29. God Is Fair
The secret transaction between two oddballs was sealed, and at last the day of the Founding Anniversary arrived.
Beneath the empire's clear blue sky, the bright ring of brass instruments swept across the capital, announcing the start of the festival.
Flower petals scattered in dazzling clouds, and finally the flower of the Founding Anniversary began—the grand march of the Imperial Knight Orders and the royal guard.
The knights stood in formation dressed in finery more splendid than usual, each column led by its Knight Commander, and at the very head of the procession, Crown Prince Cantares rode his horse with commanding poise as the empire's heir.
Spectators joined the tail of the procession one after another, and the march grew larger and larger.
The people cheered, and Cantares answered them with a smile.
When the procession at last passed through the palace gates and came to a halt in the grand training grounds of the Imperial Palace, the master of the Callion Empire—the Emperor of the Holy Empire—finally appeared upon a specially prepared balcony of honor.
“All hail His Majesty the Emperor!”
The resounding cry of knights and nobles alike filled the palace from end to end.
With a gentle smile, the Emperor answered the salute with a slow, gracious nod.
Standing at the very rear of the 3rd Knight Order's column, Arendt contemplated the Emperor's visage as he offered his own salute.
Under the unusually clear weather, the garments and scepter that symbolized the monarch's authority gleamed in the sunlight.
With the midday sun at his back, the Emperor's face could not be seen clearly; only the slight stoop of his posture gave any hint of his age.
Even from a distance, his silhouette looked older than hers.
In the novel, he'd been nothing more than an unremarkable emperor presiding over a peaceful age, but...
Standing at the very apex of power while erasing your own presence—that was what the phrase truly meant.
Mediating disputes, quietly resolving problems, and yet never once putting himself forward—only then could one earn the title of an 'unremarkable sovereign of a peaceful era.'
For Arendt it would have been an act, but for this man it was simply reality.
The Emperor, too, surely had a story of his own.
Lost in such thoughts, Arendt was half-ignoring the trite imperial address when Arthur jabbed him squarely in the ribs.
The message was clear: pay attention.
The tedious proceedings dragged on a little longer before wrapping up with the usual formulaic blessings. And then, at long last, the procession of priests led by the High Priest filed into a line before the Crown Prince.
Priestess Lumiel attended High Priest Theodore, standing steadfast at his side.
As the gray-haired High Priest clasped his hands together at his chest and bowed his head, the priests in their pristine white robes began to recite the prayer.
“...Lord Luce, who with the blessing of light guided this land into illumination...”
God. God, of all things.
What is a god?
The kind of question that belonged in a philosophy book kept springing up from some corner of his mind.
Whatever the truth of it in his old world, here it was no abstract concept. One only had to watch the pure white light settling over the praying priests to know that...
Setting aside what a god actually was, the divine power wielded by the priests of Callion was famously pure and refined across the entire continent—a matter of worldwide renown.
Perhaps because they called themselves the Holy Empire, or perhaps because they were, quite literally, the people Hero Cahn had protected—maybe Luce simply tended to them that much more generously...
Their divine power was stronger than that of priests from other nations, and their mastery over it more skillful.
And on top of that, the divine power of High Priest Theodore, who led them, was said to stand singular and unrivaled among them all.
While everyone marveled at the pure white radiance the priests radiated, Arendt alone remained unimpressed, quietly studying High Priest Theodore instead.
Divine power was the symbol of pure faith.
A power that only took root in those who truly followed their god.
He was the very man who, after learning that Cernion bore Luce's likeness, had blocked off every scrap of related information.
Arendt's gaze drifted past the High Priest toward the statue of Luce—carved from white stone beneath the blue sky—standing behind him.
Luce, sword in hand, gazing down graciously upon his people, offered only a smile and said nothing.
A god... well, fine. Maybe he really is a transcendent being looking down upon this world with benevolence.
At least, on this stage.
God of light or god of darkness—
to an actor, a silent statue was nothing more than a prop.
After the ceremony concluded, a lavish banquet unfolded within the palace. Beautiful music flowed, the finest wines and delicacies were laid out—and at the same time, the Dragon Hall was opened to the guests.
“Incredible...”
Every last person found themselves unable to contain their awe at the dragon's majesty.
The decorations, chosen with Guildmaster Neumann's impeccable aesthetic eye, did their part to elevate the atmosphere as well.
Along the walls of the hall where the dragon was displayed hung tapestries depicting the legends of the ancient heroes, and golden dragon statuettes and candelabras adorned the space in splendor.
And the great knight who had felled the dragon—Laios de Winfried—stood surrounded by a crowd of admirers.
“To think you stood against such a creature. It's truly remarkable. Might I hear more of the story in detail?”
“...My apologies, but I am on duty.”
“Nonsense. Please, speak freely.”
Laios hesitated, visibly uncomfortable, but the Crown Prince had slipped in unnoticed and pressed a firm hand down on his shoulder, smiling all the while.
“You've arrived, Your Highness.”
“Our knights have rendered enormous service through this unending string of crises. Sir Laios de Winfried in particular is still young, yet his exploits have been truly extraordinary.”
Cantares laughed heartily, tightening his grip on the shoulder that was meant to keep his Commander from escaping. Laios shot him a fleeting, resentful look, which of course went entirely ignored.
“Sir Laios's fame had already reached our kingdom, in any case. I should very much like to hear more of his deeds. And the matter of the evil god's reappearance as well—would you permit us to hear it in greater detail?”
“Commander Laios is a modest man, so with your permission, I shall speak in his place.”
At Cantares's words, the crowd's eyes lit up at once and they gathered around in twos and threes.
Laios murmured under his breath.
“...Your Highness. Forgive my impertinence, but where on earth did you learn to do this sort of thing?”
“From whom else? Your own proud apprentice knight, naturally.”
“......”
Faced with an answer delivered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, Laios could only force down a sigh.
His expression shifting in an instant, Cantares donned a grave countenance and began his story in earnest.
“The allied nations will likely receive the official documentation of all this shortly, but it seems only right to give you all a brief account in advance.”
Perfectly imitating the man's particular talents was impossible, but building up a stiff, taciturn Knight Commander? That much was well within reach.
There was no need to dress it up in lofty justifications—politics had always been exactly this. Roasting people over a three-inch tongue and coaxing out whatever it was you wanted.
And one step back, watching over the whole scene, stood someone else: apprentice knight Arendt von Eckhart.
The attention of the crowd was gathering on Laios.
And Cantares, with his practiced charm, was delivering the necessary intelligence to the dignitaries of other nations while attentively listening, one by one, to whatever remarks they offered in return.
Everyone present here was, without exception, a figure of consequence.
Every single word could become information.
That too, it seemed, had been groundless fear.
Despite his visible discomfort, Laios was doing his part—nodding along to the Crown Prince's words and occasionally adding a remark of his own.
Stiff he might be, but he was no fool.
He clearly wasn't thrilled at being praised for feats that weren't his own doing, but he had caught on that this was Arendt's intent.
He understood that only by drawing every eye to himself could Arendt move that much more freely.
Everything was proceeding smoothly.
...With exactly one exception.
“Man, you're a genuinely terrifying bastard.”
“What is it now?”
“My name's nowhere in that whole story, is it.”
It was Llewellyn, who had sidled up beside him at some point, that burst into admiration.
The fellow had been trailing him like a duckling and chirping away for ages now—honestly, nothing but a nuisance.
“Well, of course. I'm not fond of that sort of thing.”
“Then what are you fond of?”
“Money.”
At the answer that came back without a flicker of hesitation, Llewellyn broke into a snicker.
“Wow. That's remarkably honest of you.”
“I enjoy the spotlight and the attention well enough, but I don't wear clothes that don't fit.”
Arendt waved a dismissive hand.
“Shouldn't you be heading over to the Commander instead? You said you were curious about the man who brought down the dragon.”
“Commander Laios is certainly impressive, but I'm sure I'll have a chance to talk with him properly some other time.”
Llewellyn drained his champagne in one go.
“Clothes that don't fit, is it... I don't see it that way, myself. You really have no intention of stepping out into the open at all?”
“None whatsoever. For the dirty, underhanded work, the shadows are a better fit.”
When the protagonist stands in the spotlight, the supporting cast's job is to hold their breath quietly in the shadow of the stage's corner.
The protagonist of this story was Laios, first and foremost.
“So kindly stop following me around. I'm on duty.”
The Imperial Knights were attending the banquet nominally to escort the distinguished guests. Yet here was a prince of a foreign kingdom trailing around after Arendt of all people—and the strange looks being cast their way were mounting one after another.
“No thanks? Why would I? There's nothing left to stand on ceremony about anyway, so I'm doing as I please. Oh—care for a drink?”
“Did you fail to hear the part about duty? And as for ceremony—well, I could manufacture something to worry about for you right here and now. The whole continent already knows I'm a lunatic, so causing a scene at a banquet is hardly any trouble at all.”
“You really are something else, in every conceivable way.”
What was terrifying was that the remark didn't sound like a joke at all.
Arendt dismissed Llewellyn from his attention entirely and turned his gaze back to the banquet floor.
A resplendent hall, ladies and gentlemen bedecked in every manner of jewel, and beneath the refined music conjured by the finest performers, dignitaries gathered from across the world exchanging pleasant conversation.
What he particularly enjoyed were the glances of his seniors, watchful for the moment that blasted bastard might cause trouble—and the flustered faces of a few familiar nobles who kept hastily averting their eyes, as if they'd stumbled on something distasteful.
Just then, a commotion broke out at the entrance of the hall.
Arendt and Llewellyn lifted their heads toward it as well.
“His Majesty the Emperor enters! All present, show your respects!”
Those standing near the doors hurriedly bowed.
Llewellyn quickly set down his glass and straightened his posture as well.
The moment the Emperor appeared in the hall leading a retinue of attendants, the one who stepped forward to greet him was, of course, Cantares.
“All bow before His Majesty the Emperor, sovereign of the Callion Empire.”
As he offered his salute first, the others who had been enjoying the banquet likewise placed a hand over their hearts and bowed.
Following their lead, Arendt too bent at the waist—while casting a discreet upward glance at the Emperor's face.
This was his first time seeing the man up close.
The face draped in a benevolent smile bore wrinkles that had accepted the passage of years with grace.
His fine black hair and blue eyes seemed to have passed to Cantares untainted, yet he carried a softer air than the Crown Prince, who was still young and occasionally let an overbearing presence slip through.
“At ease, all of you. I have no wish whatsoever to disturb the festivities.”
Even his tone as he soothed the crowd carried that same gentleness.
Gently waving off the bowing dignitaries, the Emperor cast a slow, unhurried look around the hall—as though searching for someone.
And a moment later, the sovereign's gaze locked onto a single spot.
“Huh?”
Llewellyn let out a foolish sound beside him. Arendt, too, knit his brow slightly in mild puzzlement.
The Emperor, wearing his benevolent smile, was looking directly this way.
It was the moment the unexpected occurred—right when everything had been flowing exactly according to plan.