The Runaway Heir
Even after he'd run through every tale of his exploits, Arendt kept eating, drinking, and chattering right up until the dining hall closed its doors for the night.
Dealing with people in that perpetually surly, insufferable tone of his and yet never once running out of gossip to blather on about — that, too, was one of the freak's strangest talents.
It was well past midnight by the time the party finally made it back to their rooms.
But Arendt couldn't rest. The communication crystal ball he'd smuggled along in his luggage had reacted.
Slipping out under the knights' notice, Arendt connected the transmission.
— Ah, Sir Arendt. You're still awake. Thank goodness.
Count Stadler's voice came through.
"And what about you, my lord, keeping such late hours?"
— The things you asked me to look into, Sir. I've found records in the ancient documents that seem to match.
The very call he'd been waiting for. A smile crept across Arendt's lips.
"Good news indeed."
— It seems to be the records about the God of Night that you mentioned... From a rough skim, it reads more like legend than history.
"Anything will do."
— Understood. I'll have it ready the moment you return, so you can review it right away.
Having cut the connection, Arendt leaned back against the wall with a soft thump and gazed up at the sky.
The stars scattered across the night sky glittered cold and distant. Perhaps because the day had been a little overcast, the darkness seemed thicker than usual.
But it wasn't dark enough to completely erase the sound of someone clumsily hiding their presence.
"How incredibly annoying."
When he let his irritation show outright, the shadow crouched in the darkness flinched.
Arendt pushed off the wall and turned toward it.
"I hadn't realized eavesdropping was a hobby of yours. Should the heir of House Eckhart really be doing such things?"
"I wasn't eavesdropping. I only — you came outside, so I..."
Arcus hurried to make excuses, then clamped his mouth shut. After a moment, he exhaled and answered.
"I'm sorry. But it wasn't intentional. I didn't hear much of anything properly, so don't worry yourself over it."
"...Your way of speaking has changed, hasn't it."
Arms crossed, Arendt narrowed his eyes and gave Arcus a slow once-over.
"Did you need something from me?"
"I simply wished to talk."
The moment his younger brother showed even a glimmer of receptiveness, Arcus seized his chance and spoke quickly. But Arendt had no intention of playing along so graciously.
"Well, I have nothing to say. What could the two of us possibly have left to discuss at this point?"
"Arendt."
"Think it over carefully. Whatever you have to say — do I owe you the duty of hearing it?"
The icy voice swept past his ears along with the frigid night air.
Arendt stood rooted to the spot without so much as a twitch, silently watching the figure opposite him.
As if to say: go on then, try to answer.
Some instinct told Arcus that if he fumbled now, he would never be able to face Arendt again. Unaccustomed to the tension, he found himself clenching and unclenching his fists without realizing it.
What should he say?
I neglected you, that much is true, but Father does love you? I'll let bygones be bygones, so come home to the count's estate? These dangerous matters don't suit you — give them up?
That much had occurred to him, but not a single one of them was the right answer.
They were words that shouldn't be spoken now, of all times.
After a long silence, he finally opened his mouth.
"I'm sorry."
"..."
It was a sincere apology, with not an ounce of self-interest buried in it.
"I should have looked after you better. That was my failing. Father is so occupied with his duties..."
"Leave Father out of it."
"...If I had moved more proactively, I could have helped you. And if I hadn't left you to your own devices when we were young, then perhaps... perhaps things might have turned out somewhat differently."
Left to his own devices.
At those words, Arendt's brow twitched, just slightly.
"After our mother passed, I should at least have been the one to look after you. I'm sorry."
Having finished as though making a confession at a confessional, Arcus squeezed his eyes shut.
And so he failed to see it.
He missed the way his younger brother's eyes, fixed on him, had sunk into something complicated and heavy.
That's the thing — he's apologizing to the wrong person.
These clumsy fools.
He felt he'd caught a glimpse of one facet of why the original Arendt had turned out so twisted.
He'd hoped that by gently prodding at Arcus, he might learn something about the inner affairs of House Eckhart.
But it feels like I just slapped a child across the face.
After all, both the original owner of this body and the eldest son of House Eckhart, who couldn't even meet his eyes, were years younger than him.
"Young lord. No — brother. Think about this carefully."
At the change in how he was addressed, Arcus's eyes went wide. Meeting that gaze head-on, Arendt continued in an even tone.
"Suppose that when I was thrown in prison, I'd been denied any chance to defend myself and simply executed on the spot."
In truth, that was exactly how Arcus's real younger brother — the second son of House Eckhart — had died.
"Would you have said the same thing, standing before my grave — the grave of a convicted traitor?"
"That's..."
"Not me as I am now, but the filth of the Imperial Knights, the trash, the wretched bastard — would you have said it then, too? Somehow I doubt it."
The person who might have accepted Arcus's apology was already gone from this world.
Even if he himself had inherited that role and performed it, he was, in the end, not the real 'Arendt' — and so forgiving Arcus on his behalf lay outside his rights.
Above all, it wouldn't have been the sort of thing 'Arendt' would do.
And so those golden eyes, without wavering a single fraction, remained utterly calm.
"Well, I'll concede that what happened in childhood isn't mine to judge one way or the other... but you had at least one chance to make it right, you brainless fool."
"...I'm sorry."
In the end, Arcus bowed his head once more.
Watching him, Arendt clicked his tongue.
He had a rough idea by now that this man hadn't come sniffing around with some scheme in mind, so his original objective had been accomplished.
Besides, adding the word 'mother' to the keyword list of the character called 'Arendt von Eckhart' was a gain, if anything. There was no reason to torment the half-wit any further.
"Enough. So what, at this late date. If your business is finished, head back to the territory as soon as this schedule wraps up. A count so desperate he can't live without you will be waiting until his neck stretches a mile long."
"Well... the thing is..."
Arendt was just about to turn on his heel when the cracked voice made him stop. He glanced back, and even through the deep darkness he could see Arcus's face had gone red.
"...We fought."
"You fought?"
"Father and I fought, and... that is, I came to the capital alone. So for the time being... yes, for the time being, going back is a little..."
Arendt was speechless.
The proud eldest son of House Eckhart, wearing the expression of a toddler caught playing pranks for the first time, now scrambling in a staring contest with the ground.
He fought with their father and set off for the capital alone — which meant...
The incredulous words burst out of him on their own.
"You ran away from home at your age?"
"..."
Not a trace of resemblance in their looks, entirely different personalities, discord so deep it bordered on the absurd.
On the strength of all that, Arendt had once wondered whether the two might not actually be related by blood at all.
But now he was certain.
When it came to charging into things with no plan whatsoever, these bastards were brothers beyond a shadow of a doubt.
"Ugh, whatever. Do as you like. Cut ties, rebel, I don't care. It's no longer any business of mine."
Firing off the words in open irritation, Arendt left him standing there and strode back toward the inn.
BANG!
The door slammed shut with a violence that echoed through the heavy night sky, and Arcus, left alone, sank to the spot, utterly unable to contain his embarrassment.
The next morning.
The party was back on the road in a flurry of activity, and Arendt's nagging resumed right on schedule.
"They say life outside home is one long misery. How's it treating you?"
"I heard you. Enough."
"I'm afraid I don't quite follow — enough of what, exactly, oh runaway young lord?"
"..."
He's about to blow, isn't he.
Arthur mouthed the words silently to himself. But contrary to his expectations, Arcus held out.
There was nothing to be done about the fist clenched white around the reins, trembling, though.
The knights had all overheard at least the gist of the conversation the two had shared outside the night before. Things had gotten fairly vicious between them, so he'd assumed they might not even look at each other again.
"Called it..."
That was Richt's murmured observation.
The somber mood was never going to last long. And so Arcus had to strain to swallow his fury, his face burning scarlet.
It was then that Laios muttered quietly.
"He seems to have softened, somewhat."
"I'm sorry?"
When Arthur and Richt made sounds of confusion, Laios tipped his chin toward them.
"That one, I mean."
"Softened? That?"
"Perhaps."
Arthur asked him to repeat it a few times as if he couldn't believe his ears, and Laios answered only vaguely, as if he couldn't quite be certain himself.
Just then, the communication crystal ball tucked away in Laios's breast began to glow. He raised a hand high, halting the party, and answered the transmission.
"This is Laios de Winfried."
— Ah, you're connected. Commander Laios — any trouble on the journey?
"No, Your Highness the Crown Prince. No trouble at all."
Aside from the fact that Young Lord Arcus's stomach is moments away from sprouting a hole... he swallowed those words instead.
— Good to hear. Hate to ask, but can you make haste?
"...Has something happened?"
There was something grave in Cantares's voice.
— Nothing major, but the timing is uncanny. They're reporting a small explosion in that region.
It had happened halfway up a mountain near the border. Someone appeared to have deliberately set off the blast, yet not a single other trace remained. There were no victims; the only casualty was the collapsed entrance of one long-abandoned cave.
Arendt, who had quietly drawn up alongside them at some point to listen, added his commentary.
"That'll be Blake. He set off the explosion with that artifact of his."
"He's already been and gone? Then are we a step too late?"
"Too late? This is where it starts. First we find out what the bastard is up to. Then we follow the trail from there, dog his heels step by step, and slowly squeeze his throat shut. That's the fundamentals of a hunt, no?"
When Laios's face hardened, Arendt shot him a look of outright pity.
"The enemy has left footprints this enormous just so you can catch and eat him — if you can't manage even that, kindly stop calling yourself an Imperial Knight wherever you go."
Under the gratuitous venom that came flying out of nowhere, the knights simply shut their mouths.
Cantares turned the conversation back on their behalf.
— In any case, hurry. Chase the bastard's trail, just as he said.
"Understood. We'll do as you say."
The transmission ended, and Laios turned to look back at the party.
Arthur and Richt, having already heard the exchange, were primed to bolt at any moment.
But carriages could only move so fast. And they could hardly leave the young lords stranded in the middle of open country, either.
It was then that Henri climbed down from the carriage.
"Let's abandon the carriage. I'll ride as well."
"But, my lord—"
"There's a city a little farther ahead. I'll order the servants to take the carriage there and wait for us. It's near a city, so the security is decent, and they can more than manage basic self-defense. They'll be fine."
Before Laios could say another word, Henri had already begun issuing orders to his servants.
Shortly after, the coachman unharnessed one of the two horses tethered to the carriage, saddled it, and handed the reins over to Henri.
"Travel safely, my lord."
"Thank you."
Henri flashed the coachman a bright smile and swung up into the saddle with an easy, practiced motion.
"Shall we, Commander? I'll keep pace. Once we near the border, it will likely be advantageous to have me along if anything comes up."
"...Very well. I appreciate the consideration."
Laios gathered his reins.
"We'll pick up speed. And Arendt."
"You called?"
"Stay away from Young Lord Arcus's side. Ride next to me instead."
After all, if this went on much longer, the young lord's stomach really might end up with a hole in it.