An Audacious Exit and a New Order
It was absurd. No word other than "absurd" could describe the situation unfolding before his eyes. Arthur, watching from the sidelines, absently smacked his lips in sheer disbelief. "That's......" A lightning-fast approach, followed by a devastating single strike. What Arendt had just demonstrated was unmistakably reminiscent of Betchel's own technique. Worse, he'd woven in a modified version of Richt's pristine downward cut as well. So this is what he meant by 'showing me'? Amid the knights' stunned outrage, cold glares bore into Arendt — and the one to shatter the heavy silence settling over the training grounds was none other than Richt. "You." Richt slowly straightened himself. His deep blue eyes reflected a quiet yet seething fury, unmistakable in their entirety. And yet, the voice that left his lips remained comparatively calm. "You used trickery." "Yes, well, there's no way I could beat you in a straight fight, Senior." Arendt admitted it shamelessly, then gave his sword a lazy twirl in his hand before sheathing it. "But that doesn't mean I have any obligation to stand still and let someone beat me half to death." "Hah......" The sheer audacity of it left Richt, of all people, at a loss for words. He looked back and forth between his snapped sword and Arendt, then let out a hollow laugh. "A duel between knights is a duel. Sometimes honor hangs on it, and sometimes it's meant to carry a lesson. Can you still call yourself a knight after pulling a stunt like that?" "Aren't knights people too? Nobody likes getting pummeled. Besides, you're the one who picked a duel you couldn't possibly lose, aren't you, Senior? If I'd actually been stronger than you, you'd have come charging at me with your sword all the same, lesson or no lesson." "......I'll grant you that point, but you're the one who came at me swinging for my life." Richt interjected quietly. True, Richt had started it — but it was Arendt who had unmistakably poured oil on that tiny flame. Arendt simply shrugged it all off. "If you feel that strongly about it, we can just say I didn't use any tricks at all. In that case, congratulations — you, Senior, were cleanly defeated by the youngest apprentice knight of the Knight Order using nothing but your fair-and-honed skills." "That's a headache of a logic. Fine — let's say I lost to your trickery." "Yessir, headache away. I'll be going now." Arendt waved a limp hand and turned his back without a second thought. No one moved to stop him as he left the stage. It was, in every sense, a magnificent exit. Arthur, who'd been carefully reading the room, slipped quietly out of the training grounds and trailed after him. Richt's eyes followed Arendt's retreating figure for a moment. "......Senior Richt, are we really just letting him walk away like that? He openly admits to cheating!" "Enough." Someone had spoken up, but Richt merely shook his head. What a farce. He didn't even have the appetite to demand what kind of stunt that had been. The wooden sword had been handed over by Arthur, and the duel itself had broken out with no one expecting it. Which meant that whatever trickery Arendt had employed, it was ultimately built atop Arendt's own abilities. Richt pressed his lips into a tight line, staring down at the half-snapped wooden sword still in his grip, and his eyes settled into a calm, deliberate stillness.
Once out of the training grounds, Arthur hurriedly scanned his surroundings. Before long, a shock of snowy-white hair in the pale-toned uniform of an apprentice knight came into view. Arthur practically sprinted over. "Hey, what the hell were you trying to—" "Hnnnghhh." At that moment Arendt let out an enormous sigh and sagged down right where he stood. Arthur's eyes went wide as he rushed to him. "What? What's wrong with you?" "Oh, now what?" Arendt shot him a glare and spat the words out, sullen. The sight wrung a groan out of Arthur, who pressed a hand to his forehead. "......Just try rolling those eyes a little nicer, will you? And what's with the sweat? You were perfectly fine a minute ago." "I burned through a lot of mana. Don't worry about it." A short while later, having caught his breath, Arendt rose to his feet without any trouble. Arthur stared at him, dumbfounded by how instantly he'd changed his tune. "What on earth did you do to snap that sword like a twig? That thing could take a decent sword qi several times over." "I told you — a trick." Arendt held out his open palm for Arthur to see. On Arendt's pretty hand, in place of the leather glove he'd been wearing everywhere lately, sat a single black ring. Arthur's brow furrowed. "That's...... don't tell me — the one you took off Betchel? No, wait. The one that guy wore was bigger, wasn't it?" "Same one." One look was enough — Arendt's fingers were barely half the thickness of Betchel's. And yet the ring now fit him as though it had been made for his hand all along. "It's really the same one?" "Yep. The artifact that guy was using. A pretty important piece, from what I gather...... so losing it must sting a little." "Aren't you genuinely a terrible person?" There were plenty of other questions he should have asked, but that one burst out of Arthur first. Arendt glared up at his direct senior for a moment, then promptly shook his head. "Whatever. I'm going to go eat." "You pull this circus and food still goes down your throat? I'm not done talking here! How are you planning to clean this up? Cheating against Senior Richt of all people — are you out of your mind?" "Senior, you know the saying — people don't run from what's scary, they run from what's filthy." Arthur's face crumpled as he trudged after the insolent junior. "What does that even mean?" "Becoming someone too filthy to approach is easier than you'd think — no strength required." The people who'd come crawling to pick a fight, snarling the word traitor, were certainly not limited to Richt. Getting along nicely with them had never been on the table to begin with, so Arendt had firmly resolved to stick to the route of the original character 'Arendt' — the mud-slinging menace who splattered filth in every direction. Leaving Arthur frozen in place with a blank stare, Arendt ambled off at his own leisurely pace. Watching him go, Arthur muttered under his breath. "That guy's completely lost it, hasn't he......" Only after Arendt had fully vanished from sight did Arthur realize he'd failed to ask the one thing he was actually dying to know. He scrambled after him, wheezing. "Hey, you little punk! Wait up, I'm coming too!"
Silencing Arthur, who picked at every question over the entire meal, was not particularly difficult. Arendt, his mouth stuffed full of bread, grunted out one annoyed line. "Ask the Commander yourself later." "He's supposed to report it?" "Cleaning up isn't the job of the bottom rung." Arthur, who had been asking in bewilderment, gave up at that single remark and shut his mouth. Having shaken off Arthur and returned alone to his room, Arendt flopped straight onto the bed and slipped the ring off his finger. While worn, it had gleamed smooth and lustrous, as if carved from obsidian — but the moment it left his finger, the ring reverted to its true, worn-out shabbiness. The light of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling filtered through the crude band. Arendt deliberated for a moment, then reached a simple conclusion. "Not the kind of thing I should be using." Unlike Frost-Tinged Touch, which granted direct offensive power, this ring played a supporting role for its wielder. Which meant it belonged in the hands of someone with abundant mana and superb swordsmanship. If he used it in some desperate pinch and ran his mana dry mid-fight, he'd collapse and die a dog's death on the spot — that much was obvious. Rolling the ring across his palm, Arendt clicked his tongue and tucked it away into his pocket. His thoughts were a tangled mess. By now, news of Betchel's death had surely reached the enemy's ears. Which meant they'd have noticed by now that Shadow of the Strong, following Frost-Tinged Touch, had been stolen by some unknown hand. "They'll raise holy hell trying to recover it......" Fortunately, the fact that Arendt had been the one to slip it out from under their noses was not yet known — but it went without saying that the shape of the coming collision between the Knight Order and the enemy would look very different from last time. "In Laios's heroic saga...... will it be a tragedy, or a comedy?" The novel was one the author had abandoned midway, its ending never written — deducing its conclusion perfectly was impossible. But a hero's saga trailing hardship and adversity was, of course, only natural. Until he found a way back, he had no choice but to hope for Laios's saga to end in a heroic happy ending. His survival odds depended on it. Which meant, like it or not, he'd have to cling to the 3rd Knight Order and cooperate with everything he had. And the direction The Blue Knight of the Sacred Sword had been heading was far closer to tragedy than to the chronicle of a triumphant hero. As the ending drew near, deaths mounted within the Knight Order, and despair swallowed the empire whole. No wonder the serial had failed to catch readers' attention, chapter after stacked chapter. In today's terms, it was nothing but sweet potatoes from start to finish. If so, the task ahead was simple. Use everything he knew to bend the story — and turn Laios into a victorious hero. Only then could he hope to survive the catastrophe that was bound to break out sooner or later. And the power to change the story was a privilege reserved solely for those who existed within it. Well, I already saved Arthur, who was supposed to be dead. The story had already begun to come apart at the seams. He'd seized a trail the novel never uncovered, and now he'd laid hands on an artifact powerful enough to serve as real military strength. Framed that way, it wasn't a bad starting point. The key was to strip out every tragic element as thoroughly as possible. And to establish the means to protect himself. There had never been a place on this stage for Arendt to begin with. The original Arendt was consumed as one of Laios's many trials and killed off, never once participating in what came after. Which meant his mere existence was bound to shift the play on a massive scale. So going forward, the best move was to shove his way in with everything he had and carve out a role for himself. The moment he'd thought that far, a soft knock knock sounded from outside. Whatever the matter was, it seemed urgent — before the room's occupant could answer, the attendant's voice slipped under the door ahead of any reply. "Commander Laios requests your presence." "......Speak of the tiger and it appears, I suppose." Arendt, the ring already stowed, sprang up from the bed. By the time he'd thrown on the coat he'd tossed carelessly aside and stepped out of the room, the attendant had already scurried off into the distance. It seemed no one wanted to be entangled with the man at the center of all this unrest. "What, does he think I'm going to eat him?" From a strictly human standpoint, it was a rather regrettable state of affairs — but it could just as well be taken as proof of how well his acting was working. Quite satisfied, Arendt ambled off alone toward the Commander's office. Knock, knock. At his second tap, Laios's voice sounded from within, bidding him enter. Arendt pushed the door open without ceremony. But the sight inside made even him falter for a single breath. The three Knight Order Commanders sat arranged on the plush sofa of the office, all three turning their gazes upon him. "Welcome, Knight Arendt." Commander Kendrick of the 1st Knight Order was the first to greet him warmly. Commander Diana of the 2nd Knight Order teased with a hint of a smile. "I hear you've been stirring up quite a bit of trouble in the short time since we last met." "I've never caused trouble in my life." "As it happens, we were just hearing a rather interesting story. The knights have been whispering about it all over." Arendt answered flatly and to the point, but Kendrick paid it no mind. Richt stood beside the three Commanders, watching him in silence. Arendt didn't dodge the look — he met it squarely with one of his own, as if to say, and what of it? Kendrick beamed as though everything were going splendidly and pressed on. "I hear you crossed blades with Knight Richt. And that you won in a single strike — through trickery, no less. You've made things rather awkward for the man." "I did. But he's the one who picked the fight first. More to the point — why did you call for me? I'm not particularly in the mood for idle small talk." "Asking why you were summoned when the Commander did the summoning — now that's a funny one. Don't take it too badly. It's on account of the work you dragged in yourself." To Arendt's shameless antics, Kendrick merely let out a hearty laugh. Arendt's expression darkened a shade. "Work I dragged in?" "Indeed. What you and Knight Arthur uncovered on special duty, of course. You're fortunate. Had you turned up nothing there, you'd have been summarily disposed of." "......My, what an amusing joke." To Kendrick's playful addition, Arendt replied with visible displeasure. Laios picked up the explanation from there. "For now, the house is to be kept under watch by soldiers rotating in shifts. But since no one has approached it yet, it seems to have been abandoned entirely." "Since we can't know what traps might lie inside, it's best not to approach carelessly. And about that crest you found in the house — do you remember exactly what form it took?" Diana, sipping her tea, turned her eyes toward Arendt. Arendt nodded first. "Hm? Well, I remember roughly." "We made discreet inquiries, and it seems someone has seen something resembling it." "Is...... that so?" "It's not certain. Which is why we've been discussing whether the person who saw it firsthand ought to go verify it himself." Diana's explanation continued. Apparently the matter had been moving forward along channels he knew nothing about. "It's not far from the Imperial Capital. You need only confirm it and return at once." Laios took over from her. "This time it's an official order. Arendt — you will go, with Arthur." "Yes, understood." Arendt nodded readily. At that point, Richt — who had been listening quietly at the side — spoke up. "Would it be permissible for me to accompany them?" "You?" Kendrick's face registered surprise, but Richt let his composure crack not a fraction as he continued. "Knight Arthur and Knight Arendt are the least experienced members of the Order. I have no intention of slighting them for their youth — but if an unforeseen situation arose with only the two of them there, it could turn dangerous." Whether or not Arendt scowled at it, Richt continued laying out his reasoning in an even tone. Kendrick, too, seemed taken aback, his eyes going round. "You aren't planning some private revenge along the way, are you?" "......Commander Kendrick, your jokes are sometimes impossible to tell apart from sincerity. Of course not. Though I will admit I'd like to land a few punches." Richt answered with the same displeased edge Arendt had shown earlier, then went on. "Losing the duel is mine to accept, and being deceived is, for now, my own fault as well. I'm simply uneasy about sending a repeat offender of a whelp out with Arthur, just the two of them." "Well, I'm more uneasy going with my senior, honestly. I'd rather just go alone." Naturally, Arendt's opinion was promptly overruled. Laios nodded. "Yes. Knight Richt — you will go with the two of them. There may be another ambush like last time, so that will be safer." "Understood." Richt answered crisply. Arendt scrunched his brows as if mildly irritated, but added no further argument to a matter already decided.