Hello, Swindler
By the time Scott barely managed to claw his way back to consciousness, the entire affair was already over and done with.
While Arendt had been delivering his fiery tirade to the captain of the guard, the knights had dispatched word to the Security Department and the lord of the nearest city, requesting reinforcements. The lord, terrified of being saddled with a charge of treason, had scrambled his soldiers together and come galloping at full speed. And while the lord and the local guards busied themselves with the cleanup, the knights quietly returned everything Arendt and Arthur had "borrowed."
The grain collected as war provisions was set back where it belonged, and the weapons were converted into coin and handed over as compensation, just in case any trouble arose later. Word that a brown-haired, golden-eyed swindler had been safely apprehended came free of charge on top.
The thoroughly shattered statue of the god, for its part, was to be collected by the temple.
Surprisingly, none of the knights raised much objection to Arendt's insistence that the statue had to be destroyed completely. They had judged that pulverizing it into dust beat leaving it standing there, defaced and covered top to bottom in graffiti.
Thanks to that, Arendt had been able to smash the enormous idol to pieces without any real interference.
His motive had been a little different from theirs, of course.
Had the statue been left as it was, Arendt would never have escaped a charge of blasphemy, victims of the fraud or not. But if the statue had been destroyed by the con man himself, the story changed entirely.
And so, with the fictional swindler now officially under arrest, the blasphemy issue no longer had a leg to stand on. The lord who had rushed over to manage the mess, the knights, even the victims themselves — all of them saw nothing more than a case of grand fraud. The only person who knew the whole truth of it was the captain of the guard, Scott.
Scott still sat slumped on the warehouse floor, hollow-eyed and vacant. Even having recovered from his faint, the shock clearly hadn't worn off in the slightest.
"Well, at least his memory seems intact. That's a relief."
"Are you heartless or what? You look at that state he's in and call it a relief?"
As Arthur recoiled in disgust, Arendt waved a dismissive hand.
"A fool paying off the karma for his own idiocy is just the natural order of things. If he couldn't even remember what he'd done, there'd be no fun in grinding him down at all. Isn't that right, old man?"
"……"
Even when the young man — not half Scott's age — prodded him with the toe of his boot, Scott remained on his knees, glaring at nothing but the floor.
It was only natural. He'd gotten in over his head preparing an act of treason without a shred of real ability, taken a brutal blow to the back of the head, and woken back to his senses only to find himself staring straight into a tiger's den all over again.
Besides… in Arendt's hand at this very moment sat a recording stone containing the full, unedited conversation between Scott and himself — held aloft like a trophy of victory. Should that ever find its way to the imperial palace, Scott would be a dead man walking.
"You should count yourself lucky. If it weren't for me, everyone in this city would've been lined up for execution on your account."
"……"
"What's this? No answer?"
"……Th-thank you."
Pale to the point of being pitiful, the captain of the guard barely managed the words.
Judging by the sight of him, it was safe to assume the artifact's effects had worn off completely.
Richt let out a short sigh. "We managed to resolve things this time, but we can't keep staging spectacles like this every single occasion."
"Agreed. Still, word that a con man is on the loose will spread fast enough, so it should serve as some measure of prevention."
Making a man into a laughingstock worked far better than planting fear in him. Fear could sometimes curdle into awe, but ridicule drew only more ridicule.
"I've ordered the knights of the territory to administer the city for the time being," Laios said. "In case those people attempt any reprisal."
"Then we're done here… Hey, old man. You really don't have any idea where that con man went?"
"The con man is a kn—"
"What was that?"
"Nothing! Forgive me! A slip of the tongue!"
The words had slipped out of Scott's mouth before he could stop them, and he slammed his forehead into the floor with a resounding crack.
Watching a scene where Arendt looked for all the world like the villain of the piece, the knights grew a shade more disgruntled still.
"Spill everything you know. What garbage talk he used to sweet-talk you people into betrayal, what he looked like, what he was wearing — if nothing else, at least tell me what the bastard ate."
"Y-yes, sir!"
Scott nodded frantically and began spilling his words in a panicked rush.
"Him… no, no, I beg your pardon, a slip of the tongue. The man first appeared about two months ago. One day he showed up out of nowhere calling himself a traveler, took a room at the village inn, and gradually worked his way in among the townsfolk."
"Go on."
"He was covered in scars, so at first we took him for a mercenary. Thinking back on it, even for a man who made his living off battlefields, he had far too many wounds… But he was friendly, always quick with a smile, and he got along well with the residents."
Now and then he would even head out beyond the city to hunt beasts or monsters and bring the kills back as gifts for the captain of the guard.
That was how, slowly and patiently, he bought the goodwill of the people — until one day, he summoned Scott for a grave and earnest conversation.
"He asked me whether I thought this country was in its right mind. That's what he said."
Scott muttered with his gaze fixed on the ground.
"We'd had a drink or two by then, and I went and said something foolish. I'm common-born, so I never got my chance to rise in the world. I had dreams of my own, once… And somewhere in all that talk, I first heard the name Cernion."
"And then?"
"Of course I was shocked. I knew the imperial family had been trying to root them out for years. But then the innkeeper showed up, and the two of them pressed me together."
It wasn't as though the city had ever been prosperous. The soil was too poor for farming, the town sat far off any traveler's route, and it had no peculiar specialty to its name.
No one was starving, exactly, but survival meant backbreaking labor in a land of blowing dust.
"He told me the world was unjust — but that Lord Cernion would set the social order right again. That Lord Cernion was a god who looked after the weak, those who couldn't see the light in the darkness… I fell for it."
Scott seemed to have surrendered to it all now, his voice drained of strength as he went on.
"After that, as you already know, I began following him. Most of the residents came over quickly as well. We all pooled our money together and stockpiled weapons and grain."
"When did the man leave?"
"Not long after the one who came to administer our baptism departed. I truly don't know where he went."
There was nothing in the account that contradicted what the knights already knew.
Arthur groaned and raked his fingers through his hair. "And just like that, an entire city flips sides over nothing more than that?"
"The human heart is a strange thing. Infinitely strong, and infinitely weak."
Richt, a devout believer, nodded gravely as he added the words.
The apprentice knight had settled himself into the single chair in the room, arms crossed, deep in thought.
Scott kept sneaking glances at him, cautiously reading his mood, and Arendt's brow creased slightly.
There's someone behind this, isn't there.
Another researcher stepping in to replace Count Stadler, and now a dragon. Unwelcome variables kept surfacing one after another, and it grated on his nerves.
He was rewriting a plot with no hope in it one improvised scene at a time, so a certain amount of distortion in the scenario was unavoidable. But having settings that were never in the script come popping out of the woodwork was deeply unbecoming of a professional actor.
"Anything else you can tell me?"
"No, sir! That's everything, I swear!"
"Then out with it while I'm still asking nicely. Squeeze out the last drop of that memory. Do you have any idea what I went through because of you?"
Scott, now on the verge of outright sobbing, cried out in a panic.
"Th-the name! Right! I remember now!"
"What? You said just now that you didn't know it."
"I never heard it directly! But — the one who came to perform the baptism — I overheard that person calling him by name!"
He had somehow managed to wring the memory out of himself after all.
Arendt gave a slow nod. "He was called Cr-Crow. I caught a bit of the two of them talking."
"Crow?"
Nothing about it rang a bell — it seemed the name had never been mentioned in The Blue Knight of the Sacred Sword either.
"Tch."
Casting one last glance at the guard captain, who was now entirely beyond saving, Arendt let out a short sigh and rose briskly to his feet. There was nothing left to gain from grinding the man further.
And true to form, Arthur — enlightened in an entirely different sense by now — asked, "Done with him?"
"Yes. Let's move out. We've wasted more than enough time as it is."
"Wh-what? You're… leaving?"
When the dazed Scott asked in alarm, Arendt flashed a smile sharp enough to cut and answered.
"We're going to catch the man who ran, obviously. What, are you going to miss me? Wanted to spend a little more quality time together, did you?"
"N-no! It's not that! It's only… even if you mean to pursue him…"
Scott trailed off, evasive.
No one had the faintest idea where Crow had vanished to, and he couldn't begin to imagine where they planned to go by setting out right that instant.
Reading the thought right off his face, Arendt clicked his tongue.
"Who do you take for fools?"
"…Sir?"
"The imperial knight orders are stiff-necked enough that their backsides are glued to their chairs, but they're nowhere near as incompetent as all that."
Word had already arrived that Diana and Kendrick had picked up the man's trail. A faster result, even, than Declan, who had been moving since long before any of them.
"Drop the part about their backsides being glued to their chairs."
"You're not disputing the stiff-necked bit anymore, I notice."
"……"
Having added one comment too many and come out of it with nothing to show for it, Richt simply shut his mouth.
Laios, too, exhaled a short sigh and walked over to Scott.
"You've endured humiliation enough. You'll face no separate punishment. The valuables that man embezzled have all been returned to your home as well — but should anything turn up missing, contact the imperial knights. You will be compensated."
"Yes… sir."
"And one more thing."
To Scott, still nodding along in a daze, Laios left a final warning.
"The recording stone will be retained among the evidence, stored separately. There will be no next time. Conduct yourself with care."
"……"
The weight behind those words froze the captain of the guard solid where he knelt.
Laios held him in his sunken gaze for a long moment, then turned his back.
"We move."
"Yes, sir!"
Arthur and Richt answered in crisp unison, and Arendt — hands buried deep in his pockets — sauntered along behind them without a care in the world.
Crow had not yet settled on his next destination.
Seated in a crowded tavern, he chewed on his meat while carefully scanning the seething crowd around him.
Not here, either.
Operating openly was difficult in a region this densely populated. The risk of failure was far too high — and lately, with the alert order in effect, people everywhere had grown warier by the day.
Worse still, the exploits of the imperial knights, led by Laios de Winfreed of the 3rd Knight Order, were spreading throughout the empire, and an atmosphere of hostility toward the Cult of Cernion was steadily taking shape.
Vile wretches.
Crunch. The sound of his molars meeting came unbidden.
He had heard, in full detail, what had become of the city where he'd been staying. The operation had collapsed, and the very people who had prayed alongside him were now cursing Cernion as nothing but a fraud and a thief.
Even his blessing proved useless.
The name of Cernion had been dragged through the mud yet again by those people's doing.
None of it matched the way the imperial knight order conducted its business — and it bore the temple of Luce's fingerprints even less. The one who had masterminded the whole affair was, without question, that thorn in the imperial knights' side… the apprentice knight of the 3rd Imperial Knight Order.
Arendt von Eckhart.
Within the cult, that name had become a curse in itself.
Choked with frustration, Crow closed his eyes slowly, then opened them again.
And in that very instant, he felt a presence right in front of him.
"Mind if I join you?"
The tavern had filled to capacity without his noticing, and now a young man in a rough, worn-out robe had seated himself across the table uninvited.
Not that something this trivial could crack his composure.
Letting a faint smile settle over his face, Crow inclined his head. "Of course."
"Much obliged."
The young man tossed the words out in a tone that carried not a shred of gratitude, and a server set a drink down before him.
He drained his portion in one go and slammed the empty cup down with a bang.
"The world's gotten altogether too turbulent lately, hasn't it?"
"I think so as well. Bad news never stops coming."
Crow answered evenly and wet his own throat with a swallow of drink.
Their eyes met.
"……"
For all the smile on the young man's lips, his eyes were cold and utterly still as they stared back. Beneath the hood that shadowed his face, golden eyes glinted.
Crow set his cup down gently and spoke in a low voice. "I take it you have no intention of hiding who you are."
"Afraid not."
The reply came back light and easy, as if the whole situation were simply entertaining. And in the same breath, a dagger flashed like a bolt of lightning and hurtled straight for the young man.
Crunch!
The blade buried itself in the tabletop where the young man's hand had been a heartbeat before, and Crow was already drawing his next weapon, pressing the attack without pause.
The sword grazed past by a hair's breadth and shredded the young man's hood.
The young man — absurdly, outrageously handsome — leapt backward and cast off the robe without a second thought. Hair of gleaming silver caught the tavern's dim light and blazed.
"Hello there, swindler."
The grin spreading across his face looked for all the world like open mockery.