The Traitor's Apprentice
Arendt von Eckhart.
The name came back to Bread without any trouble at all.
Just as Arendt had said, he was bound to be well-informed—which meant he also knew, roughly, what had been happening in the Imperial Capital lately.
The first rumor to reach his ears had been that Arendt von Eckhart of the Imperial 3rd Knight Order had been arrested, and then released shortly afterward. It wasn't exactly common knowledge, but those in the know, knew.
The far more famous incident was the raid on the East Vault. An unidentified armed group had stormed the vault, only for the Imperial Knights—who had received advance intelligence and lain in wait—to wipe them out in one fell swoop.
Bread snapped out of his daze and snarled viciously.
"And you expect me to believe that?"
"There's no point in telling a lie that'll get exposed in five minutes. You'd know that better than anyone."
Arendt replied with perfect nonchalance. The imperial bracelet bearing the royal crest he'd flashed was, frankly, proof enough and then some.
Bread's face grew only more conflicted. As the atmosphere turned strange, the mercenaries began shuffling backward, lowering their weapons one by one—and Bread didn't stop them either. Drawing a blade on a knight of the imperial household was more than enough to constitute a serious crime.
Arthur and Richt likewise let their swords drop with a resigned air of whatever happens, happens. But neither of them could quite tear their doubtful eyes away from Arendt.
Only then was Bread able to ask the most important question.
"...So, let's say I believe you for now. What in the world does that incident have to do with you coming here? And why hide your identity?"
"Hey, you idiot. Can't you figure it out from the fact that I'm wearing this? I'm on a leash back in the capital too. Can't exactly go strolling around on my own. The moment I step even slightly out of line with the Commander, it's summary execution on the spot. That's why I took a mission and came all the way out here."
Arendt screwed up his face as he snapped at him.
"Why did I pose as a young noble? Because I had no idea what kind of place this is. You think I could just brazenly announce who I was? I took my own risks coming here. Went so far as to make use of that half-wit over there, even."
The half-wit was, naturally, Saif.
Bread only grew more confused. The summary-execution bracelet used exclusively by the royal family. The East Vault. An apprentice knight who had been arrested and then released. And the silver-haired young man standing right in front of him.
It had never been made clear why Arendt von Eckhart had been arrested in the first place. But since he'd been released so soon after, Bread had simply written it off as one of those perennial royal scandals. Now that memory resurfaced, and all the pieces tumbled together in his head before reassembling themselves.
And with that, one thoroughly plausible scenario took shape.
Arendt von Eckhart had committed high treason bordering on rebellion and been arrested—then freed in exchange for handing over information. And the reason he had appeared here was...
"...Don't tell me that East Vault raid had something to do with this place?"
When Bread asked, Arendt answered with undisguised exasperation.
"Yeah. I ended up botching things against my will. Their fault for doing something so stupid. Anyway, that's why I came looking for this place. In all that chaos, my contact line got cut off entirely."
"And judging by the look of things... you don't know much either, do you?"
"W-wait just a moment."
Having finished his calculations, Bread hurriedly stepped forward.
"If that's the case, then you're connected to the people who supply us with goods and guards, aren't you? The East Vault being raided—that was part of their plan?"
"There we go. Now you're finally keeping up."
Arendt gave a light nod of approval.
Cold sweat began to bead on Bread's face.
"Th-then what happened with the vault? You're the one who tipped off the royal family about their plans, aren't you?"
"Don't be dense. Me, who burrowed into the capital itself—or those disposable pawns. Which of us do you think is worth more?"
A vacant look spread across Bread's face.
"Don't tell me... the whole incident itself was bait. To throw off the royal family's suspicions..."
Arthur and Richt couldn't for the life of them follow how the conversation had arrived there. But once the wings of imagination had unfurled, they spread wider and wider without end.
Arendt didn't bother answering—but it was obvious how that silence would land on Bread. His eyes went round as saucers, straining wider than they possibly could.
"Hold on. Then that would mean... they're enemies of the crown? These people of yours?"
Bread had plunged completely into the unbearable reality now thrust before his eyes. Which meant, in other words, that he had taken the bait hook, line, and sinker.
Arendt allowed a faint frown.
"From the look of it, you didn't even know who you'd gotten tangled up with."
"You can't brush this off with talk like that! Damn it all—treason? If I'd known this was the kind of business I was mixed up in, I never would've laid a finger on this place!"
Bread flailed about, cursing in a fit of hysteria.
Arthur and Richt were dumbfounded. Saif, who had led the pair here in the first place, wore an equally uncertain expression, as though he were watching some absurd farce that wasn't the least bit funny.
"That guy seems awfully worked up about it, doesn't he?"
"......."
Richt found himself mildly regretting that he couldn't bring himself to deny Arthur's remark.
The criminals who filled the hall stood with mouths hanging open, unable to tear their eyes from Arendt. They're completely entranced.
The weapons drooping limply at their sides seemed to speak volumes about their psychological state. With nothing more than a few words from Arendt, they had cast themselves—without even realizing it—in the role of the audience.
At this moment, the part Arendt was playing was that of the apprentice knight who betrayed his Order. In his theater, the masterminds behind the exchange had been cast as traitors, and Bread as the hapless villain who'd been exploited and left holding the bag.
"Think about it calmly. Your pockets are stuffed full of money by now, aren't they? That's all that matters."
"Do I look calm to you right now?!"
Bread roared. It was an entirely understandable reaction. Earning coin through smuggling and joining a rebellion were things on entirely different scales.
"Yes, fine—I'm the one who took your hand, all right! Still, better you didn't know than otherwise. Because if their plans fall apart—!"
"What? The money you've been raking in all this time was sweet enough, wasn't it? You at least got your money's worth."
At that single, offhand remark from Arendt, Bread's mouth snapped shut. Every word of it had been true.
Arendt studied the man's ashen face for a moment, then let out a short sigh.
"...Anyway, that's how it is. Judging by the look of you, everyone else is in the same boat."
"......."
The mercenaries' faces turned sullen. Just as Richt had said earlier, most of them were criminals by origin. They'd been skulking in the back alleys, hired by pure chance to guard the exchange floor—entirely ignorant of the finer details, just like Bread.
"Pathetic lot. Still, since things have come to this, I'll clean up the mess for you. After all, it's certain that I'm the one who got you into trouble."
Arendt beckoned lazily to Bread. The man, watching him warily, shuffled over—and Arendt leaned in close to his ear and began whispering.
Everyone tensed, watching the two of them. Mercenary and knight alike, not a single exception. The private conversation stretched on, and the silence hanging over the hall grew heavier still.
And then, a short while later, Bread's face brightened.
"You'd really do that for me?"
"Of course. You think a man of my word says one thing and means another?"
No one could have guessed how the conversation had gone. Only a few minutes had passed, yet in that time Bread's entire attitude had transformed.
"If you'll truly do that much, then it's more than I could ask for."
"In exchange, you'll have to help me out a bit."
"Yes! Of course!"
Bread nodded his head vigorously. And in that exact moment, Arthur saw it—the wicked smile that flickered across Arendt's face.
"Good. Then let's have a little chat. We've got some things to discuss, and this isn't the right place for it."
Arendt swept his gaze over the mercenaries. The ones who met his eyes flinched hard.
Bread spoke up quickly. "Shall I set them on you?"
"No need. It's simpler if we step out ourselves. That bread earlier was quite good, by the way."
"Then allow me to show you to the bakery."
Bread answered with alacrity, then personally led Arendt toward the stairs leading up and out of the underground. Arthur and Richt, still standing there in a daze, caught the glance Arendt sent their way, snapped to their senses, and followed.
No one stood in their way. Even the mercenaries who had moved to block the entrance hastily stepped back. And just like that, the group slipped cleanly out of the exchange through the very same oak barrel they'd come in by.
Thud.
The door closed. Left in the warehouse were Bread, Arthur, Richt, Arendt—and Saif, who had tagged along with transparent pretext.
"......."
The four stared blankly at one another. Saif looked at Richt, Richt looked at Arthur, Arthur looked at Arendt—in that bizarre chain of gazes, no one opened their mouth first. Under the circumstances, Bread couldn't bring himself to step forward either. He was supposed to invite them into the bakery, yet not one of them seemed to have any intention of moving.
Into that stalemate, Arendt spoke.
"What are you all standing around for?"
"......."
Arthur's expression turned pained, and Richt heaved a long, deep sigh. They knew perfectly well, without being told, what they had to do now. The reason they couldn't bring themselves to act was that they had read Arendt's intent—and the fact itself filled them with an instinctive revulsion.
But there was nothing for it. It was the only move left.
Arthur smoothly extended a hand toward Bread. Bread, who hadn't grasped the situation at all, simply stood there blinking.
And then, a few seconds later—
Crash! Bam! Aaargh! What the—! Ack! A brief scuffle broke out. By the time the room had quieted again, Bread was wriggling on the floor, trussed up in exactly the same fashion Saif had been when he'd been dragged off earlier.
Arendt next jerked his chin at Saif. "Block it."
"Huh?"
"Seal the entrance."
"Ah—yes! Yes, sir!"
Only then catching on, Saif scrambled into motion. He found a bar somewhere and bolted the door shut—and then, without stopping there, stacked huge sacks, tables, and every manner of provisions into a towering barricade, plugging the entrance to the exchange completely.
Watching the spectacle, Richt couldn't help murmuring, "...Is this really right?"
"Why not? No fight broke out, we dug up a fair amount of information, we captured the ringleader of the smuggling operation—and besides, most of those mercenaries are criminals anyway, aren't they? A job well done."
Arendt said it flatly, as if it were obvious.
They had, after all, been sent out purely to investigate. A small team, not a single drop of blood spilled, and results of this magnitude. A triumph if ever there was one.
And yet the question kept creeping back into his head, no matter how he tried to dismiss it. Is it truly all right for a knight—a man who bears the name of knight—to be doing things like this?
From deeper inside the exchange came the sound of someone belatedly realizing something was wrong—bam! bam!—fists pounding furiously against the door. But the entrance Saif had sealed so thoroughly only shuddered occasionally; there was not the slightest sign it would give way.
"Mmph! Mmmmmph!"
Bread, rolled up tight in rope on the floor, wailed at the top of his lungs. From the looks of it, tears were streaming down his face in earnest. There was something almost pitiable about the sight, and Arthur quietly turned his eyes away.
Arendt clicked his tongue and prodded Bread lightly with his foot.
"Should've lived an honest life. Then you wouldn't have to look at scenes like this. Right?"
"Th-that's right, sir!"
Watching Saif bob his head in frantic agreement only deepened Richt's turmoil.
Bam! Bam!
When the pounding from below swelled louder, Arendt gave a casual tilt of his chin. "That's sounding a little shaky. Make sure it holds."
"Yes, sir!"
Saif hurried off again.
Two knights' gazes—indescribably complicated—bore into Arendt. Everything had, technically, been resolved. They had, undeniably, achieved a tremendous feat.
But honestly? The worst person of all seemed to be that one.