The Hero Named Kan
"So that's how it went……."
At Laios's flat remark, Arthur and Richt quietly averted their eyes. Only Arendt, standing between them, looked perfectly composed. Laios looked down at him, his eyes brimming with turmoil, and Arendt tilted his head with a smirk.
"What?"
"Hah. Never mind."
In the end, all Laios did was shake his head.
The previous afternoon, upon hearing the three men's report, Laios had immediately petitioned the Crown Prince to deploy forces. He had expected that infiltrating enemy territory would inevitably spark an armed clash, large or small. It wasn't that he doubted their skill. But with the enemy's strength unknown, three men alone simply couldn't handle whatever might unfold.
And the result…….
After fluttering for a good long while before going limp, Bread was dragged out, utterly spent, by the hands of the knights and the Security Department. The illegal mercenaries, who had been holed up inside only to be subdued with laughable ease, were hauled off after him.
Is this even possible?
And apparently, they hadn't even drawn their swords. The other knights mobilized for the cleanup seemed equally dumbfounded, sneaking sidelong glances at Arendt even in the middle of their work.
Deliberately ignoring those stares, Arthur spoke up.
"By the way…… what exactly did you say to that shopkeeper? Why did he suddenly lead you outside?"
"I simply told him that as a royal knight, I'd return to the capital and make a proper report. And that I'd speak up for him later if things went wrong—you know, something like 'I've fully regained His Majesty's trust after the vault incident, so if I put in a good word for you, he'll believe me~'"
Arendt shrugged. The three pairs of eyes watching him grew all the more complicated.
Arthur spat out flatly, "Can't we get this bastard expelled? Feels like we could slap contempt of the royal house on him, at least."
"No. He's technically being punished right now. We'll discuss it after his observation period ends and the bracelet comes off."
"Hah……"
After Laios's measured reply, Richt exhaled heavily, pressing his fingers to his temples.
"In any case, it does seem those men were under their protection. Though for all that, they appeared to know almost nothing."
"I doubt dragging them to the capital for interrogation will turn up anything more."
Arthur, his expression serious again, chimed in. Laios turned his gaze to Arendt as well.
Hands stuffed deep in his pockets, Arendt spoke. "The panic over having gotten involved in treason didn't look like an act. Most likely they simply supplied hard-to-find goods in exchange for fees, and brokered mercenary labor. That's about the extent of it."
Laios nodded slowly.
Near the pastry shop, a crowd of onlookers had gathered in a noisy cluster, drawn out by the sudden commotion. Bread and the mercenaries were shoved through that sea of people, one by one, and thrown into the prisoner transport wagon.
"Let's save the details for when we're back. Looks like things are wrapping up—we're heading back. Get ready, all of you."
"Yes, sir."
"Understood."
After Arthur and Richt's razor-sharp replies, Arendt's languid voice trailed in behind them.
"What about that guy, though?"
"Hm?"
Laios asked back as if to say, what about him? Arendt pointed behind himself.
There stood Saif, unable to find anywhere to look amid the knights who had descended on them out of nowhere, trembling like a leaf. Of everyone caught up in the day's events, the man who had taken the most mental damage, Bread excepted, was Saif.
Arthur clicked his tongue, sounding almost pitying. "He's a piece of work, but I don't think he's guilty of anything worth hauling to the capital. No defending his part in the smuggling, of course."
It was also true that, intentional or not, he had provided considerable help this time, so there was some room for leniency. Laios nodded.
"I've got the gist of it. We'll have to question him, at least."
And not long after, the party that had set out with only three members returned along the road home as a full knightly order, commander included.
The mobile exchange had been discovered a few times before. This was the first time it had been caught this particular way, but the exchange had opened and closed its doors repeatedly in the past as well. What was unusual was that its operator had been different every single time. They shared certain markings in common, but the proprietors themselves had no points of contact whatsoever. Even Bread had had no idea who his predecessor was.
Based on the testimonies of Bread and the mercenaries he'd hired, the operation worked roughly like this: first, they scouted out a suitable person and made contact—usually some thug or hustler with a criminal record. Few of them refused an offer to back their smuggling business. The brokers supplied rare goods directly or connected them with buyers through errand-runners, and even hired illegal mercenaries as guards, covering a portion of the cost. The operator running the exchange profited by receiving a share of the revenue.
Then, when the exchange ran into trouble, the brokers would simply withdraw, and the operators were left holding the bag like a lizard's severed tail. Once a given exchange was shut down, another would appear elsewhere bearing similar markings, and once it took root, customers who'd heard the rumors would find their way to it again.
"Probably just a fundraising operation, in the end. Can't imagine why they'd go to the trouble of using markings, though."
Having said his piece, Arthur swallowed the meat he'd been chewing. Then Richt, who had been silent until now, spoke up.
"If it's tactical, the purpose is at least guessable. A temporary rally point for comrades scattered across the country, perhaps."
"Tactics, huh…… I suppose that's possible."
Arendt nodded along, mouth full of sausage. "They said they'd caught a few of these before. Would've been nice if someone had figured out sooner that there were people using the same markings."
"Nobody was looking closely, that's all. When you're raiding a smuggling den in progress, you're not exactly taking in the shop signage."
Arthur added his two cents, and Richt answered calmly. Even as this conversation carried on, the plates steadily emptied.
The other knights dining in the mess hall kept stealing glances at the three of them. What an odd combination. Arthur and Arendt being together was one thing, but Richt sitting wedged between them with an expression of pure discomfort was a novel visual experience. Arthur had strong-armed Richt, who'd come for a simple solitary meal, into taking a seat with them.
Their mere association was strange enough. But the sight of Arendt—always going on about maintaining his body, eating light, and refusing to so much as approach the communal dining hall on grounds of filth—cleaning his plate to the last bite was something no one could ever get used to, no matter how long they watched.
The same went for Richt and Arthur, who had been observing Arendt from relatively close range as of late. Richt, studying him intently, muttered in grudging disbelief.
"You do eat well. I took you for a picky eater."
"Why don't you try surviving on nothing but damp bread in an underground dungeon, then."
"Hey. That's no way to talk to your senior."
Arthur chided him, and Arendt shot him a glare that said, so what? Arthur's face contorted in turn.
"What's with that look? Got a problem?"
"Perish the thought. What complaint could I possibly have against you, dear senior, who'd throw away his own life like a rag for the Greater Good?"
"……"
The fist clutching Arthur's fork tightened. Richt cleared his throat to divert their attention.
"That's enough, both of you. We're eating."
"Yes, of course—when a senior who doesn't know how big the world is speaks, one must listen."
This time it was the hand gripping Richt's knife that clenched into a fist. Meanwhile, Arendt sprang up from his seat.
"Anyway, I'm heading out early. See you at the training grounds later. Or don't."
"What? You're done already?"
Arthur's eyes went round. The plate that had been piled high with an appetizing meal was, at some point, already spotless. Leaving both his seniors behind, Arendt sauntered out of the mess hall without a care in the world.
The knights gazed after Arthur and Richt, left sitting there all alone, with genuine pity. Perhaps the real reason those two had been trailing around after Arendt lately was to quietly, silently, strangle him to death.
It was a perfectly reasonable suspicion.
Living in this dog-eat-dog world, dumped into the body of the biggest bastard under heaven, there was exactly one thing Arendt had come to appreciate: his abysmal diet had improved by leaps and bounds.
It wasn't just a few days. I lived on instant food for over a decade.
How long had he stretched out the years choking down shriveled triangle kimbap for dinner……. Irritation welled up for no good reason.
Those pampered nobles, raised in silk their whole lives, would never understand what a miracle it was to have fresh salad, meat, and soft bread waiting three times a day, every day.
Tsk.
A single click of his tongue scattered the thought. With his stomach pleasantly full, his mood had improved considerably. The weather was gloriously clear, so Arendt ambled toward the dormitory garden in the mood for a stroll. At this hour, most people were out on missions or training, and the surroundings were nothing but quiet. Unconsciously, his feet carried him toward wherever people weren't.
In the end, this operation too had yielded practically nothing for all the people they'd rounded up. Bread and his gang had not even been subjected to memory-alteration magic. Seen in that light, it proved that they sat a considerable distance from the core of the rebel faction. They would face a rigorous investigation, each be punished according to their crimes, and eventually released—but apparently the elders of the capital were in an uproar, tossing out one conjecture after another about the powers lurking behind them.
Still, it wasn't a total loss.
In the novel, it had taken the imperial family and the nobility quite a long time to truly grasp the danger those people posed. Because of that, Laios and the other commanders had received no meaningful support until disaster was on the very brink of erupting, left with no option but listless, stagnant investigation. But after this incident, even the imperial household seemed to have developed a healthy wariness—which couldn't hurt.
Arendt clenched and unclenched his fist, again and again, for no particular reason.
Securing the means to protect his body had also gone relatively smoothly. Perhaps because he'd inherited a naturally gifted physique, the relentless practice—layered on top of Arthur's advice—had the sword embedding itself into his muscle memory at a pace he could genuinely feel. His command of mana had grown more fluid along with it, and he was gradually getting the hang of using Frost-Tinged Touch.
Unlike the sword, though, he couldn't test it in sparring matches or ask anyone for advice, which was a bit of a shame. He was barely skating by with his head still attached as it was. If word got out that he was carrying such a dangerous item, it might be confiscated on the spot—or he might find himself hauled right back into an interrogation room.
And so Arendt had no choice but to finish his daily duties, shut himself in his room, and practice using Frost-Tinged Touch alone, grunting through every attempt.
Too many restrictions.
By the time that thought landed, Arendt's expression had subtly soured. So long as the Summary Execution Bracelet was on his wrist, even leaving the capital wasn't freely permitted. Every departure required Laios's authorization, and an escort was mandatory on top of that—it was beyond a hassle.
I need to do something about this……
But there was no clever solution at hand. Honestly, he was well aware that everything he'd done so far hadn't just toed the line—it had all but performed an exuberant tap dance right on top of it. Arendt smacked his lips in regret and gave his fist a tight squeeze.
Just then, a voice out of nowhere snagged his footsteps.
"You look like a man with a lot on his mind."
"……?"
Arendt turned his head naturally toward the source of the voice. A man he'd never seen before stood a short distance away, staring at him. The fact that this was the one who'd spoken needed no second thought.
Out of habit, Arendt narrowed his brow slightly and sized him up. Looking at him anew, the man was startlingly handsome. With Laios—self-evidently the resident beauty by virtue of being the protagonist—leading the pack, followed by Richt, and then the face that greeted him in the mirror every morning…… Arendt had grown fairly accustomed to striking looks lately. And this man who had appeared out of nowhere was handsome enough to make even Arendt stare back, open and unguarded.
His lips curved in a gentle smile, yet somehow his vivid eyes radiated an imperious, domineering air. And then there was—
Black hair.
Hair black to a degree that was rare beyond telling. It was the first he'd seen since arriving in this world.
Arendt asked, shortly. "……Who?"
"……"
Perhaps the reaction caught him off guard, for the man blinked his deep blue eyes a few times. Then, after a brief pause, he let out a light laugh.
"An unusual question, that. For now, let me introduce myself—I'm called Kan."
Kan. Kan, is it.
Arendt turned the name over in his mind a few times.
"Should I call you Mister Kan? Or Lord Kan?"
"Whatever suits you. I'm the one who summoned you out of the blue, so a little rudeness is only fair I forgive."
Kan replied as if joking, then started walking, closing the distance to Arendt. Arendt simply watched him. Before long, Kan stopped at precisely the range where one might exchange a handshake, flashed a dazzling smile, and tossed the words out as if they were nothing at all.
"A pleasure to meet you, Sir Arendt von Eckhart."