. Should I give him rest again? All-day, every day? What does he do while he lays down?]”

“[Nothing.]”

“[But today is his birthday? Can’t he wake up?]”

Aslan was a smart boy who could speak both Carolingian and Albion. He had brought along a firecracker and a lantern to celebrate his brother’s birthday.

“[You know, I learned today that once every four years, there is one more day on the calendar. It’s the day he gets a gift, but he’s just lying down. Isn’t that boring?]”

“[Probably not, Mr. Aslan.]”

***

How is it? Did you hear the news? But how old is he? He looks like a doll made of gold and ivory. Can I bring my puppy? No, your mom told you not to let her on the carpet.

The words had no context, bouncing around fragmentary. It was a voice that was unfamiliar but not confusing.

Melchior opened his eyes. He hadn’t even moved his head an inch, but he could quickly figure out who the child was running into his bedroom.

‘This time again.’

He could hear the words of Aslan Riognan. Like before, his skill would not work on his ‘brother.’ On February 29th, Melchior returned to his senses for the second time after wearing this body. In his mind, as worn as it was by pain, the current time and year were clearly established. All the information he had heard and seen so far was neatly indexed away—order established between the memories, enabling him to remember everything.

It was now 1872. In the past, it had never taken such a long time to establish the self. While Melchior was in the midst of that turmoil, the beginning of the end was approaching. Soon, Philippe would meet Theophila Igraine, the lady who was supposed to give birth to a king. Philippe, demeaned every day by the cold queen, had no plans to maintain the fidelity of his marriage. It was an open joke among the nobles that Philippe often lived for the nightly visit of courtesans. However, that single night that would give birth to a king was a device of the myth that couldn’t be the result of either love or lust.

Soon, Aslan’s purity would come to an end. Now it was the turn of the manger and the stable. Melchior must listen helplessly to the song of the hero the goddess favored. Total obedience and complete resistance would always reach the same ending, but why was he granted thought and will?

However, this start seemed to have different conditions than any of the ones Melchior knew in the past. What was this harsh god preparing for this time? In any case, history was looking forward to the birth of a new millennium and a new hero. Melchior Riognan’s pain, an additional element of the narrative, would not get a good act, as this narrative didn’t exist to explain him. This world would be created in 1873. Now, Melchior must play his role after creation.

God’s will was a punishment and a shackle for him.

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“Hilleyda, close the windows before you go out. The sun is shining.”

Hilleyda heard the first order of Melchior’s life. She had keen ears, which was one of the qualities that led her to a higher position. The young maid turned to the one who gave the order, the one who had a gentle, sweet, but coercive voice that she could never refuse. If she did, she feared she might become a pillar of salt or a stone statue. Even with that ethereal body, little more than skin and bones, the prince’s figure sitting up in bed had a sacred dignity.

Like an archangel who had descended to defeat the dark, Hilleyda thought as she let her hand slip free of Aslan’s.

The smart Aslan would never forget this moment, this first experience in which he was pushed out of the center of the world.

***

“Oh, wow. Prince, take a good look. See, after the flowers are gone, dig up the bulbs… They must be dried and stored.”

Thomas Soler, the gardener of the cottage garden at the villa, demonstrated by digging up an anemone bulb. Squatting beside him, Melchior nodded quietly while looking at the bulb. His long platinum hair shook gently under his chin as he observed the flower. The boy had a noble attitude, but his clothes were old, unlike the prince’s. Thomas had known the child for three years, but, as usual, he didn’t dare to look directly at him as he focused on explaining how to raise the flowers.

“Green onions, digging, ah… they’re frozen. You need to soak them, soak… ah… dried bulbs, then plant them in season.”

“Okay.”

Although Thomas’s explanation was slow and often incomprehensible, the prince patiently listened to the explanation. Thomas was sensitive to the eyes and appearance of others, despite the impression his large body gave. He had never left the town of Carmain on the west coast before he had arrived at the palace because the daughter of the house he worked at became the king’s lady. Her father had passed away soon after hearing the news that her daughter had been pushed to the side, and rumors had been circulating in Carmain ever since. They said that the child she gave birth to had some mental problems and that she had been suffering.

‘It’s a lie.’

After ten years, the crazed Eleanor’s hair had turned white, but she was as beautiful as before, and the supposedly foolish kid was quiet but brilliant, so why were the people of this palace treating him like a plague? For Thomas, an orphan who had grown up in a slum, he couldn’t understand pedigree or customs.

“Then, will the flower bloom next year?”

“It’s wrong.”

“Every year?”

“That’s right.”

“I wanted to learn more about gardening.”

The innocent gardener let out a relieved breath. Melchior had impulsively chosen to do something he had never done before. Maybe the author would allow Melchior to learn, or perhaps this gardener would be hit by lightning the next day. It wasn’t something he would know unless he tried.

“That’s a good idea, Prince.”

Thomas laughed. He was happy the prince was interested in the soil and flowers. It would be great if he could instill even a small amount of joy into this being that had empty eyes despite being only ten. The garden, which had been overgrown ruins in the previous decade, had turned into a neat and vibrant garden under the and flowers were planted in each season, giving it a comfortable and cozy vibe. In spring, pink, purple, and white primroses grew by the clear water pond, and moss spread in the rock garden.

The soul of the one who could create such beauty was clear and simple. Thomas, who had always been there but whose name was known only in this lifetime, was more authentic than anyone Melchior knew. There was no gap between what he heard and saw. Melchior watched Thomas for a long time, this innocent person with a lot of love. However, at the same time, a premonition appeared inside of Melchior, its source unknowable.

‘Love is weak, prone to failure, and with no guarantees.’

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Soon, that premonition turned out to be correct. Eleanor Vitia committed suicide with her gardener when Melchior was thirteen. This was the first incident to leave a great impression on him. The rumors of the lady were nothing new in court, but the tales about that poor stuttering gardener and the king’s lady gave rise to a completely different event. Eleanor’s actions were a resistance of one who could no longer endure life, one that no one could laugh at. Juleika felt terrible contempt over it. After the funeral of his first love, who killed herself in an affair with his servant, the king began to anguish.

The already weak king began to deteriorate more. Then, after Arthur was born, the world started to shatter little by little, the uncertainty of it intensifying. The stunning knowledge that he had never been given in eight lifetimes, that past before his memory, seeped through the gaps of Melchior’s world. In a strange ecstasy, Melchior thought of the anxiety that God must be going through.

This is what you did.

Melchior’s own journey grew tougher as a result. Aslan and Juleika’s power grew out of control, and Philippe was dying. His unique skill couldn’t be applied to the princes, but Phillipe wasn’t an exception. His talent couldn’t be used on someone unconscious, but patiently, Melchior waited for his chance. Eventually, he was able to obtain the proper documents. Yet, Melchior felt no joy even when he saw the angry face of Duke Joseph Cruel when he was presented with them. Cruel’s failure to invalidate the document meant that Melchior would become the crown prince.

That was enough.

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Even after all the events and characters passed by, the garden remained with Melchior. His limbs were long and elegant, yet he was still oddly clumsy when it came to this type of work. He planted soaked bulbs crookedly in the cold ground; the joy of gardening had yet to decline. The failures of his past lives hadn’t just left him with regret but also with accumulated knowledge. He steadily spent the year soaking, burying, and digging up the same bulbs every year.

Waiting for his chance to block the movement of the stars and rupture the rules of the world.