The Knight Who Knows No Shame
There was not a single person present who failed to recognize the handsome knight who had appeared out of nowhere.
The Marquis was no exception. In the entire Imperial Palace, there was exactly one man with hair that shade of pure, snow-white silver.
Arendt von Eckhart. The troublemaking knight who had lately been the most talked-about name on everyone's lips.
Arendt strode straight up to the two of them, trailed by the bewildered stares of the onlookers.
His first words were spat at the attendant.
"Scramming off like that, and now look at you. That's what happens when you don't watch where you're going. Did someone say they'd eat you alive or something?"
"P-pardon? Ah, I'm sorry......"
The attendant answered in a daze. He clearly hadn't the faintest grasp of what he was even saying.
Arendt tore his eyes from the attendant and turned back to the Marquis. For his part, Marquis Grig had yet to process the situation and could only blink at him stupidly.
A moment later, the Marquis snapped back to his senses and growled viciously.
"So that's who you are. Arendt von Eckhart, the knight everyone's been whispering about. Strutting about the capital without a shred of shame, even now. You've got some nerve on that face of yours."
"I suppose I do."
"......"
The Marquis was struck speechless by sheer incredulity.
The onlookers gaped just as wide.
Arendt met his glare with perfect, unblinking shamelessness.
"Well? How's the view of that thick-skinned face? Any impressions? Not bad-looking, actually, is it?"
A silence like a bucket of ice water flooded the palace corridor.
Is this man insane......? Open disbelief flashed across the Marquis's face.
And he was already in a foul mood to begin with. He'd been forced to pull an all-nighter preparing materials the Crown Prince had personally requested, and a bill tied to his own business ventures had run headlong into opposition and was now on the verge of collapsing altogether. Then, in the middle of all that, one clumsy attendant had gone and ruined the documents he'd stayed up writing. And now, on top of everything, the man rumored to be the most insufferable piece of work in the entire capital had decided to insert himself into the picture.
"......Ha. Unbelievable."
Marquis Grig let out a hollow laugh. The reaction was deliberately designed to provoke the young apprentice knight before him—but Arendt merely stared back with an expression of utter indifference.
"Hardly a situation that calls for your intervention, Sir Knight. It seems you can't tell the difference between the moments to butt in and the moments to keep your mouth shut."
"If I could tell the difference, I wouldn't be famous, now would I? And that attendant wouldn't have bolted at the sight of my face and crashed into you, my lord."
Arendt shrugged.
A fresh young face barely twenty years old, paired with a bored expression and languid, unhurried gestures. It was the very picture of insolence.
Marquis Grig's bewilderment turned, in short order, into naked fury. Twin flames kindled in his furious eyes. The trembling attendant who had spilled the tea no longer existed for him at all.
"Do you know who I am?"
"No. Am I supposed to?"
Arendt absorbed every stare converging on him, slipped his hands deep into his pockets with an air of perfect ease, and went on.
"I must say, I'm having trouble understanding what exactly makes you so grand, that you can summon and dismiss the head attendant at will, or occupy the middle of a corridor like this without a soul daring to reproach you—Marquis Grig, was it?"
With that, all he had to do was subtly lift the tail of his remark into a question and curl his lips ever so slightly, and it was complete.
The perfect expression for raking someone's nerves raw.
The Marquis, who had been staring blankly once more, flushed a deep, furious red.
"You came back from the dead, and this is how you talk? If not for His Majesty the Emperor's mercy, your head would have rolled on the executioner's block!"
At those words, several onlookers sucked in their breath. They were certain Arendt was about to explode in rage.
But Arendt only picked at his ear with the air of a man wondering where that barking was coming from.
"Unfortunately, my head remains firmly attached. Though if it offends you so, feel free to lodge a formal protest with the people who handed down the verdict—tell them that because *they* failed to sentence me to death, *you* are now suffering this insult."
"What......?"
"I'm sure you'd have plenty of places to march off to right this moment. Or I'd be happy to escort you there myself. It's entirely possible they really did make a mistake, after all."
Had anyone ever spoken this way about their own head?
Every listener stood aghast.
"Of course, had things gone the way you wanted and I dropped dead right there, the East Vault would be nothing but ash right now. A shame, really, given all your assets sitting inside it."
Arendt wasn't finished.
"Oh, and one more thing—be sure to mention this too. You were about to discipline the attendant for ruining your precious documents, but your hand couldn't quite rise in front of a rude apprentice knight talking back at you, so please tell them to thrash him on your behalf."
With that, Arendt flicked a sidelong glance at the Marquis's fist, which had quietly lowered at some point.
The Marquis caught the meaning, and his face burned crimson. His clenched fist began to tremble.
"Are you quite finished, sir?"
"Oh, going to throw a punch? Well, that's not a bad idea either. And here I was almost under the impression you only swung your fists cowardly at weak little attendants."
The air turned to a sheet of thin ice.
Arendt simply kept his eyes on the Marquis, the corner of his mouth twisted, while the Marquis's face cycled between burning red and deathly pale, over and over, as he failed to contain his fury.
The attendant cowering behind Arendt was one breath away from bursting into tears. The onlookers held their breath and watched the standoff unfold.
A brief silence passed.
Then, at last, the Marquis exhaled slowly. Having clawed back some measure of composure, he spoke again.
"......So the Crown Prince showed you a little favor, and now you think the world belongs to you. No wonder Count Eckhart cast you out. The man had his reasons."
"Cast out? Huh. News to me."
Arendt crossed his arms and widened his eyes in a theatrical show of surprise.
Marquis Grig snarled at him.
"It's a plain fact. When you were imprisoned, did your house lift a finger to defend you or help you in any way? I thought it strange that no one so much as stirred, even with their own son a hair's breadth from execution—but now I understand the Count's true feelings. With a temperament like yours, how could the household possibly want you?"
So that's how it was. Well, that's new.
Arendt blinked.
And here I just figured he was some pampered rich boy. I hadn't paid it any mind until now, but maybe his relationship with his father really is worse than I thought.
Then again, considering the man hasn't shown so much as the tip of his nose this whole time, I suppose it tracks.
The days when he'd be executed as a traitor were over, and the family no longer stood to be censured over it—but Arendt still hadn't laid eyes on a single one of these so-called relatives of his.
When Arendt offered no reply, the Marquis took it as his cue and smirked, convinced he'd seized the upper hand.
"You barely scraped your life back, and not a hint of remorse to be seen. What would the Count say if he could see you now? And this conduct of yours slanders the good name of Sir Laios, who defended you so ardently, no less!"
"Hm......"
Arendt's expression turned odd.
This Marquis seemed to be laboring under some kind of misunderstanding. Just as Arendt parted his lips to point it out, a gentle voice slipped in between the two of them.
"If it's Sir Laios you're worried about, he wouldn't reproach Sir Arendt in a situation like this."
Arendt faltered, his lines stolen right out of his mouth.
"Sir Arendt's manner of speech certainly leaves something to be desired, but you've gone too far as well, my lord. From what I could hear, you saw fit to bring up a man's personal circumstances—delicate ones, at that. I can't help wondering if that isn't rather unbecoming conduct. It does no favors for your dignity either, Marquis."
The man's mellifluous voice flowed on, even and unhurried. The Marquis's mouth opened and shut several times before finally escaping him as a strained, anguished groan.
With a few choice words, the man had dissolved the entire hostile atmosphere in an instant. He then naturally extended his hand and received the documents still clutched in the attendant's grip.
"Hm. The pages are rather damp, but the writing is still legible enough. A fresh transcription should sort everything out. Marquis—these were meant for the Crown Prince, I take it? I'll see they're delivered on your behalf."
Having skimmed swiftly through the papers, the man favored them all with a warm, genial smile.
The Marquis gave a curt, sour nod.
"......Very well. I'll let the matter pass this once, but I won't stand idly by next time, Sir Knight."
The parting shot was aimed at Arendt, who merely shrugged.
"My apologies for the intrusion."
"......"
So bland a reply seemed to set the Marquis's temper alight all over again. But apparently deeming further wrangling pointless, he wheeled around and strode out of the corridor at a brisk pace.
"Dear me. He seems quite upset. I really ought to send him a gift later."
The man turned back toward Arendt, who was still standing there blankly, and broke into a pleasant, good-natured smile. Only then could Arendt take a proper look at his face.
"A pleasure to meet you, Sir Arendt von Eckhart. My name is Jereon Britton—you're welcome to simply call me Jen. It's more than I deserve, but I serve at the Crown Prince's side."
Mid-to-late thirties, perhaps. Neatly combed brown hair lent him a calm, composed air, and the green eyes nestled in his gentle gaze were brimming with quiet warmth.
Aide Jen.
Arendt was able to place the name. In the novel, he'd been little more than a passing mention—hardly a man of any real presence. His role had been to run Cantares's errands and handle light administrative work on his behalf.
Jereon turned his gaze to the attendant, who was still standing there in a daze.
"Do be mindful of what's ahead of you when you're carrying things. The people who work in this palace can't help being on edge, you understand. Try your best not to make mistakes."
"Yes...... I truly am sorry."
Wearing the look of a man who had just been spared his life, the attendant hesitated a moment, then lifted his head and looked at Arendt. Sensing the glance, Arendt gave him a sidelong look in return, and only then did the man find the courage to stammer out his words.
"Th-thank you for standing up for me, Sir Arendt. You had to endure such awful words on my account......"
"I wasn't standing up for you. And you heard everything yourself, didn't you? The one who got humiliated was the Marquis back there. And you didn't even get your money's worth out of it."
Arendt waved his hands dismissively. Even so, a small but unmistakable smile bloomed across the attendant's face.
"Thank you."
"Run along now. You've got a spill to clean up, I imagine. I'll have a word with the head attendant so he doesn't come down too hard on you—so don't worry. Just don't let it happen again."
"Yes, sir! Thank you, Aide Jereon!"
The attendant bowed deeply several more times, gathered up the shattered plates and teacups, and scurried away. Jereon watched him go with warm eyes until he was out of sight, then turned back to Arendt.
"Truly...... just as His Highness said you would be."
"Just as he said, you say?"
"The palace's been in an uproar on your account, so His Highness told me to come find you. 'He'll be right there at the center of it all,' he said. 'Bring him to me at once.'"
In other words: the Crown Prince had sent him with the absolute conviction that Arendt would be standing at the heart of any unseasonable commotion.
Arendt scratched his cheek, a little sheepish.
Jereon beamed.
"Shall we go together, then? I'll show you the way."
Unable to think of anything else to say, Arendt simply nodded.