The Best Audience
I'd like to think I'm imagining things.
Unfortunately, His revered Imperial Majesty seemed to have no intention whatsoever of granting that wish.
The people around them, too, once they realized who had caught the Emperor's gaze, began wearing puzzled expressions.
“...Who is that young man?”
“I'm told he's an apprentice knight of the 3rd Knight Order.”
The murmurs of foreign dignitaries reached Arendt's ears whether he wanted to hear them or not.
Llewellyn jabbed him firmly in the ribs.
“I'd say you've officially failed at keeping a low profile.”
“......”
It was the plain truth. He hadn't anticipated a situation like this, of all things.
To make matters worse, the Emperor began striding toward them with long, deliberate steps.
Llewellyn, reading the room, quietly edged aside, and the other people standing between Arendt and the Emperor likewise stepped out of his path.
Thanks to their consideration, a clear corridor opened up between the two. The Emperor didn't decline the courtesy, either—he walked right down it and soon came to a halt directly in front of Arendt.
“...Arendt von Eckhart of the Imperial 3rd Knight Order, humbly greets His Imperial Majesty.”
Arendt, after the briefest hesitation, placed a hand over his chest and bowed his head.
At that, the Emperor smiled sheepishly.
“Forgive me. This isn't what I intended. My body simply moved on its own out of gladness. As I said earlier, this is an occasion for ease, so let's have none of the excessive formalities—raise your head.”
As Arendt quietly met the Emperor's blue eyes, they called to mind a deep, fathomless sea.
And what he sensed in that gaze was...
Curiosity?
The man carried a decidedly different air from his dignified Crown Prince, yet something in his faintly mischievous expression made their bloodline plain to see.
“If it pleases Your Majesty, I believe this is my first time being granted a personal audience with you.”
“It is. But lately, your name has found its way to my ears rather often.”
“......”
He had certainly eaten his fill of the imperial palace's rice. How many nobles had he drowned in it by now, and how many more had he left clutching the backs of their necks?
Arendt answered with a sour look.
“I suspect they weren't exactly flattering rumors, Your Majesty. If anything, I imagine they've made quite a racket in your ears.”
“Haha. Isn't that simply the way of the world? Thanks to it all, this old man has found himself rather entertained of late.”
The Emperor wore the smile of a born troublemaker.
Well, fair enough—the ones on the receiving end might have been driven out of their minds, but from a step removed, how entertaining must the spectacle have been?
Being applauded by an audience didn't feel half bad.
Arendt, too, flashed a broad grin.
“I'm honored to have entertained you, Your Majesty.”
“Keep looking after the Crown Prince well, you hear? He seems to be enjoying himself quite a bit these days himself. Ah—my mistake. I've kept a young man from his own fun. You deserve your share of enjoyment as well. We'll have a proper talk another time.”
With a light tap on Arendt's shoulder, the Emperor turned on his heel. His waiting attendants swarmed after him in a rush, though a few of them couldn't resist casting curious glances back at Arendt as they went.
A proper talk, he says?
About what, exactly?
Watching the Emperor join Cantares and Laios and fall into pleasant conversation with them, Arendt was abruptly jolted back to his senses by a voice at his side.
“Hey, what was that about? Why was His Majesty looking for you?”
“He said he'd been thoroughly entertained watching me. And that he'd like me to keep stirring up trouble on a regular basis.”
“...There's more of it to come?”
Arendt gave the green-faced Arthur a once-over, then turned his gaze back toward the Emperor.
The talk was naturally drifting back toward the evil god and Laios, who stood against him. Even so, Cantares and Laios kept stealing glances this way, apparently finding the situation far from easy to ignore.
When Arendt met Laios's eyes and simply shrugged, the Commander finally relaxed and turned his attention back to his conversation with the Emperor.
I overlooked something, didn't I.
The Emperor resided at the very deepest heart of the palace—and at the same time, he was the man who looked down on everything from its highest point. He probably knew most, if not all, of what Arendt had been up to until now.
So I had a proper member of the audience all along.
What was more, the Emperor showed not the slightest inclination to interfere with his work.
The corner of Arendt's mouth curled up of its own accord.
An audience member who knew how to applaud—and above all, one who knew how to sit back and watch the stage—was welcome at any time.
It felt as though he'd gained a surprisingly powerful ally.
* * *
Even after days of ceremonies and banquets had all drawn to a close, Llewellyn still hadn't returned to his kingdom.
His chamberlain implored him—it was time to resume his duties—but the prince didn't so much as pretend to listen.
“Ah, I've got some business to take care of here in the Empire. You go on back ahead of me.”
“Your Highness!”
“It's fine. Father will understand. More importantly, are you sure you don't want to head back first? You've got news to deliver to the palace, don't you?”
“......”
At that, the chamberlain clenched his mouth shut.
Following the revelations made at the banquet, Cantares had distributed the official documents he'd promised. They contained a detailed account of the Broken Heart's Sword's movements to date, along with everything that had been uncovered about the Cult of Cernion.
The visiting dignitaries returned to their homelands with gifts from the imperial treasury in one arm and a bundle of evil god news in the other.
“So hurry back, would you? I'll return on my own schedule. Ah, it might take a little longer, actually. Give my regards to Father, and phrase it nicely, won't you?”
In the end, the chamberlain had no choice but to leave the palace, leaving his prince behind, swallowing his tears like a man forced to take his medicine with mustard.
Having heard the whole story from beginning to end, Cantares clutched at his throbbing forehead.
“...And so you stayed behind in the Empire. Alone.”
“Yep! Well, not alone, technically. My personal staff will be arriving in the Empire shortly. I'll be traveling with them. Oh, right—keep it secret from the Kingdom! Father and my brothers don't know about them yet.”
To Cantares's flabbergasted question, Llewellyn answered with beaming innocence. Beside him stood Arendt, studiously pretending not to know anything and gazing off into the middle distance.
His head ached.
How on earth was he supposed to apologize to the Kingdom of Everan this time?
But the chief architect of this whole situation remained perfectly serene.
“Hey.”
“......”
“When the Crown Prince calls, you answer, you damnable apprentice knight.”
“What.”
Turning a man's stomach inside out with a single syllable was a talent, if nothing else. But Cantares summoned superhuman strength and swallowed his rage, gulp by gulp.
“And what exactly do you plan to do about all this?”
“I'll handle it. As I always do. So you needn't concern yourself.”
“That's right, Your Highness, pay it no mind. He's already treated as a half-disowned child back at the royal palace as it is. It won't even surprise you.”
“Your Highness Llewellyn, you keep quiet too.”
“Yes, sir.”
At a single word from Cantares, Llewellyn snapped his mouth shut at once.
When the Crown Prince's gaze returned to Arendt, the apprentice knight spoke up.
“How was the atmosphere?”
“It went—no, we went exactly as intended. Commander Laios is a full-fledged hero now, and everyone will be chattering about the evil god the moment they get home. Putting the dragon on display seems to have had quite a substantial effect.”
Telling the story of the evil god right in front of a dragon they'd hunted themselves—there wasn't a soul who could doubt it. After all, every visitor claimed to be a debtor of the founding Emperor, the Hero Cahn, and the God Luce.
Whatever their true intentions, for the time being they would have no choice but to stand with the Callion Empire.
“So what's the plan from here, Sir Arendt?”
“Plan? We keep moving, of course. I'll explain the details once the others arrive—”
Before Arendt could finish.
Knock, knock.
A polite knock sounded at the door.
“Ah, there they are.”
“Zereon, see who it is.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Zereon opened the door, the head of the Neumann Merchant Guild, Count Stadler, and one burly man stepped into the room.
“Neumann den East, presenting himself before His Highness the Crown Prince.”
“It's been a while, Guildmaster Neumann. And... that would be Warren, I take it?”
The man who had followed Neumann in—Warren—bowed his head respectfully.
“I don't know human etiquette very well. My apologies.”
“Not at all. I live face to face every day with a man who buried manners at the bottom of a sewer, so I'm quite used to it.”
When Cantares jerked his chin toward Arendt, Warren nodded with a look that said he understood completely.
Before long, Laios had joined them in the Crown Prince's office, and the meeting began in earnest.
“First, some introductions. This is Prince Llewellyn. I've had him brought here in his capacity as an explorer.”
“...Brought him. Respectfully? Knowing your personality?”
“There was a certain amount of threats exchanged, but no blood was shed. That counts as respectful, doesn't it?”
“That's not what that word means.”
When Warren asked skeptically, Arendt answered with utter shamelessness. Laios, listening quietly, called him out on it, but the damnable apprentice knight didn't even pretend to hear.
“And over there is Warren. A werewolf. I picked him up recently after he'd been abandoned, and handed him over to Guildmaster Neumann.”
“A werewolf?”
The prince reacted with predictable enthusiasm to the word.
“Why is there a werewolf in the imperial palace?”
“Because I picked him up. Anyway, that's not the important part.”
Arendt cut the topic off cleanly and swerved away.
“I'll get straight to the point. From this moment on, we need to find the Dragon's Lair.”
“What?”
“We need to find out where that oversized reptile makes its home.”
At the sudden declaration, no one could readily find their voice.
After a brief silence, Llewellyn spoke up gravely.
“Dragon lairs have certainly been discovered before. But nearly all of them were abandoned—either their owner had died or moved on. A lair with an actual dragon living in it has never been found.”
“Why is that?”
“Dragons are masters of magic. They typically wrap their dwellings in layers upon layers of concealment spells. Some don't even build an entrance at all—they just come and go by teleportation.”
“Hoh.”
Arendt nodded impassively.
“You're well informed, Your Highness. Then where are lairs usually discovered?”
“Huh? Well...”
Caught off guard by the abrupt question, Llewellyn paused for a moment, then began counting off on his fingers one by one.
“Mostly in remote mountains, or places with rich ore veins. Dragons supposedly favor spots where clean mana gathers. The records do mention dragon lairs beneath the sea, but that's territory humans can't trespass on.”
“I see.”
Arendt nodded lightly, then turned his gaze toward Count Stadler.
“There is one place like that, isn't there, Count?”
“......”
The Count couldn't bring himself to answer right away. The expressions of everyone else turned equally strange. The only ones who hadn't grasped the situation were Warren and Llewellyn, who had been chattering away until just moments ago.
“There is, isn't there.”
“There is.”
“Indeed.”
The words came in turn from Cantares, then Laios, then Zereon.
Llewellyn blinked dumbly, looking around at the assembled faces.
“It does? Whatever do you mean?”
“Well, I was only half sure myself, but a few of the conditions fit just a little too perfectly.”
Sweeping a hand over the back of his neck, Arendt listed them off in a calm voice.
“No separate entrance. A mine so saturated with mana it was overflowing to the point of excess. And ruins holding books and artifacts from before the war.”
“......”
“I'd say we overlooked something sitting right under our noses, wouldn't you?”
The magic crystal mine—once owned by the Cult of Cernion, and now home to Count Stadler's laboratory.