Contempt Is Also Attention
Whoosh!
Arendt came to a halt, sword extended before him.
His blade, wrapped in a brilliant azure aura, thrust straight out and cleaved the empty air.
Then he did not so much as twitch for a long while.
A moment passed.
"Hah……."
Letting out a deep breath, he slowly lowered his sword. At the same time, the sword aura that had shimmered along its edge scattered all at once.
Thump. With a dull sound, Arendt dropped the flat of his blade to the ground and roughly wiped the sweat soaking his brow with his sleeve.
He could feel it clearly—his body had grown firmer. The point of his sword was sharper, and the wasted motion had drained out of his movements. But above all, the greatest gains had come on the mana side. The power that had never quite settled into place finally seemed to have found its center of gravity. With a focal point established, the circulation grew efficient, and there was nothing wasted when he drew on it.
And apparently this thing has been helping with that too, of all things.
Out of habit, Arendt clenched his hand and opened it again. His gaze fell on the glove that now sat on the back of his hand like a second skin.
It had been the same the very first time he'd ever moved mana. Right after putting on the Frost-Tinged Touch, he'd been able to wield it without much difficulty. He hadn't given it a thought back then, but looking back now, that too had apparently been no coincidence.
"Somehow or other, it seems to be helping……"
There was no way of knowing the principle behind it.
Arendt confirmed one more time that no one was around, then drew his mana up again and activated the Frost-Tinged Touch. In an instant, a biting chill wrapped around his entire body. Closing his eyes slowly and opening them again, he lightly touched—a flick—a single leaf fluttering down nearby. The vivid green leaf froze solid in a heartbeat and dropped to the ground with a soft pat.
"Not bad."
Stamina and mana consumption had both clearly dropped. Considering how he'd streamed cold sweat the first time he activated it, that was a quantum leap. The first time, he'd shattered a single cup. The second, he'd frozen an enemy's blade solid in the blink of an eye. Now, he might be able to draw out something far greater.
The only regret was that he had nowhere suitable to test it.
Can't exactly put it on display, either.
Arthur and Licht wouldn't try to cut him down over it at this point, but he couldn't yet say the same of the other knights. If word got out that Arendt was carrying a dangerous artifact, someone was bound to start watching him like a hawk. And those heart-something lunatics were combing the continent half-mad for this battered old glove—drawing their eyes and turning himself into a target was the last thing he wanted.
"Hmm……"
Still, it would be nice to have a proper place to train. Fingering the point of his sword, Arendt sank into a light reverie.
"Hey, Arendt…… huh?"
Arthur, who had just walked into the training grounds, froze at the sight of Arendt standing motionless, rolling only his eyes.
The way his pupils rolled and his head tilted might have drawn a genuine gasp of admiration from a stranger, so graceful was it. But to Arthur, who'd had his fill of being burned by this boy, it looked suspicious and unsettling, as always.
Just then, Arendt lifted his head again. Arthur flinched reflexively.
Arendt spat out, at the empty air:
"I'm hungry."
"……"
What on earth is wrong with that kid? Arthur's questions only piled up, day after day.
Three months had passed since Su-hyeon came to ride shotgun on this story as Arendt von Eckhart. He, too, was steadily settling into life in this world.
"Run an errand."
That was Laios's opening line.
Arendt, summoned out of nowhere, blinked in bewilderment. Laios handed him a neatly prepared stack of documents.
"Take these to His Highness the Crown Prince."
"Me?"
"It's an apprentice knight's duty, after all. You simply haven't had the chance to do it until now, seeing as you've made a habit of running away."
"……"
There was no possible retort to that. Arendt obediently accepted the documents.
"Wow, that's a bit rich, Commander. So what you're saying is I can't even run away anymore?"
"That was not my intent. I merely stated a fact."
Laios replied with perfect calm. Somehow I get the feeling his comeback game is getting better too…… Arendt grumbled only in his head.
After a brief pause, Laios added, abruptly:
"And this is my own personal judgment."
"……?"
"This is something that would have been reported up to him eventually whether or not we personally delivered it. But His Highness the Crown Prince specifically requested it."
Arendt blinked at the unexpected remark. Laios continued, evenly:
"I believe he was calling for you."
"Uh……"
A moment passed. Once he'd finished assessing the situation, Arendt asked, sourly:
"Don't tell me he actually stormed into the Knight Order?"
"He did not storm in. He merely requested a brief, private meeting."
Same thing.
Arendt felt like burying his face in his hands. He'd more or less expected it would come to this, even as the man summoned him without a hint of hesitation.
"What did he say, exactly?"
"That we are all loyal to His Majesty the Emperor and His Highness the Crown Prince, and that he has no objection whatsoever. But that should any potentially dangerous matter arise, he would prefer it be brought first to me, as your commander."
Not a man to let your guard down, as ever.
Arendt worked his mouth open and shut a few times, then finally let out a short sigh and changed the subject.
"And the thing I gave you? Have you tried it yet?"
"Not yet. I carry it with me, but……"
Laios let the end of the sentence trail off. Arendt could guess what he meant to say. No place to use it, I suppose. He'd evidently reached the same conclusion—that it was best not to show it in front of the other knights.
Laios had his duties as commander, too, so like Arendt he couldn't easily claim the training grounds during hours when the other members were around.
Arendt scratched the back of his head.
"It's not that hard to use, so I don't suppose it's a problem. I gave it a test run—could've taken down someone at Licht's level without breaking a sweat."
"That trick of yours……"
He recalled the incident from before, when Arendt had fought a sparring match against Licht and won. There had been quite an uproar at the time, with Arendt insisting he'd used a trick. Only now could Laios grasp the full story behind it.
Arendt stared dead at his commander, as if to ask what the problem was. Against that shameless—that brazenly shameless—face, there was little Laios could say.
"You do not use your seniors for target practice."
"That's on the guy who picked the fight."
"……Just go."
Experience had taught Laios that prolonging the conversation past this point would do no one any good. Arendt shrugged and turned on his heel.
Orders were orders—he had to make his way to the Imperial Palace.
Leaving the dormitories and setting off along the road to the main palace, he ambled along, taking in his surroundings at leisure. The weather was clear. Sunlight slid down the well-tended garden trees, and a perfectly calibrated breeze brushed his cheek as it passed. Arendt rolled his eyes and shifted his gaze toward the passing foot traffic.
The servants who spotted him hastily averted their eyes. The nobles he crossed paths with shot him curious glances—occasionally sidelong sneers, as one might regard an insect.
Nice.
Getting to be treated like walking garbage—now there was a truly precious experience. Arendt straightened his back all the more and strode along proudly.
Perhaps that was why it wasn't until he set foot inside the palace proper that he noticed the problem.
"Ah……"
Arendt had no idea where the Crown Prince's office was.
He stopped in belated realization and looked around, but all he could see were the servants he'd encountered scurrying away in a panic.
"……"
Nice. Just great.
Arendt had no choice but to repeat the words he'd murmured earlier. After a moment's deliberation, he arrived at an easy conclusion. No deadline had been set, so he resolved to take his time about it. Frankly, running an errand meekly and without complaint didn't suit a rabid dog of a knight in the first place.
Arendt took another step forward. He meant to stroll along and give himself a leisurely tour of the palace.
But before he'd managed more than a few paces—
Crash!
A commotion erupted dead ahead.
"Where are your eyes, boy? In the back of your head?!"
A bellowing shout followed, as though its owner considered it only his due. Arendt blinked and took stock of the scene.
"I'm sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going, I beg your—!"
"Do you have any idea how important these documents are?!"
A pot-bellied middle-aged man was raging up and down, barking at a servant. Arendt recognized the servant's face—the boy who had bolted from his path just moments ago, practically fleeing.
At the feet of the two men, broken teacups and plates and a scattering of papers lay strewn across the floor. The servant was nearly crawling as he gathered up the spilled documents.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry……"
"Where is the steward? I'll speak with him directly. To think the palace employs someone of such low caliber!"
At those words, the servant's face went white as paper. But the man showed no sign whatsoever of backing down.
"Bring him to me at once! Did you not hear me?"
"Please forgive me just this once, my lord Marquis! I'm still new to the work, that was all……"
The servant bowed his head again and again. The passersby stopped in their tracks. Drawn by the sudden uproar, nobles and attendants from elsewhere in the palace began drifting into view.
"That would be Marquis Grig."
"And that one is apparently a servant newly entered this season. The eldest son of some baronial house, I heard."
Whispers threaded through the gathering crowd. There were plenty of spectators. But not one among them looked inclined to stop the man called Marquis Grig.
Every onlooker's gaze converged on the servant who had made the mistake and the marquis who was suffering his humiliation. Arendt, too, had no choice but to come to an awkward halt on the spot.
He could easily have simply walked past, but the two of them happened to be standing dead in the direction he'd been heading. And with such a crowd gathering so quickly, it had become awkward to slip quietly away.
"Tch. What a nuisance."
Arendt shot a sidelong glance at the servant, who was sweating buckets, and clicked his tongue. Then he wheeled around the footsteps he'd been about to carry past.
The servant stood bent double at the waist, motionless. Both his hands, raised above his knees, were trembling violently.
At that, the marquis seemed to grow even angrier, stepping in close to the servant in an unmistakably threatening manner.
"So you can't hear me? Or what—do you intend to take responsibility for this yourself? You've ruined documents of critical importance. How do you plan to answer for that? How?"
At last, the marquis's fist rose into the air. The servant squeezed his eyes shut. Short cries burst from the lips of onlookers who could guess what would happen next.
And then, a bored voice cut abruptly into the scene.
"You're giving me a splitting headache. Do you have the Imperial Palace all to yourself?"
"……"
In an instant, silence fell over the crowd as if someone had flung a bucket of cold water over them all. Bewildered, the marquis—fist still raised—turned his head toward the direction of the voice. The servant too, as though he'd momentarily forgotten his own predicament, let his mouth hang open.
The person who had gathered every eye in the corridor in the space of a breath was a single young man.
The marquis's jaw dropped in sheer disbelief, then he stammered out:
"……Did you just speak to me?"
"Yes, that would be me. Unless there's someone else besides you occupying the corridor and kicking up a racket. A marquis, of all people, harrying a single servant—what exactly do you think you're doing? Have you no shame in that thick skull of yours?"
Standing with his weight cocked lazily to one side, Arendt stared back at the marquis, utterly expressionless.