Episode 15, Part 4: Life Is Swift and Kind
Cleaning up didn't take long.
The other knights, acting on Laios's orders, handled Betchel's corpse, and everyone who had been at the scene was found and dragged off to the Imperial Palace before they even came to.
Just as Arendt had predicted, they'd learned absolutely nothing from them.
All the captives did was babble the same nonsense over and over, unable to remember even their own names.
"So what happens to those guys?"
"No idea. Sounds like the higher-ups are tearing their hair out over it, so they'll handle it however they see fit. Not our business."
Arendt and Arthur stood facing each other in the training grounds.
By now, the situation had become fairly familiar to the both of them.
The other knights nearby, apparently no longer fazed by the two squaring off, were pretending very hard not to watch.
A large bandage was plastered across Arthur's cheek, but beyond that, they both looked perfectly presentable.
Having confirmed that none of his fellow knights were paying them any real attention, Arthur lowered his voice.
"Hey, more importantly... what were you talking about with that guy?"
"Hm?"
"Don't play innocent, you brat. Right before I got there, you were having a serious conversation with him. Something about 'having to reclaim' it, wasn't it?"
Tsk.
Arendt clicked his tongue. Even in the chaos of rushing into that fight, it seemed Arthur had heard exactly what he needed to hear.
Arthur pressed on. "It has something to do with what you took off Betchel after you killed him, doesn't it?"
"Well... you could say that."
Arendt gave a lazy nod.
Even as they talked, the two of them drew their wooden sparring swords and widened the distance between each other.
"You're not going to explain in detail?"
"Even if I did, you wouldn't get it."
"You really wanna die?"
"I'll have to decline. Unlike some people, I don't have a hobby of dying a dramatic death."
The hand gripping Arthur's sword tightened. One more poke, Arendt figured, and he'd get to watch Arthur come at him for real, guns blazing.
The moment Arendt opened his mouth to do exactly that, a voice abruptly cut in between them.
"Quiet. Don't make a pointless ruckus in the training grounds."
Arendt and Arthur both turned their heads toward the voice at the same time—and upon seeing who it was, Arthur's brow twitched.
"...Senior Knight Licht."
A knight in an immaculate uniform was walking toward them. He had the kind of handsome face that looked like it had been carved by a sculptor, with neatly swept blond hair and piercing, frost-blue eyes.
"I hear you came slinking back in disgrace a few days ago. Barely saved your own neck, all thanks to some fool who abandoned his post at the palace."
Everything from his measured gait to his perfectly straight posture marked him, unmistakably, as a knight from a strict noble house.
Arendt recognized him a beat too late.
Ah. Licht von Crisanta.
If Arthur was the most human member of this knight order, then that man was the one who imposed dignity and discipline in all the places Laios's hands couldn't quite reach.
Licht, like Arendt, came from a noble family. A house that had produced knights for generations, he'd followed the textbook elite path all the way into the knight order itself.
And for all that, his relationship with his family isn't supposed to be great.
Where Arthur had earned Laios's trust with his clean, efficient work and his occasional flexibility, Licht supported Laios with his unbending integrity and leadership.
Because of their clashing temperaments, the two often butted heads—though since Arthur was several years Licht's junior, it was mostly Arthur taking the one-sided scolding.
The moment Licht planted himself in front of them, Arthur lowered his sword and dipped his head in a bow.
Arendt, however, simply lifted his eyes and stared straight at him.
Right on cue, Licht's face crumpled slightly.
"What's with that expression?"
"The expression of someone looking at a senior knight he respects. Why, is there a problem?"
Arendt met his gaze with shameless composure. Their eyes locked, and Licht's eyebrows gave a twitch.
"That insolent mouth of yours never learns, does it. I'll overlook it once, but there won't be a second time."
"Overlook what? Oh—I suppose my face is a little too handsome for you. Feel free to keep looking."
Arendt saw Arthur's jaw drop open beside him, but naturally, he paid it no mind. He went one step further, crossing his arms and tilting his head with a perfectly blank expression.
"Or what—did you come over here to scold me for hanging around with a traitorous bastard? 'He's a bad boy, don't play with him~' Something like that?"
"Hey—hey!"
Horrified, Arthur grabbed Arendt by the shoulder. Arendt brushed the hand off with a flick.
Licht's face was now completely contorted.
Arendt flashed a thin smile and added one more jab.
"How unbecoming of a pillar of society."
"..."
The hand clutching Licht's scabbard was trembling.
Arendt observed the man's rapidly shifting expression with detached eyes. Just as he'd expected—because Licht was so rigidly upright, his anger toward a disrespectful little punk apparently burned extra hot.
Back when he read The Blue Knight of the Sacred Sword, Arendt had actually been quite fond of Licht as a character. Cool-headed, sharp... and above all, a man of justice who was always the first to step forward in a dangerous situation.
But right now, there was no need to avoid a fight that was walking itself over to him.
Licht had approached under the pretense of talking to Arthur, but for a while now, his eyes had been fixed squarely on Arendt alone.
Licht issued one more warning. "I believe I said there would be no second time."
"And if you don't overlook it? What then—are you planning to personally pass judgment on a matter the Commander already declined to pursue?"
"You lunatic—shut your mouth!"
Arthur, aghast, snatched Arendt by the back of his neck.
"Ghk."
"Senior Knight, I apologize. I'll take responsibility in his place—"
"That's right. Guiding an apprentice knight onto the proper path is one of my duties as well."
Licht cut Arthur off mid-sentence and shot a glare at Arendt.
Shaking off Arthur's grip one more time, Arendt took a single deliberate step forward and locked eyes with him in a silent stare-down.
As the commotion grew, the other knights began to sidle over, gathering around.
Arendt stole a quick glance sideways, gauging the mood of the crowd.
Licht's voice followed. "I heard you left the palace without permission the other night. You followed Arthur, who'd been given a separate order—is that correct?"
"Yes, sir."
Arendt nodded, insolent as ever. Arthur's face went stiff.
"Senior Knight, that was—"
"The Commander appears to have let it slide, but as your senior, I cannot."
Licht silenced him with one icy look. His brow furrowed even deeper.
"Looked at generously, this would be for your own good. We've let you off the hook all this time for being young, and look—the very thing we feared has happened."
"..."
"You were lucky enough to survive. Don't squander the second chance you've been given."
For someone with such a famously taciturn image, Licht was surprisingly talkative.
Which meant he was angrier than words alone could contain.
Arendt regarded him with utter indifference. "And?"
That attitude appeared to inflame Licht even further. His voice dropped into a low growl.
"Arendt. I see not a single sign of remorse in you. Arthur, whom you've been clinging to lately, is spineless, and the Commander is hardly idle enough to tutor you personally—which leaves me with no choice but to step in myself."
"Senior Knight!"
"Well, that's not bad at all. If a very dignified senior knight is willing to teach me a thing or two, I certainly won't refuse."
Arthur hurriedly tried to intervene as the situation spiraled, but this time it was Arendt who cut him off.
"Though I have my doubts about whether those lessons will be worth anything."
"What...?"
Licht was rapidly moving past anger into sheer bewilderment. Even if Arendt were overflowing with talent, he was no match for Licht.
And yet Arendt went a step further, digging his elbow pointedly into Arthur's ribs.
"Senior, quit stalling. Hand that over to Senior Knight Licht."
"Huh?"
Ardor answering like a fool, Arthur belatedly looked down at the wooden sword in his own hands. Irritated, Licht clicked his tongue and held out his hand toward him. The meaning was clear.
In the end, Arthur could only let out a long, heavy sigh and surrender the practice sword.
"Senior, you were curious about that thing earlier, right?"
"What?"
Arendt dropped the line out of nowhere. Loosening up his body, he tossed out the rest carelessly.
"I won't explain the details, but I'll let you watch."
"What did you just say?"
Arendt's words left Arthur utterly dumbfounded—but by then, Arendt was already briskly trotting toward the center of the training grounds, trailing behind Licht.
And this was the real reason Arendt had doubled Licht's provocation and sent it right back at him.
There was something he'd been meaning to test, after all.
At the sudden duel, the knights formed a loose ring around the two of them. Arthur, bewildered, had no choice but to squeeze into the crowd as well.
"Time to fix that attitude of his."
"Surviving the tribunal made him far too full of himself."
Such mutters drifted through the gathered knights.
Arthur thought: he isn't full of himself. He's always been like this.
Though I'd be lying if I said he doesn't seem a little more unhinged than he was before he got thrown in that cell.
Arthur watched the two of them with mounting anxiety.
Arendt and Licht faced each other at a measured distance. Licht looked genuinely furious from head to toe.
"The world is far wider than you think. There are people better than you in endless supply. Keep that in mind."
Arendt didn't bother to respond. He simply urged Licht on with casual indifference.
"Aren't you going to start?"
"...Don't come crying to me when you find my hand too heavy. If this becomes a problem afterward, I will personally beg the Commander's forgiveness."
Finally abandoning his reason entirely, Licht growled savagely.
And in that moment, Arthur caught a subtle smile flickering across Arendt's face.
The past few days flashed through his mind. The East Vault affair. The sparring matches they'd had almost daily since. And then, just last night—the fight against Betchel.
In a routine practice match, Arthur could subdue Arendt without much effort. But Arendt facing down an enemy was a different animal altogether.
They hadn't spent that much time actually talking, but it had been more than enough for Arthur to get a read on his insolent junior. And the thing Arendt was best at, in any given situation, was—
"Drawing attention and scrambling their focus, setting traps, hitting them from behind..."
Not to mention that casually dropped line from moments ago. Something about showing them something.
"Arthur, what did you say?"
"Sh-shouldn't somebody stop this?"
Arthur's muttered words had escaped his lips without thinking, and the knight next to him took the bait. But Arthur couldn't bring himself to answer.
At this rate, the one bleeding in this match wasn't going to be Arendt—
The thought reached its conclusion, and Arthur's face went white as a sheet.
"WOOOAAAH!"
"Senior Knight Licht! Break that brat's pride for him!"
The moment the knights' cheers erupted, Licht and Arendt kicked off the ground and lunged at each other.
Under normal circumstances, Licht wouldn't have unleashed a full assault on a young junior—but with his blood boiling, he had absolutely no intention of holding back this time.
"I'll make you regret it!"
Licht raised his sword to bring it crashing down on Arendt's shoulder, already within arm's reach—and in that exact instant, Arendt vanished from before his eyes.
"...?!"
Licht's eyes flew wide open.
WHAM!
The sword cleaved violently through empty air.
Licht scrambled to find Arendt. At some point, his opponent had already put a safe distance between them, sword raised.
The exact same movement Licht had just made.
Without a moment's hesitation, Arendt brought his sword down.
CRAAACK!
The two blades slammed together.
And then, a beat later—
CRUNCH.
A sound like something snapping rang out across the suddenly silent training grounds.
"..."
Not a single soul dared to open their mouth.
Even Licht, it seemed, couldn't yet grasp what had just happened.
Arendt slowly straightened his stance.
Then he rested his wooden sword across his shoulder.
"The world is far wider than you think, Senior."
Thud.
Only now did the two severed halves of Licht's practice sword drop to the ground.
Licht barely managed to drag his frozen gaze over to Arendt. Meeting the man's eyes, Arendt added, with perfect composure and a perfectly plain delivery:
"There are, after all, plenty of people better than you."
"..."
No one spoke.
The cheering had turned to stunned disbelief in the space of a heartbeat.
Feeling every last one of those stares—from the seniors and the spectators alike—Arendt let the corner of his mouth curl up ever so slightly.
"Do be sure to keep that in mind, won't you?"
Arendt's voice rang out, unusually crisp and clear. The usual mocking lilt carried within it a strange, bright note of delight.