The Name Erased From History
The book Emperor had passed to Cantares was a single volume of history.
For Cantares, who had received crown prince education from childhood, there was naturally nothing in it he didn't already know.
But after reading it through, Cantares realized it was not merely a chronicle of the empire's founding.
"Do you know the name Chernion?"
Cantares spoke again.
Arendt shook his head.
"As I thought—you've never heard of it. It can't be helped. That is the name of the evil god erased from all records."
Why is a whole new piece of lore suddenly popping up?
The hand gripping Arendt's glass clenched tight.
"It was the one called Chernion—the evil god of that age—and the horde that followed him who threw the world into peril. And it was the Hero Cahn who borrowed the power of God Luce to strike them down."
Unaware of Arendt's expression, Cantares continued the story.
"When the war ended, every last trace of the evil god was thoroughly purged from the world. All so that tragedy could never be repeated."
Only the descendants of Cahn—the direct heirs of the Callion imperial house—had kept the records alive, generation after generation, so that they would never forget.
"Perhaps those who stumbled upon the ancient records are merely imitating them. Or perhaps what we're facing truly is the Broken Heart's Sword—remnants of it, still lingering……."
Cantares crossed his arms.
"And looking further ahead—perhaps it's a sign. A prelude to something, a herald of the world being swept into war once more."
"Haahh……"
Arendt let out a long sigh and drained the rest of his juice in one go.
He set the glass down on the table with a clack, and shoving aside all the tangled thoughts and the irritation boiling up inside him, he spat out the first impression that came to mind.
"Those bastards have a seriously spectacular sense for naming things."
"……That's all you have to say?"
"That was the first thing that came to mind."
We should've figured out what names they were putting on their artifacts first.
Cantares could only give him an indescribably complicated look.
Instead of responding further, he called toward the back.
"Lawrence, could we get some more juice? And some snacks as well."
"Eavesdrop and shut up, sir?"
"Sharp as ever, I see."
Lawrence emerged from the back, refilled their glasses, and set a plate of cookies on the table.
Arendt picked one up.
"What does His Excellency Cahn think?"
"It's too early to say for certain. We don't even know whether it's really them. But that doesn't mean I intend to take this lightly."
Cantares rested his chin on one hand and idly twirled a finger.
"Either way, we'll have to root them out. I intend to leave not a speck of dust behind."
"A conclusion I can appreciate."
Crunch, crunch.
Arendt answered around a mouthful of cookie.
"So how long do you plan on keeping this under wraps?"
"Until we have more solid evidence. One of their own may be hiding among us."
"And that means you're telling me this so I'll help you dig it up? You did go out of your way to reveal an imperial family secret, after all."
"That's right."
Arendt ate another cookie and sank into thought.
Cantares's mind was considerably more tangled than his composed exterior let on—composure startling enough to throw anyone off.
This is getting way too big.
It was something the novel had never once mentioned. Right up until the serialization stopped, the enemies Laios and his party faced had simply been referred to as rebels. Nothing more.
The same held true even at the point when Laios became master of the Sacred Sword.
Neither that maddening name—the Broken Heart's whatever—nor a god called Chernion had ever made an appearance.
If those bastards really weren't just rebels, but had a god's name as their justification propped behind them, then the burden settling on Laios's shoulders might be far more than the empire alone.
That ruthless man.
Laios, who had endured all of it dead sober, looked impressive all over again.
After all, things had been even more of an unmitigated disaster before Arendt got involved.
"Understood. Honestly, what next."
"You've even tried slipping into their ranks yourself, haven't you? You knew the East Vault was being targeted, but couldn't pin down what they actually were—am I wrong?"
"You're stating the obvious. If I'd known, would I be sitting here having this leisurely little chat with you, Your Highness? If I'd judged there was no chance of winning, I'd have gone running straight to their side to grovel—or reported it all to Commander Laios long ago."
Arendt scowled and grumbled on.
"They don't seem eager to reveal themselves either. That's why they're using the people they've bought with money as a shield—to wipe away their own traces."
The ones who lost their memories would be figures closer to the core of that faction.
Since they went to such lengths over silencing people, there was little chance of their identities being easily discovered.
Cantares nodded.
"Likely so. We've already discussed it with the nobles, minus what turned up in the study. The bakery incident confirmed that some kind of organization is active, so we'll be centering the knights' investigation on that. Keep it in mind."
"Sure, whatever."
Arendt answered half-listening.
Still, the flow wasn't bad.
In the novel, it had been a complete ambush from behind. Now, at the very least, they could set up a situation where both sides squeezed each other's throats.
And the current Arendt could manage exactly that.
"My business ends there…… mind if I ask you one thing?"
"What is it?"
"On the assumption that I trust you from beginning to end—why did you take such a risk?"
It was a roundabout way of putting it, but Arendt understood at once what he meant.
The trial. And, before that, the matter of Arendt's contact with them.
It had been the old Arendt's own carelessness, not his will.
But that hardly mattered anymore.
Arendt thought for a moment, then answered plainly.
"Because I don't feel like dying. If I left things to those suffocating dullards, I figured I'd be first in line for the chopping block—starting with the lowest guy on the totem pole. Me."
"……Absurd."
Cantares, who had gone blank for a moment, burst into a hollow laugh.
But his expression wasn't particularly unpleasant.
After parting with Cantares, Arendt headed straight for the East Vault.
Branch Manager Neumann's independence appeared to be proceeding smoothly.
After a brief conversation with the manager, Arendt gathered up every last one of Baron Porta's belongings and returned to the Imperial Palace, where he promptly buried himself in his room.
And then he didn't move a muscle until the sun had fully set and evening had come.
Puzzled by a man who'd shown neither nose nor whisker all day, Arthur had just come peering around his door when Arendt finally stepped outside.
"……What? Why are you standing there?"
He asked, eyeing Arthur—who was planted squarely in front of his door—with evident displeasure.
Arthur, caught mid-crouch, answered awkwardly.
"Well, you said you were going out, and then you were gone all day."
"Got nothing to do?"
Arendt gave him a blatantly pitying look, shut his door behind him, and stepped into the corridor.
"You're not training today?"
"I'll go tonight. I've got somewhere to be first."
"Going out again?"
When Arthur scowled, Arendt merely shrugged.
"To the Commander's office. I just came back from meeting Branch Manager Neumann, you see. There's quite a lot I need to report."
"What?"
Leaving Arthur's flabbergasted sputtering behind him, Arendt finished saying his piece and ambled off toward the commander's office.
He knocked twice. An answer came from within at once, telling him to enter.
The door swung open, and Laios—instinctively checking who it was before anything else—widened his eyes slightly.
"Arendt?"
"Why so surprised? Is this somehow a place I'm not allowed to be?"
Arendt replaced a greeting with a lazy nod of his head and spoke with a lopsided edge.
Laios pulled himself together and smoothed his expression.
"Hardly. What is it?"
"Things to report. Do you have a moment?"
"Of course."
Arendt took his place in front of Laios's desk.
Laios spoke first.
"I heard you went out and returned the very same day."
"Yes."
"How was it?"
"Not bad, all things considered. I'd been hoping to spend the time at my leisure, but a nuisance came trailing after me."
"A nuisance?"
Laios asked, puzzled.
That characteristically blank face held no suspicion or distrust—only pure, unadorned question.
Staring at him, Arendt let out a short sigh inside.
How is a man this good?
Crown Prince's orders notwithstanding, it was Laios who had so readily permitted him to go out alone. And when the hour grew late, it was Laios who had sent Richt over—because he'd believed the news of the meeting's outcome would make Arendt glad.
"Uh…… where do I even start."
Arendt's eyes rolled back and forth.
Laios set down his pen and quietly waited for him to go on, and Arendt looked at that patient face once, tilted his head for a brief moment—and then simply let it out.
"I made a deal with His Highness the Crown Prince."
"……What?"
For an instant, Laios's face went slack.
From somewhere, it almost sounded like Cantares was howling that the traitor had sold him out—Arendt disregarded it entirely.
He'd never intended to keep faith with the man for even the width of an eye-corner in the first place.
"A deal? You mean a deal?"
"Yes. The entry permit His Highness mentioned—it was the condition. In exchange, I'm playing errand boy for His Highness, more or less."
Faced with such an outrageous remark, all Laios could do was gape with a hopelessly foolish look on his face.
Arendt added, matter-of-fact.
"Whatever outrageous antics I get up to from here on out—all of it will be work His Highness ordered. In short, none of it is my fault."
"……"
By now it seemed his skull was aching too, because Laios began pressing hard at his temples.
Arendt dutifully waited for him to sort through his thoughts.
A long while later, Laios barely managed to open his mouth.
"The purpose?"
"Subjugating them. He'd like me to keep doing what I've been doing—cause the occasional incident. He has plenty of loyal men who listen well, he says, but a troublemaker or two is a necessary thing."
Laios fell silent again for a long time.
"For now…… I understand. This is something I'm not meant to interfere in."
"Yes, and His Highness doesn't much want your involvement anyway. But if you ever do feel like interfering, feel free. I'm telling you to. And……"
Arendt dug into his pocket, drew out one thick ring, and held it out to Laios.
"Take it."
"What is this?"
Laios, reaching out to accept it as a matter of course, flinched back.
He had sensed the ring's mana.
"It belonged to Betchel. An artifact. The name is Shadow of the Strong. When activated, it conceals your presence. It also seems to carry physical enhancement and improved movement speed."
"What?"
"I've been meaning to hand it over for a while now, but I kept missing the timing."
When Laios sharply lifted his head, Arendt shrugged with perfect nonchalance.
"I've told you about artifacts before, haven't I? Call it loot, if you like. I killed him and took it. It's not a dangerous item, so rest easy."
"……You keep finding new ways to leave me dumbfounded today."
"Hasn't it been like that for a while now?"
"……"
Against a rebuttal he couldn't make, Laios simply closed his mouth again.
He studied Arendt in silence with troubled eyes, then at last accepted the ring.
"Why give it to me? You could have used it yourself."
"It's useless to me. That thing works best in the hands of someone who's actually strong—the name says it all. And the strongest man in this empire is you, Commander."
Arendt's mouth twisted into a crooked grin.
It wasn't a lie.
He'd merely omitted the part where he'd already secured something better.
"If it unsettles you, don't use it. Or hand it off to someone else—it's your call. Still, I'd say it's better off in your hands. They already know it's fallen into ours."
Which meant he might well become a target.
At those words, Laios steeled himself and finally took the ring.
"All right. Understood."
Rolling the ring between his fingers for a moment, Laios looked back at Arendt.
Those golden eyes were as crooked as ever, and that indifferent face was the very picture of indifference—even while delivering words of staggering weight.
It was a strange feeling.
At a glance, Arendt seemed barely changed from before.
But the results his actions produced had unmistakably changed.
Is this what "changed" is supposed to look like……?
Or—just as Arendt had said at the trial—had it simply been that all along, they were the ones who hadn't trusted him?
Laios slowly closed his eyes and opened them again, settling the turmoil within.
"I'll be going, then."
Whether or not he knew anything of the commander's state of mind, Arendt, having said all he came to say, turned on his heel without the slightest lingering attachment.
Laios called him back.
"Arendt."
"What?"
"Thank you."
Arendt spun back around, blinking his round eyes.
Laios simply looked at him.
Arendt twisted his mouth to one side and scratched his cheek.
He seemed to be debating how to answer.
And after a little time had passed, Arendt curled the corner of his mouth into a wide, easy grin.
"Don't mention it."
Thud.
The door closed again.
Laios stared blankly at the door, looking for all the world like a man who'd just been clubbed across the back of the head—until, without meaning to, the words slipped out of him aloud.
"He smiled?"
It had been a mischievous grin, the kind that suited a young man barely past twenty.
Not the sneer or the mockery he'd so often worn before.
In the stillness that settled over the commander's office, Laios, left alone, remained frozen in place for a long, long while.