The Sign on the Bakery
Licht and Arthur watched Arendt's movements with quiet fascination.
Holding a quip and a single sheet of paper, Arendt drew with careful deliberation, the nib whispering across the page. Before long, he glanced sidelong at Arthur.
"Well? Looks pretty close, doesn't it?"
"...Yeah."
After a brief pause, Arthur nodded. The vaguely troubled look on his face made Arendt furrow his brow.
"What?"
"Since when do you know how to do this?"
"I'm sorry—what?"
The reply that came back was a completely unexpected question. Licht, too, wore an expression of mild dissatisfaction, much like Arthur's.
"...You draw rather well."
"Then just say that! Why make a face like you're chewing on something? You're ruining my mood here."
On the paper that had been blank mere minutes ago, a drawing now sat—one that could plausibly be called a finished piece. It was more simplified than what Arthur and Arendt had seen before, but it was more than fair to say he had reproduced it adequately.
And in truth, it was only natural.
The core of Arendt belonged to a man in his mid-thirties, weathered and penniless, who had seen it all during a harsh and meager life in the theater.
Not some pampered noble brat who'd barely turned twenty and grown up with silk gloves on.
If you wanted to cut costs on stage preparation, you had no choice but to learn it all—sketching, of course, but also painting, sanding, even sawing.
Since he couldn't explain any of that, however, Arendt simply clicked his tongue and set down the pen.
Licht, his attention returning to the drawing, stroked his jaw and murmured.
"Three swords piercing a heart. Motifs using swords are common enough—it's hardly unusual... but the meaning it carries is considerably aggressive."
"Right. Even families that have produced knights for generations commonly use crests of swords and shields."
"Still, the important thing is that we've caught a tail. Don't speak of this carelessly, either of you. If the information spreads recklessly, it will only deepen the confusion. I imagine the Commanders feel the same."
Arendt answered indifferently, rose from his seat, and rolled up the paper. The plan was to hand this over to Laios and depart at once.
Leading out a horse apiece from the knights' private stable, the three of them slipped out of the capital without a hitch.
He'd wobbled a bit at first, but Arendt managed to settle himself into the saddle by leaning on the instincts left in his body. Seated atop the horse, he reclaimed a measure of composure and straightened his back. A cool wind ruffled his hair.
Clop, clop.
The hoofbeats of three fine steeds galloping in stride wove a surprisingly cheerful rhythm.
So this is the kind of thing I end up doing in life.
Wearing a uniform, riding a handsome horse, racing down the road shoulder to shoulder with comrades. Passersby occasionally recognized them, smiling brightly and waving.
It was the look a people gave their heroes.
Strictly speaking, they were closer to errand-runners for a hero.
Arthur and Licht, riding their black horses with practiced ease, looked every bit the knights who stepped out of heroic ballads. It was disorienting enough that he almost forgot this place wasn't a stage.
No. Wrong.
But Arendt corrected his thinking in an instant. Those two were nothing like heroes who could save the world.
One was a guy who could muster a bit of cunning but flew into a screeching rage the moment you needled him even slightly, and the other was an insufferable stick-in-the-rock who went around weighing everything with that uselessly handsome face, spouting nothing but stiff, pious nonsense.
And he himself was no better.
The original owner of this body had been the traitor who stabbed the Knight Order in the back. And the soul currently occupying it was a destitute wretch who'd bounced from odd job to odd job just to scrape by, right up until the moment he was nearly beaten down by a lighting rig falling from a shabby old stage.
Absolute worst.
A hollow chuckle escaped him. But he soon returned to his usual impassive expression. Now was the time to fold away the stray thoughts and do justice to the role of apprentice knight Arendt.
The three of them rode hard along the road without rest. Several hours later—having set out before dawn—they reached Robis City, situated just outside the capital, around the time the sun climbed to its peak.
They halted at the city's entrance. As the three dismounted in a row, a man clad in a dark uniform layered with light leather armor approached and saluted.
"It is an honor to meet knights of the Imperial Palace. I am Martin of the Royal Intelligence Department, attached to the Robis City Security Corps. I received word from the palace and came out to receive you."
"Ah."
Security Corps. The moment the words left the man's mouth, Arendt instantly grasped exactly who Martin was.
Now that the Emperor and Crown Prince held power in an iron grip, every city operated a fixed number of security offices per district. The cities of territories with their own lords were no exception.
True to their name, the Security Corps handled the guarding and administration of the cities themselves. Each city had one head of security, and beneath him was stationed a single member of the Intelligence Department—an entity independent of the Corps proper. In other words, a role akin to an inspector dispatched from the palace and permanently posted to the region.
And this Martin was precisely that—an Intelligence Department officer directly linking the Imperial Palace to each city's Security Corps.
"I am Licht von Crisanta. Behind me are Arthur Norbert and the apprentice, Arendt von Eckhart."
Licht likewise finished his greeting in short order.
"You already know the purpose of our visit, I trust."
"Yes, Commander. Just as the Commander ordered, I have told no one. Not even the head of the Security Corps."
Martin answered Licht's question with crisp formality. After a short hesitation, he added awkwardly,
"To be honest... I'm not entirely certain what I reported was correct. It's unusual, certainly, but it hardly seems like something one never sees."
"That's fine. We came prepared to consider several possibilities. Please guide us there at once."
Licht gave Martin a nod. After leaving their horses at the Security Corps' stable, the group set off on foot.
Arendt trailed at the rear, surveying his surroundings. Rows of buildings built in the style of old European architecture stood neatly in order within the town. Being not far from the capital, the city was remarkably well maintained.
There were a few more cities like this one, situated at junctions connecting the capital to other regions. But at least this place had never been mentioned in the story. Which meant it had no part in any of the major events.
Still, I can't let my guard down.
Arendt swept a careless gaze over the surroundings. The streets were brimming with life. People exchanged greetings when their eyes met, and a few of them stole curious glances at the knights who had appeared so suddenly. Some hurriedly stepped aside to salute, or bowed their heads.
"Here we are."
Only after reaching the town's bustling commercial district did Martin come to a stop, the other three halting in step with him. It was a plaza centered on a fountain crowned with an ornate statue, shops spreading out around it in every direction. Martin pointed to a shop a short distance away.
"That would be... the place."
Yet even as he said it, Martin still sounded far from certain. Arendt shifted his gaze toward the spot the man indicated.
And a moment later, a simultaneously daft sound burst from the lips of all three knights.
"Huh?"
Where Martin had pointed stood a charming confectionery and bakery. On the display rack set outside, freshly baked loaves of bread were neatly arranged, basking in the afternoon sun, while busy clerks rushed about, harried by the stream of customers.
It was a scene you could find on any peaceful street anywhere.
The face of a child clutching an armful of fluffy bread, walking home beside a parent, looked as if the child owned the whole world.
As if bound by some unspoken pact, everyone fell silent. Martin simply bowed his head deep, as if to say he'd expected exactly this. That was why it took a moment for Arendt to grasp what, precisely, was wrong with the scene before them.
"Ah. That."
Arendt said shortly. The other two realized what he was pointing at almost in the same breath.
His gaze had landed slightly above the bakery—on the signboard hanging from the building.
Right beside the utterly ordinary bakery name was a single small illustration.
A heart-shaped cake, with three bread knives plunged into it.
A composition strikingly similar to the crest Arendt had drawn just a short while ago.
"..."
They blinked blankly. So. How exactly were they supposed to process this situation?
The first to find his voice was Licht.
"Martin—that thing you reported, it was..."
An illustration attached to the signboard of a popular bakery.
Licht couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Martin, head bowed as if in guilt, answered.
"Yes... that's right."
"So, uhh—let's move somewhere else first."
Mindful of the passersby, Arthur suggested it. Following his lead, the four of them relocated to a sparsely populated alley. Only after the sounds of people had completely faded did they manage to extract a fuller explanation from Martin.
"That was everything the palace passed along to me. Report to the Imperial Knight Order if I ever witnessed a crest shaped like a heart pierced by three blades. Details were classified, so say nothing, and wait until the knights were dispatched. That was the extent of it."
Knowing nothing of the circumstances, Martin had had no choice but to report exactly what he knew to the palace. Because of the words appended to the order, he hadn't even been able to mention that he'd seen it on a bakery signboard, of all places.
The dispatched trio could well understand, from the start, why Martin had been hemming and hawing. Arthur crossed his arms and nodded.
"Still... we can't conclude it's a wasted trip just yet. It's the only lead reported anywhere near the capital, after all."
"True. It's hardly a picture a normal bakery would use. It seems worth verifying properly."
Licht agreed as well. At those words, Martin's expression brightened somewhat.
After a moment's thought, Arendt opened his mouth.
"Has this shop been around for a whi—... has it?"
The honorific had nearly slipped out of him. A beat too late, Arendt remembered who he was supposed to be and changed his phrasing. Fortunately, Martin seemed to take it in stride.
"No, it's only been open about a year, so it isn't that old. But the bread and pastries are incredibly delicious, so it's quite popular. I visit now and then myself."
"What did the owner do before?"
"He moved here when he opened the bakery. He's kind-hearted and skilled at baking, so he's earned quite a bit of goodwill... but being an outsider, he seems to leave the shop empty fairly often. Most of the work is handled by his clerk."
Martin answered without a hitch. Quick-witted as he was, he continued before Arendt could even ask another question.
"I heard the clerk is a relative of the owner's as well. They moved here together, you see."
"Aha."
Arendt gave a vague reply and nodded. Then he suddenly became aware of a piercing stare coming from beside him.
He shot a sidelong glance at Arthur and Licht, who were staring at him blankly.
"What?"
"You—so you're actually capable of holding a normal conversation. A commoner who doesn't throw a tantrum or spit sarcasm at people who talk to him..."
From the look of it, Licht was itching to say much the same thing.
Arendt clicked his tongue and drove his elbow into Arthur's side with a solid thud. Ignoring Arthur as he crumpled with a strangled grunt, Arendt turned back to Martin.
"Is his identity verified?"
"Excuse me? Ah—yes. The Security Corps checked directly when they moved here. Unless someone went out of their way to forge everything, of course."
Having witnessed an apprentice knight striking his senior right before his eyes, Martin was sweating bullets.
Arendt nodded roughly and glanced over at Licht.
"I'd say there's more than enough grounds for suspicion."
"Y-yes, I suppose so."
Licht nodded, only barely tearing his eyes away from the groaning Arthur.
"We'll proceed with a search for now. If we request the Security Corps' cooperation—"
"A search? A search, you say?"
But his words were cut off mid-sentence. Arendt screwed up his face and glared at Licht, who frowned back.
"Why?"
"So let me get this straight. You're planning to ransack the bakery while wearing these loud uniforms, dragging the Security Corps along with you, throwing the customers out, holding the clerks in place—that's the plan, right?"
"..."
The phrasing was odd, but it wasn't wrong, so Licht nodded for now. At this point, it was anyone's guess what would come flying out of Arendt's mouth next.
"Senior, think it through."
"About what."
"Say a thief is hiding out in his own little hideaway. Then suddenly someone bursts in, banging on the door like crazy and yelling at the top of his lungs—'Your house looks suspicious, so I'm going to have to conduct a search of the premises!' Would the thief inside politely let himself be caught?"
"Well, that..."
Licht tried to respond, but Arendt didn't give him the chance.
"Obviously he'd run. Taking the jewels he stole with him! You don't think he'd have at least a back door built into his hideaway? Then whoever breaks the door down and gets in late is treated to an empty house. That's all."
"..."
Licht, who had been opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, soon shut it altogether. He hadn't managed to find a single word of rebuttal in time.
Forced to endure that pair of golden eyes—brimming to the rim with irritation—Licht finally let out a groan of complaint.
"Then what do you suggest we do?"
He already knew from experience that arguing with Arendt earned him absolutely nothing.
Only then did Arendt look away and spit out, with an air of exasperation,
"How many options do you think there are besides one?"
"So? What is it?"
An edge had crept into Licht's voice, which had stayed composed throughout. Arendt shrugged his shoulders and added, breezily,
"What else? We infiltrate, obviously."