A Very Reasonable Confession
For a while, the daily routine between Laios and Arendt never changed.
While Laios handled his duties through the morning and afternoon, Arendt carried out his simple tasks as an apprentice knight and spent the rest of his time holed up in the training grounds.
And then, once dinner hour ended and everyone had gone to sleep, without fail he would slip out of the barracks and head for Cantares's training grounds, where the two of them would cross blades.
Perhaps Cantares wanted to soak in every moment of it with his own two eyes, because every night he would come out to the training grounds and watch them spar.
So it went, day after day.
Then one evening, Arthur, who had come out to the knights' training grounds as usual, shot him a reproachful look.
"What's with the bruises getting worse every day? You practicing falling down stairs or something?"
"I'd take that, honestly."
"What?"
Arthur asked in bewilderment, but Arendt offered no reply, only tightening the laces of his shoes with firm little tugs.
'He's been just waiting for a chance to beat me senseless all this time, hasn't he?'
When they sparred, Laios moved like a fish in water. He never said as much, but he'd apparently been thirsting for real, combat-grade sparring for a long while.
Arendt had thought he knew exactly how strong Laios was, but knowing it in his head and feeling it blade-to-blade were two entirely different dimensions.
Every bout ended with him thrown flat on his back, and every defeat bred a fresh stubbornness, so each time he flung himself at Laios with everything he had — and Laios never once went easy on him.
If you threw yourself at the finest swordsman in the empire with the full intention of dying every single day, improvement was inevitable.
His mana was drained to nothing again and again, recovering only near-complete by morning, and with each cycle his total capacity grew — slowly, but surely.
Thanks to that, Arendt was gradually lasting longer and longer against Laios with each passing day.
Even if the muscle soreness was currently killing him.
"Go inside and get some sleep. Your face is black as ash."
"I'm fine. I'm still handsome anyway."
Arthur quietly curled his hand into a fist.
Hit him just once. Come on.
But before Arthur could finish deliberating, Arendt struck first.
"Besides, even if I wanted to, I can't. I've got plans later."
"Plans? What kind?"
"Wouldn't you like to know."
At that second round of insufferable cheek, Arthur stopped deliberating and swung his fist.
But Arendt dodged it with a simple tilt of his head.
"You dodged?"
"I'm not an idiot. You think I'd actually take that?"
As Arendt stuck out his tongue with a childish nyeh, a wooden training sword came flying at his face — and he caught it on pure reflex.
He looked up to find Arthur, already in attack stance, charging straight at him.
"Ah, damn it! Who ambushes people like that? How are you a knight?"
"And where's your basic respect for your senior, you little punk?!"
And so began a back-and-forth brawl that was, quite naturally, a sparring match in all but name.
The other knights, absorbed in their own training, shot them puzzled glances — then, upon confirming it was just Arendt and Arthur kicking up another ruckus, smoothly went back to their drills.
The two of them noisily bickering wasn't the least bit surprising anymore.
Thus the 3rd Knight Order's training grounds knew peace again today.
"...What on earth happened to you?"
"I came straight from the training grounds. Don't worry about it."
To Cantares's calm question, Arendt replied with his usual surliness.
It was the height of insolence to pull in front of the Crown Prince, but nobody at the table bothered to call it out this time.
Perhaps the pointed stares from everyone else finally got under his skin, because Arendt began fussily straightening his clothes.
Laios, watching him with a level gaze, asked gravely, "Did you two fight?"
"We came from the training grounds, I told you. We didn't fight, we sparred. It got a little heated, sure."
Cantares asked as if joking. "Did you win?"
"Yes. By the narrowest of margins."
"What?"
At the unexpected answer, Cantares's eyes went wide.
Arendt rebuttoned his rumpled uniform and tied back his flyaway hair, neat and tidy.
"I said I won. Took a while, though."
"...Your opponent was Arthur?"
"Yes."
When Laios — who had been dumbly opening and closing his mouth — finally asked, Arendt nodded with a showy flourish.
"Your skills have evidently improved. Well done. I imagine Arthur will take it as motivation to train harder himself."
"He was already grumbling about how unfair it was, even before this. I left him sulking at the training grounds."
The sparring had been fierce, a true battle. In the end, Arthur couldn't withstand Arendt's final strike and lost his grip on his sword.
The moment his wooden blade went clattering across the floor after a long flight through the air, Arthur's eyes had blown wide in pure disbelief — and Arendt could still see that face perfectly.
The other knights wore the same slack-jawed expressions at the impossible result.
Leaving them all where they stood, Arendt had turned on his heel with a showy little swish and walked right out of the training grounds.
Exactly how infuriating that retreating figure must have looked needed no great imagination.
Clap, clap.
Zereon's light applause cleared the air around the table.
"Count Arendt's growth delights us all, but the time we have for idle chat is short. Shall we move on to business? Count, are you quite all right?"
"Yes? Ah — yes!"
Count Stadler, suddenly called by name, answered in a scramble. His mind had been entirely elsewhere for some time now.
He had entered the palace feeling like a cow dragged to the slaughterhouse upon being summoned by the Crown Prince — only for the three men who'd called him here to carry on some trifling conversation that paid him no mind at all.
Arendt, babbling away without a shred of restraint in a room containing both the Crown Prince and the Knight Commander, was absurd enough, but since that was simply the man he was, the Count could force himself to accept it.
What he couldn't wrap his head around was how casually the Crown Prince and Laios absorbed it all, as if it were perfectly natural.
Even Zereon, who as the Crown Prince's aide ought to have issued at least a word of warning, simply sat there smiling quietly. Count Stadler had utterly lost track of where he was supposed to look.
While the Count broke out in cold sweat, Cantares spoke first.
"I've heard the full situation from Sir Arendt, Count. It can't have been an easy decision, and I'm grateful you turned your heart back to us like this."
"N-no, Your Highness! I—!"
"Yes, I know. It was the best choice for you as well. If Sir Arendt hadn't shown you mercy, you'd already be rotting in the underground prison. Don't you ever forget that, either."
Cantares's piercing blue eyes had, at some point, cooled to the temperature of sheet ice.
Count Stadler's mouth opened and shut a few times before he bowed his head deep, deep down.
"...I will spend the rest of my life atoning."
"Then let us return to the agenda. Knight Commander Laios — your report first."
"Understood."
Only then did Cantares give the order in his usual even tone.
"The comparison between the invisibility scrolls carried by the assassins who attacked Sir Arendt and those carried by the ones who raided the East Vault is complete. The same faint mana signature was detected on both sides."
Given everything that had come before, it wasn't a surprising result. Arendt, listening quietly, asked, "What happened to those men?"
"They remain in custody. Their memories are intact, and they're under round-the-clock watch to keep them from taking their own lives. But not a single one has opened his mouth yet."
"Impressive willpower. They must have something that matters more to them than their lives. Count Stadler — are you familiar with the term 'the Garden'?"
"Yes? Do you mean the Garden?"
At the sudden question, Count Stadler echoed in confusion.
"I take it you don't mean an ordinary garden... if it's some kind of slang, I've never heard it used."
"Then what conversations did you have with Marquis Grig?"
"Exactly what I told Sir Arendt. Marquis Grig merely provided me with a mana sample. I believe he intended to introduce me to some other people at that banquet, as well."
At that point, Count Stadler's gaze drifted toward Arendt.
The words that would have followed didn't need to be spoken aloud for anyone to guess them.
Laios picked up the thread for him, as if he understood perfectly. "Arendt sabotaged that gathering, then."
"Haha..."
Count Stadler burst into an awkward laugh.
This time, Arendt asked the question. "Has the Marquis contacted you at all since then?"
"No. He seemed to be in a thoroughly foul mood over the incident with you, Sir Arendt... but as of now he hasn't said a word."
"Has there been any sign that they've noticed your change of heart, Count?"
"I suspect not."
When Zereon asked, Count Stadler's answer was hedged. "My only point of contact with them was Marquis Grig. Given that they've said nothing to me, I don't believe they've caught on yet."
"Well, that's a relief."
Arendt, who had been quietly following the conversation, cut in abruptly. "Perhaps they were planning to explain what the Garden actually was to you that day. You said you were due to be introduced to others, after all."
"That's possible — if they'd been planning to draw you in properly."
Zereon agreed.
Then, having listened and answered absently for the better part of the discussion, Count Stadler suddenly shot to his feet.
"I-if there is anything I can do, please, do not hesitate to ask it of me."
"Hm?"
The three men's bewildered gazes converged on him.
Count Stadler swallowed dryly once, then spoke.
"I told you I would live out my days atoning. That vow contains no lie. Whatever I can do, I will do."
"Atonement, is it?"
At that moment, a voice of boundless contrariness interjected.
"Atonement? Really?"
Arendt's golden eyes, repeating the question in plain, measured tones, reflected Count Stadler back at him in full.
For a moment, the Count froze, words lost.
"You've come this far — might as well be honest with yourself. What you really want, Count, is to simply keep doing your research."
A short silence settled over the room.
Cantares leaned back in his chair and merely watched, while Laios and Zereon likewise held their tongues, saying nothing, only regarding the Count in silence.
"Your wish is entirely within reach. All it takes is continuing the very research that set your blood on fire."
As the young knight pressed on in his cold voice, Count Stadler's eyes settled into calm as well.
"When a dangerous moment comes, you ask His Highness the Crown Prince for protection. Leave the talk of atonement and loyalty — words you don't mean — out of it, and let's all just look out for our own interests. Every one of us."
Count Stadler, who had been clenching and unclenching his fists again and again, let out a soft, deflated laugh.
His stiff, rigid shoulders went slack.
"...I don't believe that's something a knight ought to say aloud. But I see. It's reasonable."
Count Stadler sank heavily back into his seat.
Behind his monocle, a quiet, steady light kindled in his eyes.
He swallowed once, then spoke again. "May I request funding for my research?"
"Of course. You have the Crown Prince's word on it."
Cantares answered with a smile, as if he'd been waiting for exactly that.
"Tell me everything you need — money, personnel, a laboratory. Whatever those Broken Heart's Sword bastards promised you, I'll give you far better. In exchange, if you betray us, you'll pay the price with your head."
Count Stadler gave a silent nod. "Then what would you have me do?"
"Contact Marquis Grig. Tell him you've decided you want to share in his cause. With all the conviction of a man willing to lay down his life for his research."
The answer came from Arendt, who arched an eyebrow into a sly smile.
"No need to actually act, either, right? That's just who you are, Count."
"Haha... if you'll put it so bluntly, then I have nothing to say in my defense."
Count Stadler laughed weakly, ran a hand down his face, and lifted his head again.
"I won't bother denying it."
Now there was neither hesitation nor anxiety left in his eyes at all.