Stealing the Spotlight
Kendrick, who had barely recovered his composure, changed the subject. "I heard you had quite a rough time of it recently. Are you all right, physically?"
"Not at all. I suffered a severe psychological wound. The moment I identify the mastermind, I intend to press charges."
Arendt replied without a flicker of expression on his face. Kendrick nodded.
"You seem well enough, so that's a relief. Still, be careful. I don't know who's behind it, but people can be a terribly persistent sort. Once they learn you survived, they'll try to get their revenge on you one way or another."
"Sir Arendt in particular has a habit of making enemies. It's not so rare for filthy wretches to hire assassins, so you'd best watch yourself."
"Well, I doubt there are two fools out there foolish enough to send assassins after a knight who guards His Majesty the Emperor. But you should still take care not to walk the streets alone at night."
As Diana chimed in, Duke Lancelot burst into a hearty guffaw. Arendt cast the three of them a distinctly sour glance.
"I can't quite tell whether you're worried about me or simply delighted by my misfortune."
"Oh come now, what is there to be delighted about? I merely speak out of concern for you, as any elder would."
The Duke let out another booming laugh and clapped Arendt on the shoulder. Arendt wore a sour pout, but he didn't shake the old man's hand off.
Apparently, Marquis Grig sending assassins at someone who displeased him was nothing new. Perhaps because of that, the three of them seemed to find it rather delightful that the Marquis's bad habits had finally cost him.
"Come to think of it... the star of the evening is a little late, isn't he?"
Diana tilted her head. "The star? You mean His Highness the Crown Prince? I heard he was delayed by some other business."
"No, not His Highness, but... ah."
Arendt, whose gaze had drifted toward the entrance, let out a short sound of recognition. Speak of the tiger and he shall appear — Neumann den East was just entering the banquet hall, leading his entourage of attendants. Only then did Duke Lancelot understand what Arendt had meant, and he nodded.
"That man's been the talk of the town lately. You're quite right — he's the true centerpiece of tonight's festivities. I hear he's promised to conclude his first contract with the Imperial Knight Orders. Is that true?"
"Yes, that is the arrangement."
As Kendrick nodded, Duke Lancelot wore an enigmatic smile. Publicly, the story was that Branch Manager Neumann was expressing his gratitude to the Imperial Knights for defending the East Vault. But the three people present knew full well that this was the product of a deal struck between Arendt and the manager.
Whatever the process had been, there was no mistaking it — Arendt had called him the star of the evening, and he was not wrong.
The moment Branch Manager Neumann appeared, the attention of nobles scattered about the hall, chatting idly, began pouring toward him.
"Well, if it isn't Branch Manager Neumann. It's been some time."
"I was just wondering when you would grace us with your presence."
"You honor me. As it happens, His Highness the Crown Prince was gracious enough to send me a personal invitation."
The manager responded to each greeting in turn with his trademark kindly smile. Diana, who had been watching him quietly, spoke up.
"He looks pleased with himself. I suppose that's because the shape of his grand project is finally starting to come together."
"The East Merchant Guildmaster must be sour about it, though. I hear he's none too happy about the man's independence."
Kendrick answered her. It was hardly a strange state of affairs. Until now, it had been the Guildmaster who spearheaded and grew the business, and Neumann who had ably assisted him. For a man in that position to suddenly declare his independence was something no one had anticipated.
From what he'd heard, Neumann had been planning the split for quite some time, but problems with trade contracts and investors had kept him from acting on it until now.
Kendrick rolled his eyes and looked at Arendt. And the one who zeroed in on exactly that problem and proposed the deal was this little bastard.
He had brushed it off at the time, but looking back on it, it was truly a remarkable piece of work.
Branch Manager Neumann spotted Arendt, broke into a delighted smile, and strode through the crowd toward him.
"Sir Arendt, how lovely to run into you at a gathering like this."
"We only just met the other day. Shouldn't you be speaking with all these other people first?"
Arendt inclined his head slightly in a polite greeting. The manager broke into an easy grin.
"There is no guest of honor quite like you, Sir Arendt. And surely you don't believe I came here only to see you? There are people here to whom I owe my first greetings, after all."
"Ah..."
Gasps of realization escaped Duke Lancelot, Kendrick, and Diana all at once. Seeing this, Arendt quietly stepped aside.
As if he had been waiting for exactly that, Branch Manager Neumann took a step back and bowed respectfully toward the three of them.
"It has been a while, Your Grace the Grand Duke. And Sir Kendrick, Sir Diana — I trust you have been well?"
"Me? Of course nothing's troubled me. These days I hardly have a moment to be bored."
Duke Lancelot let out a hearty laugh. It was no formal greeting, but the manager's witty entrance had smoothed the atmosphere over beautifully.
Diana smiled as well and asked, "No trouble with security at the vault, I trust?"
"None whatsoever. Every so often some petty thieves would slip in without knowing their place, but lately even those attempts have stopped. That is all thanks to the favor of the Knight Commanders, His Majesty the Emperor, and God Luce."
The group, chatting away with Arendt at the center of it all, looked thoroughly at ease. Whether he took it for an opportunity or not, the other nobles who had been hovering hesitantly at a distance began to drift over to them one by one.
"Duke Lancelot, it has been far too long."
"I trust nothing untoward has happened since we last spoke?"
As the crowd began to gather, Arendt seized Neumann by the arm, hauled him to the very center of it all — the very spot where he himself had been standing moments ago — and planted him there. Then he quietly slipped away into the background.
And just like that, the star of the gathering became Branch Manager Neumann.
"Manager, might I ask about your new venture? I have an interest in investing."
"For the present, I intend to focus on supplying provisions and cloth. Naturally, since these will be goods used by the Imperial Knight Orders themselves, I will stock only the very finest."
Branch Manager Neumann began to unfold his pitch with practiced ease, and in an instant, the space around him erupted into a lively hum.
Arthur, watching the scene from a distance, let out a horrified croak. "...Why is he over there?"
Arendt, who had appointed himself a piece of wall decoration, was now — without anyone noticing how — surrounded by the most formidable power players in the entire palace.
"His Highness hasn't even arrived yet, and the mood is already ripening beautifully."
"Indeed it is..."
Arthur nodded quietly at Richt's deadpan assessment. Not long after, he noticed Laios standing a short distance away, his eyes fixed on Arendt.
His expression was no different from usual — utterly blank — but Arthur had no difficulty telling that Laios was inwardly anxious. He let out a bitter smile. For now, all any of them could do was stand back and watch the situation unfold.
Just then, Richt, who had been eyeing the entrance, let out a short groan. "Oh no..."
"What is it? ...Ah."
It didn't take long for Arthur to understand exactly why Richt had reacted that way. Marquis Grig was entering the banquet hall, leading a small retinue of servants.
"There's Marquis Grig."
"Do you think this will blow over quietly?"
Richt murmured, heavy with worry. It was only natural that when a new figure arrived at a banquet, attention would shift toward them. And if that figure was Marquis Grig, all the more so — he was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the entire palace.
But not a single noble spared the Marquis so much as a glance. The hall was already blazing with talk of Branch Manager Neumann's new venture.
Sensing something off, the Marquis looked around in bewilderment. "What is this? Why is it so noisy... huh?"
He soon spotted the knot of people bustling around in a crowd. It didn't take him long to work out who sat at the center of it.
Duke Lancelot, regarded as the most powerful man in the empire after the Crown Prince. And the commanders of the first and second of the Emperor's most beloved personal knight orders. The manager of a vault that counted countless nobles among its clients... and a silver-haired apprentice knight.
The moment Marquis Grig laid eyes on Arendt, his face contorted hideously.
Arendt, for his part, seemed to notice him at the same instant, and turned his head toward the entrance.
"That little..."
Arthur, catching the whole tableau, licked his lips. The other nobles, absorbed in Branch Manager Neumann, hadn't yet noticed what was happening.
Staring blankly at the two of them, Arthur murmured before he could stop himself. "Don't tell me... he did it on purpose?"
That the crowd had gathered around Arendt, that the Marquis now looked as though he'd been snubbed — all of it was pure coincidence. And yet somehow, every piece of the situation looked exactly like Arendt's design.
No way... no, but still...
Then Arendt, meeting Marquis Grig's eyes across the hall, let a subtle smile curl across his lips. Arthur's suspicion hardened into certainty in that instant.
This whole time, Branch Manager Neumann had been a puppet Arendt had thrust before the crowd. The spectators swarming like clouds were really no different — just more puppets on the same strings.
And there was exactly one reason Arendt had gone to the trouble of staging this grand theater. To spit in Marquis Grig's eye.
A chill crawled up Arthur's spine. He heard himself speak aloud. "Shouldn't someone stop him?"
"Stop what?" Ryder asked, puzzled. But the answer never reached Arthur's ears.
Whatever it took, he had to put a stop to this. A gut feeling told him, powerfully, that otherwise the entire banquet was going to go up in flames.
But unfortunately, Arthur didn't know. Didn't know that the playwright of this banquet was the Crown Prince himself — and that its lead actor was Arendt.
The overture was over, and the star had made his entrance. It was time for the first act to truly begin.
Arendt, who had been lingering just behind the crowd, took a single step forward. At the same moment, one of his hands rose into the air with a flash.
"Marquis Grig! Over here. You're running a little late, aren't you?"
"..."
It was as if someone had dumped a barrel of ice water over the boisterous hall. A leaden silence settled over everything.
Arendt folded his arms and watched the aftermath unfold. Dazed, bewildered stares all fixed themselves on the man who had just arrived — Marquis Grig. Even the musicians seemed to sense the strange current in the air, the music faltering for a moment.
The Marquis, caught flat-footed, was unable to react at all. A heartbeat later, the musicians recovered their wits and resumed their playing — and at almost the same moment, the Marquis realized his blunder.
He opened his mouth to respond. But once again, Arendt stole the lead right out from under him.
"So glad to finally see you again. I heard you've been recuperating — how are you feeling?"
On Arendt's lips hung a smile of deep, unctuous satisfaction — the smile of a cat that had gotten into the cream.