Chapter 108 – Monsters in Human Form
However foul his temper might be, no one could deny that Arendt was clever. At this point, not a soul would even try. The man churned out scheme after scheme and somehow dragged even the most absurd operations across the finish line — belittling that ability was simply impossible.
Arthur gazed quietly in Arendt's direction. Honestly, it pisses me off. Because there was nothing the guy couldn't do. After his release, Arendt had seemed to fumble around with a sword for a bit, and then his skill had shot up at a frightening pace — he was now every bit the equal of the other knights in the 3rd Order. His situational judgment was lightning-fast, his execution was solid, and the nerve backing it all up was beyond compare.
But if you laid out that overflowing bounty of talents with both hands and asked which one he was best at, the answer, of course, was…
"Arendt, may I have a word with you?"
"Ahh, my ear's itching. Which noble family's young master is barking at me this time?"
It was the kind of thing that made a person's blood boil. Is he seriously allowed to act like that? Arthur watched the two of them from a slight, dazed distance. It wasn't even a dog barking — a noble family's young master barking. He had never once in his life heard that particular combination of words.
If even Arthur, long accustomed to Arendt's antics, felt his head spin, then it was little wonder that Arks von Eckhart, the recipient of such an audacious remark, could only stand there hollow-eyed, staring blankly at his younger brother's back.
Completely indifferent to all of it, Arendt began feeding his horse.
Henry, who had climbed down from the carriage at some point, smiled awkwardly. "Sir Arendt is, how should I put it… rather unconventional. In more ways than one."
"Haha… I apologize."
"You've nothing to apologize for, Sir Arthur."
"Still. I apologize."
Somehow, it felt like the apology had to come from somewhere.
It had already been several days since they left the Imperial Palace. Mid-journey, they had paused for a short rest while letting the horses catch their breath. The sky was impossibly high and clear, and the broad fields the road cut through looked as though the word peace had been lifted straight off the page and laid across the land. The schedule was hardly generous, but in a moment like this, it wouldn't have hurt anyone to savor the feeling of travel.
Alas, all that leisure was wasted on the party, wedged as they were in the middle of a sibling feud. It was hell.
Licht, standing beside Arthur, added his two cents. "His Highness doesn't give up easily, does he."
"His stubbornness runs fairly deep, that one," Henry chimed in.
Even as the pair traded this idle chatter, Arks kept trying to edge closer to Arendt again. Eventually he sidled up, angling for a chance to speak — and once more Arendt beat him to the punch.
"Must be nice, being one of the high and mighty? Throwing fits this way and that, and everyone just eats it up, apparently."
"…"
His skill at needling was truly first-rate. Listening to it could only leave a person dumbfounded.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Arthur cut in. "You were born a noble yourself, you know."
"Ahhh~ Right, I was. But that's all ancient history. How long ago was it that the family threw me out?"
The more Arendt spoke, waving his hands breezily, the more the color drained from Arks's face until it was the hue of dry earth.
Watching this spectacle, Henry managed a vague smile. "Leave him be. It's something he has to bear himself. It's all his own fault, after all."
"Well… that's true, but still."
Anyone looking at the scene would have felt pity for Arks, no question. And yet the person who needed to bow his head and mend things now was none other than Arks himself.
Letting out a short sigh, Licht asked a question uncharacteristically personal for him. "Are you and Prince Arks old acquaintances, Your Highness?"
"Yeees, we've known each other since academy days."
"Even back then… were the two of them on poor terms?"
Arthur, who had been listening in silence, slipped into the conversation, and Henry nodded. "I'd imagine so. Truthfully, I don't know much about it. He rarely ever spoke of his family… and I only learned fairly recently that he even had a younger brother named Arendt."
"'Fairly recently,' you say…?"
"I heard it as rumor around the time Sir Arendt joined the Imperial Knight Order. That the second son of Count Eckhart showed exceptional talent with the sword."
Henry gave a wry smile. "Before long, the rumor had changed to say his temperament was anything but a joke."
"…"
Right. That tracked. Then and now, the man had always been a handful.
The onlookers returned to spectating the brothers.
"Ahh, so you got cast out of the family, and still your mouth runs this wild, does it?"
"…"
"Well, you've got a mouth on you, so you should say whatever you like. That way getting kicked out was worth it, at least."
It had, of course, been Arendt himself who once declared he didn't need the family name anyway — but that hardly mattered at the moment.
"My honest opinion? That little bastard is doing it on purpose," Arthur said.
"I agree."
Licht nodded quietly at Arthur's remark. If Arks hadn't been trailing after Arendt like this, then without a doubt Arendt would have been the one doing the chasing — and the tormenting.
"What. Shall I take the reins for you?"
"Th– Arendt."
"You are the honored young master standing in for Count Eckhart himself; you really shouldn't be driving the horses yourself."
"Arendt, as I was saying—"
"Or perhaps I should prepare some entertainment for you? Water for washing your feet?"
"I was wrong…."
Worn down by the relentless barrage, Arks could do nothing at last but bury his face in his own hands.
Strangest of all in this whole scene was the fact that Laios merely watched in silence. Astonishingly, the man still hadn't given up on giving Arendt lessons in etiquette. Anyone else would have grabbed their head in despair at that display — five more times over, at minimum — yet for some reason he kept his distance, pretending not to notice.
He could hear every word well enough, so occasionally the muscles of his face twitched, but even that behavior became legible with a little thought.
Laios was famous for keeping personal feelings out of everything he did. Yet he had exactly one exception: anything involving a knight under his command. By tacitly allowing Arks to take a verbal beating, he was, in his own wordless way, showing whose side he stood on.
It seemed the elder Eckhart's season of suffering would continue for some time yet.
The journey resumed, and by dusk the party reached a small village. Laios, having been assigned rooms by the innkeeper, gave the largest and finest of them to Henry and Arks.
"We will lodge here tonight. The space is humble, and I fear you will find it wanting — but if you could bear it for a single night, I would be grateful."
"Think nothing of it, Commander. I'm quite used to travel."
Laios dipped his head slightly as he spoke, and Henry waved the courtesy away with a smile.
"Your meals will be brought up to your rooms. We have separate business to attend to, so we cannot join you — but we will be staying close by, and should anything happen, we will come running at once."
"You really needn't fuss so much. My thanks for the consideration, Commander."
After a brief exchange of bows, Laios left the two men to their room.
"Commander Laios truly is a magnificent man, isn't he? To serve under someone like that — I'd say throwing your life away for him wouldn't be a waste at all."
"…"
Henry burst into admiration, but Arks pressed his lips tightly together and gave no answer. Reading something in that silence, Henry snorted softly.
"Envious?"
"Commander Laios de Winfried lost his entire family as a child and clawed his way to his present seat utterly alone."
After a moment's pause, Arks finally spoke. "To lightly call that man's hard-won achievements 'enviable' — that wouldn't be right."
"Well, that's true enough. But setting all that aside — just look at the mere fact that he manages Sir Arendt. Isn't that remarkable in itself?"
"…I can hardly argue with that."
Arks let out a groan of a sigh and dragged a hand down his face. Perhaps it was the day-long war of words with Arendt, but exhaustion was plainly seeping across his features.
Henry watched him for a long moment, then asked in a careful voice. "You're not going to tell me, then?"
"Tell you what."
"Why you left the territory."
"I'm not."
The refusal came back hard and immediate.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want it used as an excuse."
"Honestly, you are such a stiff."
Henry grimaced, but apparently had no intention of prying further, because he simply shut his mouth.
Conversation between the two lapsed for a while, and after a time Arks released yet another sigh — he'd lost count of how many — and rose to his feet.
"Where are you going?"
"A walk. Don't wait for me — eat first."
Leaving only those words behind, Arks slipped out of the room.
Descending the stairs, he came into view of the dining hall on the first floor. It was around the dinner hour, and the room was fairly humming with noise. Waitstaff hurried back and forth bearing food and drink, while the guests clamored happily over their meals.
Arks stood at the stair landing, sweeping his gaze across the room — and soon spotted a familiar head of hair.
Arendt?
And beside him — Arthur Norbert and Laios de Winfried.
When had they changed into plain clothes? At some point the three had commandeered a table and were eating among the other patrons as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Since when did he know how to blend into places like this?
Arks could hardly trust his own eyes. His younger brother, fastidious to a fault, had always despised sharing tableware with other people. The Count's household had kept a set of dishes reserved solely for Arendt, managed separately by the servants — that was how far it went.
And yet the Arendt before him now was pressing his lips without a second thought to a cup that had plainly belonged to someone else, drinking his liquor without the slightest hesitation.
What's more, the ground floor itself was packed and rowdy enough that even Arks would have felt awkward joining in. The Arendt he knew had hated nothing more than ordinary conversation with anyone below noble rank — hardly someone who would slip easily into a crowd like this.
Before long, Licht von Crisanta, who had stepped outside earlier, returned and joined the table as well. Arthur said something to Arendt, and Licht backed him up; Laios, absorbed in his meal, had just pushed a freshly served dish the innkeeper had brought over toward the knights.
It was an extraordinary sight.
Henry, modest as ducal heirs went, had still insisted on taking his meals separately in his room — and Arks himself couldn't have mustered the nerve to wedge himself into that circle. Of everyone at the table, only Arthur was common-born, yet not one of them seemed to harbor the slightest complaint about dining casually among common folk.
Arks found he simply could not tear his eyes away from Arendt — bantering back and forth with his seniors while shoveling the dishes away with surprising efficiency.
Perhaps that was why he caught Arendt's sudden, erratic move before anyone else in the room did.
Snick. Arendt curled his lips into a meaningful smile.
What now?
Arthur and Licht, catching sight of the same thing, went rigid and recoiled in horror. Laios's eyes went round, and he set down his fork.
But it was already too late.
Before anyone could stop him, Arendt had seized the collar of the innkeeper passing by his table.
"My good man, is there anything else we might need?"
He had declared his noble status when booking the rooms, and so the innkeeper had been bowing and scraping to him all evening. Arendt placed his order for more liquor with practiced ease, then opened his mouth.
"By the way, innkeeper — heard any interesting stories lately?"
"I beg your pardon? Interesting… stories, sir?"
He hadn't raised his voice especially high, and yet Arendt's words — which should have been swallowed by the din — carried all the way to where Arks stood, crisp and clear.
"Oh, nothing really."
In a tone that made it plain there was very much something, Arendt dangled the bait. The innkeeper tilted his head in puzzlement, and one by one the other guests began casting glances toward the knights' table.
"Hey — hey! What are you doing?"
"Hold on. Stop, Arendt, stop!"
Arthur and Licht waved their hands in frantic desperation, but Arendt slipped smoothly past every grabbing finger. And then, in a dining hall packed with strangers, he finally let the forbidden topic loose.
"There's been a plague of con men selling the name of God these days, you see — I wondered if any had come as far as here."
Naturally, Arks — watching from the stairs — could do nothing but stand there, aghast.
I thought this was supposed to be an undercover mission.