The veteran's One Strike
At the sudden turn of events, the guests began screaming and fleeing in every direction. The waiters, who had been diligently carrying food only moments before, threw down their plates and scattered in terror.
Only two people remained in the restaurant now: Arendt and Crow.
"A fraud, you say. Weren't you the fraud here, Sir Arendt von Eckhart?"
"Getting called a swindler by an actual cultist—what an honor."
Arendt brushed off his clothes and curled the corner of his mouth into a smirk.
There was nothing left to say.
Crow yanked the dagger free from the table and raised a pitch-black blade aura along the sword in his other hand.
"……!"
At the sight of an aura unlike anything he'd seen before, Arendt's face stiffened for an instant. But he had little time to spare for composure—Crow had already kicked off the floor and come charging at him.
Kaaaang!
A blade sheathed in white frost met one wreathed in black mist head-on, and the two sprang apart.
Arendt steadied himself immediately, twisted his body, and swung a heavy slash toward the enemy's torso. That blow, too, was deflected with ease.
They said even that unfinished ghoul was a match for trained knights.
Being the finished product, it seemed to possess power beyond anything he had imagined.
Crow's face contorted as he glanced at the frost clinging to the surface of his own blade.
"How dare you wield holy matter against our order."
"Finders keepers. This thing's far happier being used by me, anyway."
As Arendt pushed his mana harder, an intense chill coiled around him, and open mockery settled over his golden eyes, gone cold as ice.
"Or how about you check with that rag-doll body of yours just how well your precious holy matter performs?"
"……."
A low grinding sound rose from beneath the deep hood, and then Crow came at him savagely once more.
Arendt ducked low to slip past the attack and hurled a chair that happened to be within his reach.
Crow reflexively sliced the incoming chair apart—and only then, realizing his mistake, hastily looked around. In that single instant, he had lost sight of Arendt entirely.
"……!"
The next attack came from behind.
He managed to deflect the strike, but with no time to raise an aura, the dagger was swallowed by white frost in the blink of an eye.
A glacial cold closed in around him.
The primal warning that his arm would freeze next forced him to throw the dagger away. Abandoned on the floor, it crumbled to pieces, unable to withstand the cold.
Crow stared at Arendt in disbelief.
Since receiving this body, he had believed no ordinary fight could ever push him back—and yet he had been pushed back.
By a mere apprentice knight, hardly more than a child?
White mist, out of place with the season, bloomed around the young knight's lips.
When the stunned fanatic met his gaze, Arendt let out a snort of laughter.
"What's the matter? Too handsome for you to handle?"
"What?"
Crow's momentary bewilderment at the absurd remark ended the second Arendt kicked off the floor toward him again, forcing him into a desperate block.
Even in a fight where each was aiming for the other's life, the man showed not the slightest tremor or tension.
That was not the composure a young knight ought to be capable of.
Meeting those golden eyes, empty of any feeling at all, made something in Crow's chest crawl with dread.
The man was not treating him as an enemy who had to be killed—rather, as a curious insect pinned to a dissection table.
One thing, at least, was certain.
Arendt von Eckhart was a force even Crow, with this body bestowed upon him, could not fully handle.
Damn it.
Of course, if he wagered his life, he could probably manage to drag the man down with him.
Offering his life for Cernion held no fear whatsoever—but here, now, at this man's hands, he could not afford to die.
Having reached his conclusion, Crow slid one foot back, pivoted, and abruptly bolted for the door.
"Where do you think you're running!"
Arendt lunged after him, but a table hurled by Crow came flying straight at his face, forcing him to swerve aside.
Seizing the opening, Crow sprinted toward the door, already half-shattered from the crowd's panicked exodus.
But when he burst out into the warm glow of the evening sunset, he had no choice but to freeze in his tracks.
"That didn't take long to break you."
The old knight guarding the entrance said it flatly, tossing the words out like nothing.
Crow knew him at a glance.
Kendrick von Leandros, Commander of the Imperial 1st Knight Order. Standing at his sides were Laios and Diana.
The restaurant was already surrounded, perfectly, by the imperial knights.
"……."
Crow had unconsciously stumbled backward—then snapped to his senses at the bored voice behind him.
"With minimal damage, please. You understand?"
"I know."
Shiiing.
A blade slid free of Kendrick's scabbard.
A beat too late, Crow raised his weapon to respond—but Kendrick's sword was already parting the flesh of his throat.
Crow's world went dark in an instant.
* * *
The ghoul collapsed like a broken doll.
Not a single drop of blood flowed from the severed neck or the deep stab wound in its chest.
Kendrick slid his sword back into its scabbard and frowned down at the corpse.
"One thing is clear—it was no living human."
"Allow me a moment to examine it."
Laios stepped forward and pulled back the robe covering the body.
It was hard to believe this thing had been walking and fighting mere seconds ago; not a trace of warmth remained anywhere in the corpse.
"Apart from a few unusual features, it seems almost identical to a human."
"That's how it looks to me as well. We'll need to request a full autopsy from the Count's laboratory."
The face revealed only after the head had been severed was scarred all over, like a patched rag doll. Arendt strolled outside at a leisurely pace, yawning.
"It was decently strong, I guess. For an ordinary knight, a one-on-one would've been a bit of a headache."
"You did well."
Once Crow's location had been confirmed, the decision to have Arendt engage him first rather than storming in with force had been made deliberately—to observe the creature's behavior firsthand.
It was the conclusion reached after a heated strategy session with the other commanders.
Capturing him alive had been abandoned early on. His position might be tracked, and there was no telling what catastrophe might follow from carrying such a thing, living, into the imperial palace.
So this was the compromise they had struck.
By deploying Arendt, whose talent for observing human beings was almost uncanny.
It's still a far cry from how the imperial knights usually operate, though.
Arendt looked down indifferently at Crow, whose life had been snuffed out, rolling on the ground like a block of firewood.
Even against an enemy, mocking an opponent who had crossed blades with you was hardly knightly conduct. Digging a trap, deliberately luring a foe into flight, and dispatching him—some would call that toying with your enemy.
Or perhaps, just maybe, something had begun to shift in the knights' rigid way of thinking.
"I saw something strange in the mana while we fought."
"Mana?"
At Arendt's words, the knights' attention converged on him.
"Yes, sir. A deeply unpleasant feeling... it's probably still lingering on the corpse. Something nearly black—it looked like thick smoke, or fog."
"Black fog, you say..."
Kendrick narrowed his brow, murmuring as though rifling through his memories, then shook his head.
"I've never heard of mana in that form, let alone faced it."
"Then it would be a mana unique to the Cult of Cernion... or perhaps, it might even be called divine power."
Laios added.
The divine power of Cernion.
The knights' faces soured in an instant.
Laios shook his head as if to shake off the dark thought, then spoke again.
"Arendt, when you return to the palace, you'll write up a report and submit it."
"That's a pain."
"I'll give you a day off in exchange, so no complaining. Do it."
In any case, every objective had been accomplished.
The city was safe, no uprising had broken out, and the corpse of a new-type ghoul had been secured.
Now it was time to head back.
* * *
For all his grumbling about the hassle, Arendt—tidy-minded as he was—submitted a flawless report in exactly one day.
But the one who delivered it was not Arendt himself. It was Richt, who had come in his place.
"What brings Sir Richt here?"
"He has the day off today. He said he had business and went out."
Richt answered the puzzled Cantares crisply.
"You knights have it rough, running errands for an apprentice."
"……."
Richt found himself unable to answer the Crown Prince's teasing.
"Where's he dashing off to this time, the moment he gets back?"
"He said something had caught his interest, and that he was going to see Priestess Lumiel."
Lumiel was hardly someone who could be met with easily, and yet she always showed Arendt a soft, indulgent attitude.
Though, in truth, she was far from the only person who yielded to Arendt.
"Fine, whatever—but tell him not to visit the Great Temple too often. If he catches High Priest Theodore's eye, it won't end well."
"I've told him much the same myself. He says they'll meet elsewhere instead."
No doubt they planned to meet at the Crown Prince's secret hideout—Lawrence's restaurant. There, no eyes would find them.
"I didn't tell him to use it like that."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing. Never mind."
Brushing it off vaguely, Cantares turned his attention to reading the report.
Emotional expression and communication are clearly organized and coherent; intelligence estimated at or above that of an educated human.
Movements are fluid, showing agility and strength comparable to a trained knight; however, a tendency to rely on vision during combat suggests the possibility of partially degraded senses.
Recovery from stab and slash wounds is possible, but permanent injuries such as burns or frostbite appear difficult or impossible to repair.
Having read that far, Cantares murmured with a queasy expression.
"...You said the fight lasted barely a few minutes. How can he observe this much from that alone?"
"The sword reveals a great deal. For studying fine habits and movements, nothing rivals a bout."
Came the stiff, perfectly knightly reply from Richt.
"And human observation is one of the things Arendt does best."
Yes—he had most certainly traded his temper for competence.
Richt hesitated, glancing at the Crown Prince's expression, then asked his question.
"That is... have you received a report on the matter of the city...?"
"I have. Nearly fainted when I heard it, but a man has to stand behind the words that come out of his mouth."
Cantares grumbled, his eyes still fixed on the report.
"I never imagined for a moment he'd resolve it like that. For now, the official announcement will be that it was a fraud committed by an impersonator."
"You do not intend to link it to the riots in other countries?"
"Not for now. They won't take it at face value either, I'm sure."
With several nations having had entire villages, even whole cities, devastated, the wiser course was to bury the news that things had gone well here as quietly as possible.
Arendt's method was hardly something anyone could easily replicate...
And even that had only limited the damage because he had moved so quickly—a little later, and the city would have gone up in flames.
To quell the migraine that had been visiting him so often lately, Cantares pressed hard at his temples.
Every time he suddenly grasped the reality hidden beneath Arendt's outrageous exploits, a chill ran through him. Without the man's meddling, the slightest misstep could easily have spiraled into a crisis capable of toppling the Empire itself.
"You've worked hard again, knights. Pass along everything we just discussed to Laios as well. You're dismissed."
"Yes, I'll take my leave."
Richt bowed neatly and stepped out of the office, and Cantares sank back into thought.
If something like this happened again, stopping it the same way would be impossible.
But surely another answer could be found.
He thought of the card that had recently landed in his hand—Prince Llewellyn.
The Neumann Merchant Guild, Count Stadler, the imperial knights, and the explorer Prince Llewellyn... perhaps even Arendt himself. Around that insolent apprentice knight, a strange web of connections had formed, and there had to be an efficient way to put it to use.
And the one who had to find that way was none other than the Crown Prince of the Callion Empire.
A Crown Prince could hardly keep being carried along by his subordinates forever, after all.
This was a matter of pride.
The eyes of Cantares, deep in deliberation, settled into a calm and steady stillness.