The royal castle, which I walked through freely for the first time without anyone watching me, was just as it had felt in that brief moment when Godric had transferred me here.
A ruin that only looked intact on the outside.
The eerie atmosphere unique to places uninhabited by people lingered in the air. Unbothered by it, Orlie, who had borrowed the body of the donut-head attendant, strode ahead. Heading toward the underground chamber where the Holy Knight's body was imprisoned.
I hadn't noticed it before, perhaps because I hadn't paid close attention, but his gait looked rather awkward. Was it simply because he was using someone else's body? Or was it…
"When were you captured?"
'Or perhaps he's been trapped for too long.'
The possibility that his physical body had been damaged couldn't be ruled out.
Last time, when I asked Godric about Orlie's condition, the bastard had said, "I've left him intact for later." But there was no way I could take that statement at face value.
Orlie seemed to be choosing his words carefully for a moment.
"It was not long after I left El Dante. Rather than being captured… it would be more accurate to say I was discovered."
"Discovered?"
"I had to scout the Vernis Mountains before Act 3 began, even at the risk. As you may have already sensed… the authority we possess is not all-powerful."
I had noticed. Ever since entering the Vernis Mountains, the main author's interference had shifted toward direct confrontations with Leonardo.
Before, even when the writer manifested, it had only been fleeting, or from a distance. Even if there was no one suitable to send in Orlie's place after he was captured by Godric, it was still a significant shift.
"Up until Sinistra and El Dante, we had greater control over the stage. But starting with the Vernis Mountains, the situation was bound to change, so we needed to prepare."
I listened to his explanation, falling into thought.
What he said… sounded almost as if he had foreseen this situation. And it wasn't impossible. Hadn't it already been confirmed back in El Dante? The difference in writing authority between the main author and sub-writer 1 was a mere 1%.
A narrow margin that could be overturned at any time.
Which only made it all the more perplexing.
I stopped at the spiral staircase that led underground. Orlie noticed my halted steps and turned back to look at me.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
As I said, the difference in writer authority between Butier and Godric is a mere 1%. It could flip at any moment, as easily as turning over one's hand. In contrast, Sub-writer 2 holds a greater weight than any of the others.
Then why?
Why don't they make use of Sub-writer 2?
If my guess is correct, Sub-writer 2 is surely on Leonardo's side.
"I—"
The donut-head attendant hastily reached out to stop my words. The urgency pulled tight at the corners of his mouth, betraying his desperation.
"It's not time yet."
"…"
Not yet, he said.
I asked myself if I could trust those words.
The reason I trust the writing team is because I've seen, with my own eyes, how hard they fight to protect the protagonist and this stage.
Butier, the main author, clearly showed their resolve to defend their stage. They obviously care for Leovald, and there's no doubt they oppose Godric.
But what about Orlie?
It's true that he supported the main author all along in resisting Godric's actions. But… is Orlie truly opposing Godric?
Or rather than that…
'It almost feels like he's carrying a sense of responsibility.'
Was it because Orlie was the protagonist he had created?
"Let's keep going."
I began moving again, continuing down the spiral staircase that twisted and turned into the underground.
The royal castle's underground prison was excessively vast and empty. Grim devices lined the walls of the old, decaying space. It looked more like a torture chamber or execution hall than a prison.
'This is strange.'
A royal dungeon shouldn't be meant for common thieves or even major criminals. It should be reserved for political prisoners—nobles who challenged the throne, members of the royal family, or high-ranking officials.
But this place felt more like…
'A chicken coop.'
It looked big enough to hold not just hundreds, but even thousands, if crammed to the limits. But was there any reason for such a massive prison to exist right beneath the king's own quarters—the most secure part of the castle?
'Doesn't seem like something Godric designed.'
It looked more like a long-standing, historic structure—something that had existed here for ages.
Each iron bar was corroded with red rust, and dark stains marked the uneven stone floor—blood, it seemed, spattered and absorbed into the surface. The grotesque devices scattered throughout bore the unmistakable signs of use.
And besides, this place was a broken stage. Even if something new were built here, it wouldn't last long. Because this place has an inertia that pulls it back to its original state—before it was ruined.
Which means… this must be the original setting of the stage known as
It was designed this way from the very beginning.
'Come to think of it, the original story never mentioned the royal castle in detail.'
What I had learned from the original work so far was that Leovald was supposed to be adopted into the Ertinez family, and that he was destined not as a field commander, but as the leader of the Dragon Slayer Corps to face the evil dragon Vernis.
If that's the case, then what role did the royal castle—or 'King Godric'—play in the original?
Was he just a minor character appearing near the end of the story, giving Leovald praise for his achievements?
'I'll have to check.'
"There it is."
Orlie, walking ahead, came to a stop. He pointed toward the place where the Holy Knight's body was imprisoned.
Orlie's real body was chained to the wall, the limbs pulled tight—stretched to the brink in what looked like a drawn-out quartering.
Not only that, but iron spikes had been driven directly into his raw flesh, pinning him like an insect specimen—it wasn't exactly a sight one wanted to look at too closely.
If there was any silver lining, it was that Orlie's body wasn't bleeding. Still, in that state, it looked impossible to move even a single finger.
"Did Godric do this?"
Orlie nodded silently.
It seemed Godric knew Orlie had once been the one writing his story. So then… was this an act of rage? Of hatred?
"So this was revenge…"
"Excuse me?"
Ah. Maybe not something I should have said in front of him. But now that the words were out, it was hard to take them back or brush them off.
[Why didn't I have something like this?]
That thought sounded almost like blaming Orlie for giving up instead of pursuing a solution to the end like Butier had.
When I explained that it was something Godric had once said to me, Orlie looked visibly flustered.
"I—I didn't give up."
"What?"
"Did he say that to you?"
He hadn't. At least, not in so many words.
"After he realized he was the protagonist of a play… it was like everything began to fall apart…"
Orlie hurriedly shook his head.
"Of course, that played a major role, but it wasn't the reason the curtain fell."
He continued, as if checking his memory:
"I believe I mentioned it before—he didn't particularly like his own story."
I remembered. It had seemed understandable, considering the plot had been a rather cruel revenge drama.
Orlie's continued explanation wasn't hard to grasp.
"After he realized the others were characters too, he started twisting the story."
Just as any story has a beginning, middle, and end, there must be a process in achieving a goal. For a protagonist to gain some great fortune or opportunity, they must first go through trials or hardships.
Stories that hand out power or items without effort—those overly convenient developments—tend to be criticized.
After realizing that the world he lived in was a stage, Godric began shortening those very processes.
He skipped over the hardships he could bypass, monopolized the plot and developments, and the small cracks caused by his actions built up and eventually caused the stage to start collapsing.
"And then, in the end, the villain who should have exited at the climax was killed halfway through the play."
The villainous evil stepmother, who poisoned the dragon and set the entire story in motion, should have vanished majestically in the final act, but instead, she died abruptly.
Orlie painfully added:
"…A one-man play can't go on for long."
Without someone to exchange dialogue with, a monologue has its limits.
There's a protagonist who seizes all the glory and becomes the ruler of a great empire. What kind of story can you continue with him?
In the end, the play quickly came to a close.
I felt a strange sense of betrayal wash over me and asked:
"So, Godric ended up here because…?"
"Invasion."
Orlie confessed with a face stained by guilt.
He tore through the walls, crossed boundaries by force, and joined the remnants of the ruined stage—those things—and entered Leovald's stage.
The emperor was nothing more than an intruder, from start to finish.
"Even if he becomes the protagonist of this stage, he will make the same mistake again. Do not trust his words."
He says that if the original story is handed over, everyone except Leovald will come back to life, and a happy story where no one is lost will unfold?
He asks for pity?
Why can't he be like Leonardo?
"Ha."
I roughly pushed my hair back, feeling the strands tangle between my fingers. I could feel the corners of my mouth twist into a sharp sneer.
In the end, I wasn't the only liar.
'That bastard…'
Orlie's voice, asking if I was alright, seemed to buzz in my ears, faint and distant.
I had never truly believed Godric's words. So why was this anger boiling up inside me?
Was it because, for just a moment, I felt a touch of pity for his desperation?
The sharp pain of my nails digging into my palm snapped me back to reality. I relaxed my fist and slowly regained my composure.
"For now, let's focus on escaping."
I turned my head from the taxidermied holy knight's body. The vast darkness of the underground prison stretched out before me, an endless abyss.
At that moment, a noise clouded my vision. At first, I thought it was just my sight blurring from the anger.
But that wasn't it.
[The
It was the call of the Apostle.