Are You a Traitor?
"Now that you've seen it with your own eyes, shall we get down to business?"
The voice came from behind him without warning, and the Count, who had been muttering in a daze, whipped around.
Vincent was smiling as he looked at him.
"F-forgive me. Such a blunder on my part... the thing was simply so extraordinary that I lost my head."
"No need to apologize. I understand completely. If anything, it's rather pleasant to see such enthusiasm. And in any case, the one who made the mistake was not you, Count."
"...?"
As Count Stadler's face filled with confusion, Vincent gave a casual shrug and turned fully around.
His gaze landed on none other than Marquis Grig, who had been standing there in a stupor.
Meeting the masked man's eyes, the Marquis blinked foolishly for a moment.
And then... his face drained to a deathly white.
"Vi-Vincent, my lord?"
"The one who made the mistake was this man. Isn't that right, Marquis?"
Vincent's tone as he said it was almost gentle.
But Marquis Grig stumbled back a step, like a man who had just heard his death sentence.
"Vi-Vincent, my lord, please..."
"Thanks to your idiotic little stunt, most of the investors pulled out in a mass exodus, and you squandered what little goodwill you'd managed to build up... If that isn't a mistake, then what would you call one?"
As Vincent continued in a mocking, sing-song voice, the Marquis's face grew even paler.
"I apologize! I have committed a sin worthy of death! Please, forgive me just this once!"
"Well, bringing us Count Stadler here might just be enough to earn a measure of forgiveness."
Relief bloomed across the sweating Marquis's face.
But only for an instant.
"A man your age ought to know better than to fall for some brat's sleight of hand."
A sharp whistle of steel.
At the searing pain spreading across his chest, Marquis Grig looked down in a daze.
Blood was welling slowly from the deep gash carved across his upper body.
He could neither scream nor protest any longer.
The last thing he saw as his head lifted was Vincent idly flicking the blood from his blade.
A soft slide, then a heavy thud.
The Marquis's lifeless body hit the floor with a resounding crash.
"Ah, ah, ah..."
The blood pouring from the great wound spread into a pooling dark lake.
The fishy stench stung at the nose.
Vincent stepped over the Marquis's corpse without so much as a glance and approached Count Stadler.
"My apologies for this. Showing you such a gruesome sight the very first time we meet."
Having just cut a man down seconds ago, Vincent looked utterly unbothered.
The Count instinctively stumbled back a step.
"S-stay away from me!"
"There's no need to be afraid. You're a valuable asset, Count — I can't afford to harm you. That is, so long as you answer a few questions."
A soft click of metal. Vincent, smiling pleasantly, leveled his sword just below the Count's throat.
"Lately there seems to be a certain little rat in the Imperial Capital trying to interfere with our cause... Do you happen to know who it might be, Count? I imagine you have at least a suspicion."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You'll know of the East Vault affair. I hear it's the talk of the Imperial Capital right now."
Count Stadler, who had repeated the question in flustered confusion, found his voice failing him entirely at what came next.
"Someone leaked information to the Imperial Knights that day. They also stole one of our precious treasures from inside the vault — an item that no one but our own could possibly recognize. Which means..."
The bloodstained blade — streaked with Marquis Grig's blood — pressed tighter against Count Stadler's throat.
"...there is a traitor among us."
The one who had supplied information to the Imperial Knights during the East Vault incident was none other than Arendt.
Count Stadler's lips went dry with tension.
"And not long after that, one of our own people went missing. When we investigated, we learned he'd been killed by a young knight of the Imperial 3rd Knight Order. It seems the treasure he carried was stolen as well."
Vincent took a step closer to the Count.
"The person who recently humiliated Marquis Grig in the Imperial Capital was, as it happens, also an apprentice knight of the 3rd Knight Order. And by pure coincidence, that same apprentice was arrested and released shortly before the East Vault incident. So let me ask you this."
The unreadable eyes behind the mask closed around the Count like a snare.
"Do you know a man called Arendt von Eckhart?"
A dry swallow.
Cold sweat traced down his jaw and dripped, plip, onto the floor.
Over Vincent's shoulder, he could see the Marquis sprawled on the ground, utterly motionless.
If I don't answer right now, I die.
The instinct struck him with absolute certainty.
And if I do answer?
Then there would be no returning to the Imperial Capital. His life was already mortgaged to the Crown Prince — and a lie would not save him either.
The Count found himself biting down hard on his lip.
A memory surfaced: that night in the palace garden, when faint music drifted on the air, and Arendt had stood bathed in moonlight, wholly at ease.
And then, quite naturally, his mouth opened.
"...I..."
Struggling to steady his wretchedly trembling voice, the Count paused for a moment.
When he spoke again, his tone had settled considerably.
"I don't really know him."
"Hmm?"
"All I know is that he's some green young knight. I hear he goes around stirring up trouble wherever he goes."
Count Stadler looked Vincent dead in the eye.
Vincent tilted his head slightly, then took a step back.
"If that's truly the Count's answer, then..."
And in the very next instant—
"What a shame."
Clank. Vincent adjusted his grip on the sword.
Before the Count could react, the bloodstained blade came hurtling toward him.
Bracing for the agony about to tear into his back, the Count squeezed his eyes shut.
Then a powerful hand shoved hard against his chest.
And almost in the same breath—
Claaang!
The ringing crash of steel against steel tore through the heavy air of the underground chamber.
Crash!
Flung to the floor, Count Stadler stared up in a daze.
A long robe billowed and snapped, revealing the unmistakable uniform of an apprentice knight beneath it.
Next to catch his eye was a slightly disheveled head of pure snow-white hair.
"It's me, you damn fool."
Arendt, planting himself between Vincent and the Count, spat the words out flatly.
The tip of his outstretched sword pointed squarely at Vincent's throat.
Vincent burst into a short laugh.
"My, my. I hadn't expected you to break out so soon."
"Of course I did. You thought a pile of dirt shaped like a doll could hold me?"
"You madman, I told you not to run off on your own!"
At the second voice that rang out behind him, Vincent froze for a beat.
Arthur and Richt had closed the distance without him noticing, and both were pointing their swords at his back.
Count Stadler mumbled in a daze.
"H-how did you...?"
"Forgive the delay."
Richt's stiff apology was, frankly, a disaster to behold. His ever-neat hair hung in disarray, and his clothes were caked head to toe in dirt.
Arthur and Arendt were in scarcely better shape, their uniforms tattered and filthy.
Arendt tilted his head at a lazy angle and muttered a single line.
"Drop the sword, won't you?"
"Can't say I'm inclined to."
Even with his life under immediate threat, Vincent simply smiled, unbothered.
"So Frost-Tinged Touch was the one you smuggled out, Sir Arendt. And the Shadow of the Strong must have gone your way too. Thanks to you, we've been made to look like dogs chasing a chicken — and on top of that, we've lost several irreplaceable assets. Whatever shall we do?"
"Assets, my ass. What kind of 'asset' falls into a trap laid by a mere rookie knight?"
Arendt let the corner of his mouth curl up as well.
Their eyes met in the empty air.
"A brat with no manners at all, I see."
"Funny — I'd rather not hear that from the Pervert Mask."
The wholly unexpected remark made Vincent falter.
The other two seized the opening without hesitation, their blades flashing out.
Vincent whirled around and deflected Richt's and Arthur's swords in one motion.
In the instant the two men staggered under the force of the blow, he kicked off the ground and lunged straight for Arendt.
"Arendt!"
"Look after the Count, will you?"
Arendt answered Arthur's frantic shout with an irritated snap.
BOOM!
The two swords collided, and the entire mine shuddered.
Seeing the blades flash white where they met — frozen solid at the point of contact — a flicker of genuine interest crossed Vincent's eyes.
"Already learned to wield it, have you? That can't have been easy."
"I'm just talented."
Arendt delivered the curt reply and knocked the blade away.
Clang! Crash!
Sharp, percussive noise erupted again and again as the two men traded blows.
Meanwhile, Arthur helped the still-collapsed Count Stadler to his feet.
"You know the way out, right? Get moving. Now."
"Y-yes, of course."
The Count nodded hastily and began sprinting for the exit.
Vincent didn't let the sight escape him. He shoved Arendt back with force and hurled a wave of crimson sword qi at the fleeing Count.
But Richt moved a beat faster and cut it down.
BOOM!
The direct collision left his wrist aching and numb.
He's strong.
Richt's eyes widened slightly.
In that instant, Arthur and Arendt both lunged at Vincent at once.
White sword qi swept the surrounding air, and a cold frost settled across the floor.
For a moment, Vincent's vision was swallowed by a fog of ice.
Through the veil, Arthur appeared out of nowhere, aiming for Vincent's flank.
BOOM!
Vincent twisted his blade and turned Arthur aside.
"Honestly. I never thought a mere golem would finish the job, but I did expect it to buy me more time than this."
Vincent shoved Arthur back with almost no effort, then hooked his leg and brought him down.
Crash!
Just as Vincent's sword was about to plunge into Arthur's chest as he tumbled across the ground, Arendt's blade shot in and blocked the strike.
Claaang!
His sword knocked away, Vincent clicked his tongue in irritation.
Arthur seized the opening, rolled, and scrambled clear.
Arendt, facing Vincent down once more, let out a short laugh.
"Shame about your carefully prepared trap. All smashed to pieces."
"Indeed. And here I'd hoped I might at least reclaim Frost-Tinged Touch."
Vincent twisted his mouth into a crooked grin.
"Who's going to hand it over? Trash that rolls around on the ground belongs to whoever picks it up first. That's just how the world works."
"You truly never yield an inch, do you?"
Vincent hummed the words as if genuinely delighted, and took a single step forward.
And in the next instant, his figure materialized right in front of Arendt's nose.
"...!"
The moment Arendt raised his sword on reflex, Vincent's blade came crashing down from above.
KRAKOOM!
The sword wreathed in crimson qi slammed against the white-frozen ice blade and was stopped cold.
As the shock rattled through his entire body and Arendt wavered, Vincent leapt backward, putting distance between them.
"Even I'd be at a disadvantage, three against one."
"Where do you think you're running!"
As Arthur roared, Vincent showed off, kicking off the ground and dashing down the tunnel.
The knights gave chase without a moment's hesitation.
When they reached the wide-open cavern, the three men's footsteps gradually slowed.
Vincent stood waiting before a gallery shaft that opened high up near the ceiling.
Arthur growled like a snarling beast.
"Get down here, you son of a bitch."
"My apologies — I'll have to owe you one. I'm afraid I can't afford to waste any more time here."
Vincent's gaze swept slowly over the knights, and when his eyes met Arendt's, he curved his lips into a smooth smile.
Behind the mask, his eyes bent into crescent moons.
"Sir Arendt von Eckhart."
"What."
"Are you a traitor?"
"And if I am? What of it?"
Arendt shot back bluntly.
Their gazes locked in the air, and Vincent broke into a short laugh.
"Remember that face well. I intend to."
"I'll remember yours too, Pervert Mask."
For an instant, the expression behind the mask seemed to twist, ever so subtly.
But Vincent only shook his head a couple of times and vanished into the depths of the shaft.
Arthur immediately kicked off the ground to pursue.
"That bastard—!"
"Let him go. We'd never catch him anyway."
But the junior's voice, popping up out of nowhere, yanked his footsteps to a halt.
Arthur glanced between the empty shaft and Arendt, then clicked his tongue and lowered his sword.
"Insufferable little shit."
In truth, fighting any longer had been out of the question. All three of them had pushed their stamina to the breaking point just fighting through the golem.
Arthur wiped his face and grumbled.
"I am never working with that guy again. Did someone curse us or something? Every single place we go with him, it's catastrophe after catastrophe."
"Believe me, I'd love to. But that's not something we get to decide."
Richt murmured in agreement, his voice drained of all strength.