The Gullible Captain
After traveling for quite a while, they stopped briefly to rest—and an unexpected call came through.
— Hey, you still alive and kicking, or what?
"What, were you hoping I'd dropped dead somewhere?"
It was Llewellyn.
As soon as Arendt answered the call with that retort, snickering laughter drifted through the communication orb.
— Well, knowing your personality, it wouldn't surprise me one bit if you got stabbed somewhere.
"I'm busy, so cut the crap and get to the point."
— Fine, fine. Nothing major. I'm heading back to the kingdom for a bit.
"What business do you have in the kingdom? And did you turn up anything at the mine?"
— Nothing new, but looking at the overall structure, it's definitely an environment a dragon would take a liking to. Anything else, we'll just have to wait on the Count's analysis.
Clearly frustrated by the lack of progress, Llewellyn made a clicking sound with his tongue.
— I'm only going back to grab some equipment. Figured I'd stop by the royal archives while I'm at it, then link up with my men and really get moving.
"So where's your next destination?"
— The sea, for now. I'll fill you in on the details when I'm back.
"Suit yourself."
With that, the call ended.
The fact that everything was still quiet suggested the creatures' reach hadn't yet extended into the Everan Kingdom.
'I suppose that's something to be grateful for.'
Regardless of Llewellyn's situation, it would have been nice to hear that a lead on the new-type ghouls had turned up. But so far, no such signs had come from Neumann Merchant Guild, nor from Diana or Kendrick.
'Don't get impatient.'
Besides, there was always a chance they'd find a clue wherever they were headed now.
"We'll arrive in a few hours."
Just then, Laios spoke up, drawing the knights' eyes to himself.
"We've confirmed that after the ghoul who incited the people left the city, the captain of the Security Department has been acting as the de facto leader."
"So he's our target, then."
The city in question, after all, was far from the lord's castle and sparsely populated—barely the size of a large village.
Which meant word would spread fast once things started.
Arthur eyed his junior with a dubious frown.
"So what's the plan? You said you had a method, but you never actually explained it."
"Do you know when people get angriest?"
But the answer that came back was yet another bizarre non-sequitur.
As the party frowned at him like, what kind of nonsense is this now?, Arendt supplied the answer himself.
"When they realize that the thing they believed in with all their heart was a lie all along."
"......"
The sheer mischief on the face of the man saying this made all three of them instinctively blanch and take a subtle step backward.
Arendt flashed a bright, winsome smile.
"His Highness the Crown Prince did tell me to do whatever I wanted, you know? Apprentice or not, as one sworn to knighthood, I am obligated to follow the Crown Prince's orders—am I not?"
"......"
"......"
"......"
For the first time in his life, Cantares felt like an object of resentment.
Arendt's smile deepened further.
" Well then, let's have ourselves a bit of fun."
Fun.
There was not a chance in hell that word, coming out of this particular man's mouth, meant anything benign.
Arthur whispered to the commander beside him.
"What's gotten into him? Why's he suddenly turned into an unbroken colt?"
"Not suddenly. He's always been like this."
It was true there had been a few catalysts lately.
There was the Crown Prince's throw-up-his-hands remark—'Fine, go ahead and do as you please'—but Laios couldn't deny that his own words at the training grounds had played their part as well.
'I did say I'd take responsibility for it, didn't I...'
He had never once regretted anything he'd said in his life, but this, at least, made him wish he could take back his careless tongue.
Oblivious to his commander's inner turmoil—or aware of it and entirely indifferent to it—the apprentice knight began laying out the scenario he had devised.
A long while later, Richt asked dubiously:
"You really think something like that will actually work?"
"Why wouldn't it? You make it work."
Arendt said it with his hands on his hips, utterly shameless—but the knights' faces were filled with nothing but unease.
Granted... if things went according to plan, he would achieve his goal. But exactly one thought was gnawing at the knights' ankles:
Are we really allowed to do this?
And yet they had no better alternative. It was a moment that made them deeply skeptical of their own status as knights—men bound to do anything and everything for their lord.
Toward his seniors, lost in confusion, Arendt flashed that same silken grin once more.
"Come now, let's go raise some proper morale."
With that, he pulled a magic crystal from his pocket—prepared in advance.
He'd asked the imperial mages to ready it before they set out.
* * *
Everything was proceeding smoothly.
Late at night, Scott, captain of the Security Department, smiled in satisfaction as he surveyed the fully stocked armory.
"We'll reach the target quota before long."
"Another hard day's work, Captain."
His subordinate, who had been helping with the work beside him, bowed his head deeply, and Scott gave a light shake of his own.
"Hardly worth calling work. All of this is what's needed to usher in a new era."
At those words, the subordinate's lips curled into a faint smile as well.
Clapping the man on the shoulder, the captain gazed at the spears, blades, swords, and grain rations piled high within the warehouse and sank once more into his thoughts.
How much had he suffered to climb this far from commoner stock? He'd lamented a reality that never let him show what he was capable of, and despaired over it—dozens of times over.
In hard times, he had gone to the temple and prayed.
But his life never changed.
In the end, he had given up his dream of making it in the imperial capital and resigned himself to remaining Security Department captain in this backwater corner of the world.
'But that's all ancient history now.'
The cold midnight air brushing his cheeks breathed fresh courage into him.
Things would change now. They had to.
Luche, who had never once granted a single prayer, had no mercy or compassion to spare for commoners and the weak. He had left his own faithful to rot. Was it any wonder, then, that people abandoned their faith?
'Because I've found my true protector.'
The one true god. A merciful savior who watches over those steeped in darkness.
Toppling the imperial household with this city's strength alone was impossible. But as a starting point? Oh, it would do splendidly.
Once that was accomplished, 'They' would handle the rest.
'And this time, I will finally have my will.'
The preparations were drawing smoothly to a close. In two days, the banner of uprising could rise.
Just then, a sudden commotion broke out behind him.
Scott turned—and in the distance, at the far end of the darkened street, he could see his men dragging someone along.
The figure, arms seized by two of his men, was being hauled forward without even the strength to keep their limbs under them.
Scott narrowed his eyes, and one of his subordinates came hurrying to his side.
"He was moving fast toward the gate, so we grabbed him."
"Not a traveler?"
"No, sir, doesn't seem like it. A young man, still green... insists he must meet with you, Captain. What are your orders?"
Me?
Scott's brow creased.
"Bring him here."
"Yes, sir!"
At the order, the men dragged the young man up before him.
"Hey, let go! I said I can walk!"
As the distance closed, the urgent voice reached them. Suspended between his two captors, unable to hold himself upright, the young man did not look to be in particularly good shape.
Reaching the captain, the youth lifted his head.
Bright golden eyes, brimming with irritation, emerged into the moonlight. Even beneath a hood pulled low, it was plain the young man was more than ordinary-looking.
The Security Department captain's face twisted further.
'A handsome young thing, isn't he. Golden eyes, no less.'
Before 'He' departed, a strict warning had been left behind: the silver-haired, golden-eyed brat—an apprentice knight of the Imperial 3rd Knight Order—was to be dealt with by any means necessary.
'Could it be?'
Even knowing full well that a skilled agent of an imperial knight order would never be caught by a handful of lowly subordinates, a sliver of suspicion crept into his mind.
Scott yanked the hood clean off the young man's head.
Ordinary brown hair spilled forward. Grown out to the shoulders, evidently in some attempt at style, it was less well-kept than wild—an untamed, bedraggled mess.
"Would you be the captain of the Security Department?"
Only now did the youth—twenty years old at most—ask anxiously with an unlined face.
He was visibly straining to keep his legs under him, and clearly failing to manage even his own body... No matter how he looked at him, the youth was nothing more, and nothing less, than the sort of boy you'd pass a dozen of in any market square.
"Release him."
At Scott's command, his wary subordinates cautiously let the young man go.
The youth swayed for a moment, then drew himself up straight and squared his posture. But with breath packed to the very bottom of his lungs, there was nothing he could do about his heaving chest, and it took a long moment of panting before he could finally speak.
"Hah... I heard that those who serve the God of Darkness were gathered here."
At that single sentence, the captain and his men's eyes went wide.
"...You. Where did you hear that name?"
When the captain growled menacingly, the young man started and waved both hands rapidly.
"Don't misunderstand. I too am a servant of Lord Cernion. I ran all this way because I have an urgent message."
Cernion had lately taken to being called the Evil God. And yet this fellow had spoken those exact words—God of Darkness—without hesitation.
Scott studied the young man closely.
The handsome face carried an air of unspoiled, artless innocence.
A single sword hung at his hip, but it radiated about as much menace as a pile of cat droppings, and his slight frame made him look anything but strong.
'He doesn't seem to be lying, at any rate.'
Little by little, the captain let his guard slip.
As if he'd been waiting for exactly that, the young man spoke quickly.
"Some time ago, a priest of ours stayed here briefly before moving on."
"A priest?"
"He probably never announced himself as one, but he's someone who received a special power from Lord Cernion. From what I understand, he preached the god's word while he was staying here."
As he said this, the young man made no attempt to hide his impatience.
Scott nodded along, half in a daze.
"Do you happen to know where he was headed?"
"No, I don't. He didn't tell us either. ...Wait, why do you want to know?"
When Scott's voice sharpened again, the young man hurriedly pressed on.
"The situation has deteriorated. The dogs of that treacherous Emperor—the imperial knights—have caught wind of his existence and begun their pursuit."
"...!"
"A pursuit squad has already been assembled to arrest him, but word isn't reaching us properly, so I came racing after him."
'A pursuit squad? Why? We sealed every mouth to make sure nothing leaked!'
"Then don't tell me—!"
"He was an informer. After witnessing the destruction of that Luce bastard's statue, he panicked and reported it."
The young man, who had been rattling off his words rapid-fire without pausing for breath, abruptly staggered as though a wave of dizziness had struck him.
Scott grabbed his shoulder in alarm.
"What's wrong? Are you injured?"
"No, I'm fine. I've simply been pushing myself hard to get here... I haven't properly slept in days."
"Then come stay at my house. I'll at least give you some water."
"Thank you. I have a great deal more to tell you anyway, Captain."
With a pallid face that bore not the slightest trace of malice or hidden agenda, the young man—Arendt von Eckhart—smiled with guileless warmth.