The Golden Garden
Thud-thud-thud-thud.
Beneath the desk, Marquis Grig's legs bounced up and down without a moment's rest.
Yet the Marquis was so far gone that he couldn't even properly recognize his own state. His bloodshot eyes darted mindlessly over the letter laid out before him.
"Abandoning the investment, are they?"
A week had passed since the banquet. And this was already who knew how many letters of the same sort to arrive.
Each one came wrapped in elaborate excuses, accompanied by an expensive gift—but no such trifle was going to quench the Marquis's fury.
"These sons of bitches…"
Grrrk. At last, the sound of grinding teeth seeped out, venomous and thick.
Everyone who had withdrawn their investment had trotted out some grand justification, but the Marquis was hardly so dull as to miss what they were really thinking. They clearly wanted a piece of the new merchant guild Neumann was founding.
There weren't many men with capital enough to invest on both sides of the fence, after all.
And their falling-out with Arendt von Eckhart—the very protégé Guildmaster Neumann doted on—must have weighed heavily on their choice as well.
Crunch. The letter in the Marquis's fist crumpled into a sorry wad.
Yes. The culprit behind it all was that damned apprentice knight.
If not for that brat, things would never have unraveled this far.
And a mistake it had been, no denying that. Until mere days ago, the man had been branded a traitor—never in his wildest dreams had the Marquis imagined he'd end up under the protection of both Neumann and the Imperial Knights.
Thanks to which, he was now the laughingstock.
He had reported the situation by carrier pigeon the moment he returned from the banquet, but no reply had yet come. That silence was driving the Marquis mad with anxiety.
Have they discarded me?
No—he mustn't jump to conclusions just yet. Before that point, he had to prove his usefulness to them somehow. If he was cast aside, all that remained for him was death.
With trembling hands, Marquis Grig picked up the next letter and checked the sender.
The next instant.
"Huh?"
His eyes went wide, and in his flustered state he turned the envelope over and over, checking and rechecking the front. But the elegant handwriting did not change.
The sender was Count Rex von Stadler.
And the seal used to close it bore the unmistakable crest of the House of Stadler.
CRASH!
He shot to his feet so abruptly that his chair toppled backward with a clatter. The Marquis flung the letter carelessly aside and shouted toward the door.
"My carriage—prepare my carriage, now! And send word to the House of Stadler! Tell them I will call on them at once!"
"Y-yes, sir!"
The butler waiting outside bolted away in a hurry.
Marquis Grig stared down at the letter again, his face flushed.
God does not abandon me.
There lay a way out he had briefly forgotten.
Despite the Marquis's sudden visit, Count Stadler received him with a warm smile.
"Welcome, Marquis Grig. I have been expecting you."
"Hardly. Thank you for the invitation, Count. Time was so short I couldn't even prepare a proper gift—I'm rather embarrassed."
"A gift? Please, there's no need. Your visit alone is more than enough. Come in, come in."
Count Stadler personally guided the Marquis into the drawing room.
Seated across from Stadler at the table now laid with tea and pastries, Marquis Grig cleared his throat several times to compose his expression. He had rushed over here at the speed of a man unable to contain his joy—but looking ridiculous would never do.
Count Stadler was the first to speak.
"First, I must apologize, Marquis. That day, I inadvertently committed a grave discourtesy. I interjected without any grasp of the matter at hand. Even I had heard the notorious reputation of Sir Arendt, you see. It was surely a scheme to lure you into a trap."
"Not at all. I lost my temper rather excessively that day myself. If anything, it was thanks to you that I escaped unscathed."
But that was not what mattered now.
The Marquis, who had answered at once, hurried on to the heart of the matter.
"So—is it true, then? You've made up your mind?"
"Yes, that is so. To be perfectly honest, it was not an easy decision."
Count Stadler nodded, a bitter smile settling on his pale face.
"Indeed it is. If my meager abilities could be of use to you… then please, let us work together."
And with each word that fell from the Count's lips, an irrepressible grin spread ever wider across Marquis Grig's face.
"Well done~ indeed."
In a room some distance from the Count's drawing room, Arendt lay half-sprawled across the sofa as though it were his own home, chuckling away to himself.
The ones glaring at him from across the way with sour expressions were, of course, Arthur and Licht.
Rolling about in Arendt's pale hand was a top-grade mana crystal orb, capable of transmitting images and sound alike—and right now it faithfully displayed Count Stadler and Marquis Grig in the midst of their conversation.
"I've thought this for a while now, but the Marquis is a remarkably simple creature. How on earth did a man like that ever do business?"
"You play at being a knight yourself, so I don't see what grounds you have to say the Marquis can't run a business."
Arthur snapped back at him, but Arendt didn't so much as pretend to listen. Since he hadn't expected a reply in the first place, Arthur simply let out a long, weary sigh.
It was Licht who spoke instead.
"Count Stadler is a better liar than I gave him credit for, too. I thought him a man of frail constitution."
"A liar? Please, senior. That sort of thing is called acting."
By now Arendt had kicked off his shoes entirely and flopped full-length onto the sofa.
Just pointing out the sight of him made Arthur's head throb anew.
"…In any case. His Highness the Crown Prince has handed this entire matter over to you?"
"Handed it over? Hardly. I'm nothing more than an errand boy. Never in my dreams did I expect he'd assign seniors to me as well."
The reason Arthur and Licht—who until recently had known nothing at all—had tagged along this far was Laios's forceful insistence.
Cantares had argued that moving with a small group would be safer for security's sake, but he capitulated quickly to what Laios said next.
"Send him alone, and there is no telling what might happen. Someone must be at his side to stop him."
…Or so it went.
In other words, he was being treated as a complete menace to society.
Frankly, Arendt felt a little proud. It was proof—proof!—that his performance as Arendt von Eckhart was flawless.
Now THIS is proper method acting.
It was a different dimension entirely from Count Stadler's clumsy performance. Even back in the theater, there had been times his fellow troupe members wore expressions suggesting they could barely handle him… well, that was ancient history. Best left filed away.
Tsk. Clicking his tongue, Arthur grumbled on with evident displeasure.
"No wonder you kept vanishing off to who knows where… I never imagined you'd be taking orders from His Highness the Crown Prince. And what was that, out of nowhere? A legendary evil god, you say?"
"Senior, legend and history differ by a single letter. By that logic, even Hero Kahn, beloved of God Luce, is nothing but an old bedtime story."
"That's not what I'm asking. Weren't those things supposed to have been wiped out in ancient times? Why are they crawling back out of the woodwork now?"
"How should I know? If you ever run into one, ask it yourself."
Licht watched Arendt, who answered so breezily without ever taking his eyes off the crystal orb, with evident displeasure. What he wanted to know was something else entirely.
"But why you?"
"Pardon?"
"I know well enough that you were the one who found the thread in this affair. And I know it counts as a great achievement. But that doesn't stretch so far as to justify handing you full authority over all of it."
Only then did Arendt turn a lukewarm gaze toward Licht.
A serious voice followed.
"Those two over there are not people you could ever presume to treat carelessly. If this goes wrong, it will not simply be glossed over."
"Oh, that's simple."
"What is?"
"Because I'm better than everyone."
For a moment, Licht's face went utterly blank.
Arendt clicked his tongue.
"Where, precisely, is the line between your work and mine? The one who can do the job does the job. That's all."
"No, but still—"
"Or is there some complaint you'd like to lodge against His Highness the Crown Prince's decision?"
Arendt drove the wedge in.
"Besides, I have absolutely no intention of taking responsibility for anything. If we get caught, I'll immediately confess it all and blame His Highness the Crown Prince."
"What did you say?"
"Isn't that only natural? What power do I possibly have?"
As Licht sat there, mouth opening and closing without a word to emerge, Arthur shot him a pitying look.
Why on earth did you engage him at all.
That said, it was genuinely puzzling.
The Commander was one thing—Laios had always placed boundless trust in his own subordinates. But the Crown Prince entrusting a matter to Arendt of all people was, unmistakably, a strange state of affairs.
Though I can't say I can't guess the reason.
"Because I'm better than everyone," was it.
An insolent answer—but Arthur couldn't quite bring himself to call it wrong. This manner of handling affairs would be impossible for anyone other than that shameless brat, the one in whom honor and courtesy could not be found even with a magnifying glass.
He must be a terribly convenient creature to have around, for His Highness.
Never mind the small matter of Laios and the other knights dropping dead along the way.
Just then, Count Stadler's voice drifted from the crystal orb.
"—What I wish to know is the true nature of the specimen you have brought me."
The knights shut their mouths and leaned in to listen once more.
"—The first was mana fused from a goblin and a wyvern. The second, mana from a canis blended with that of a hundred-year-old raccoon dog."
"—Oh, you'll come to understand all that in time. Finding out is precisely the work I need from you, Count."
The Marquis's jesting voice followed close behind.
"—When the first study was complete, you told me, did you not, that such a specimen could not exist. And yet it does exist—plainly, before your very own eyes."
"—Are you saying you've discovered a method of synthesizing mana?"
The Count's voice rose a register, thick with excitement.
"—Just so. The truth is, an ancient grimoire has been found."
"—Did you say… an ancient grimoire?"
"—Yes, and not merely one. Several volumes were unearthed. Which is why I require someone to study them."
A curious glint entered Arendt's eyes as he peered into the orb.
"—Then that specimen of yours as well…?"
"—It was crafted with the grimoires found at that time as reference. But that proved to be its limit. No further progress presented itself, so I've decided to borrow the Count's strength."
It was, undeniably, the kind of talk that could seduce any researcher.
Grimoires that had never once seen the light of day in all the world.
Why, the man must be drowning in his own drool.
Watching Count Stadler through the orb, Arendt clicked his tongue inwardly.
"—Th-then, where—where exactly is this place?"
"—If you wish, I can guide you there tomorrow itself. But mind your tongue. Above all else, strict secrecy is the first order of business. Keep this point firmly in mind."
"—Y-yes, of course. Naturally. I shall bear it in mind."
Count Stadler nodded his head in frantic haste.
Arendt hummed a pleased little tune.
"Seems they still haven't caught on that there are three little rats eavesdropping on them?"
"Don't call us rats, you little bastard! And whose fault is it that we're doing this?"
Even as he hissed the words, Arthur kept his voice pitched low, terrified of missing anything important.
Then Marquis Grig's voice lowered, dropping into something grave.
"—Ruins from the age of Hero Kahn have been discovered."
"What?"
In that instant, all three of them forgot entirely that they were eavesdropping at all and bolted upright from their seats.
"—The ancient grimoires all came from there as well. What you saw was but the tiniest fraction. Something unimaginable lies buried in that place. If you desire it, Count, you could become a very wealthy man indeed."
Marquis Grig added, swelling with pride.
"—We call it the 'Garden.' A garden made of gold—truly a fitting name, wouldn't you say?"
"…"
For a long while, none of the three could find their voices.
Licht passed a hand down his stricken face, and Arthur pressed hard at the bridge of his nose as if to beat back a pounding headache.
Gazing steadily through the orb at the Marquis, who rattled on in high spirits about utter nonsense, Arendt was the first to break the silence.
"Ruins from the age of Hero Kahn… then that would be before the founding of the Callion Empire?"
"What do you think?"
"But… I was given to understand that nearly all ruins from that era were lost to the war."
Letting Licht's dazed murmur wash past him, Arendt sank into thought.
That was precisely why the war between Hero Kahn and the Evil God Cult existed only as a story.
The sole evidence the war had left behind was burned wreckage and the Sacred Sword passed down through the imperial line, generation to generation. Beyond that, there was nothing but history books and oral tradition.
"Well, well. What a catch."
A faint smile flickered across Arendt's lips.