A Sword Studded with Magic Stones
The whole capital was abuzz when the 3rd Imperial Knights Order returned home with news of Marquis Grig's death.
Of course, the story surrounding that death had been cleverly twisted and spread by Cantares himself... and it went something like this:
The knights, ordered to arrest the corrupt Marquis Grig, had chased him down and ultimately discovered the mine he'd been hiding. Driven to despair at the prospect of losing everything, the Marquis had taken his own life inside the mine—or so the tale ran.
The material the Crown Prince had spent so long collecting was more than enough to prove the Marquis's corruption. All of Grig's assets were confiscated, and every noble connected to him was thrown in irons as well.
Once the purge was over, the nobles' greatest topic of interest became a single question: who would manage the magic stone mine going forward?
That question was answered before long.
The branch manager of East Vault was replaced.
And a mere two days later, Neumann led his own workers straight to the mine.
Some grumbled about the appointment, but the prevailing opinion was that no better choice existed.
By giving up his post as branch manager, Neumann had, in effect, severed all ties with the East Merchant Guild. As a merchant guildmaster just starting out, he was in no position to be swayed by the pressure of other nobles. At the same time, he was an unparalleled talent who had proven his ability over and over as branch manager.
All of this had happened within a single week.
Thanks to it, Cantares had been run off his feet, left unable to get a proper night's sleep for days on end.
So it wasn't all that strange when Arendt, appearing before him after days apart, opened his mouth like this:
"You're looking quite well."
"What the hell did you just say?"
Cantares flared up in an instant, his eyes flashing.
But Arendt was hardly the sort to care.
"Honestly, watching you all this time has been pretty satisfying. I've been working myself to death out there, while someone's been lounging around comfortably wiggling his fingers."
"You really are..."
"Still, it's not bad, is it? The screams of the damned were supposed to be happy ones, weren't they?"
"Oh, yes—and whose doing is that, I wonder. You cursed brat."
Cantares shot Arendt a glare, then let out a long sigh and sank completely into his chair. His handsome face was thoroughly haggard from days of sleeplessness.
Zereon approached and set a cup of tea before each of them.
"Well done, both of you. Who could have imagined things would turn out this way?"
"I'm the one who did all the work."
"I'm the one who did all the work, actually."
When Cantares and Arendt answered simultaneously, Zereon managed only an awkward smile.
"So... how is Count Stadler? Is he at the mine again today?"
"I imagine he'll be there for a while yet. Apparently the barrier won't let him bring the grimoires out of the site."
Arendt obligingly took the topic Zereon had steered the conversation toward.
"That's probably why the perpetrators had to leave them behind when they fled. For now, the Count says he'll study the barrier and start copying the books first."
"The Count's food and lodging will be handled by Branch Manager Neumann—no, Guildmaster Neumann, I should say. He'll sort it out himself. Sharp man. Thank the gods for that," Cantares added.
"He's also agreed to analyze the golem fragments recovered from the mine."
"What did you tell the Imperial Mage Corps?"
"That he was sent for magic stone research. I slipped a few magic stone shards into the pouch of their director, and the old man went quiet as a mouse. We plan to announce the grimoire findings in due time."
Cantares rolled his tongue once, then changed the subject.
"What about that suspicious figure who appeared at the mine? The one who wrecked the golem, supposedly. As I understand it, the alchemists capable of making golems have been extinct for ages."
The odd specimen occasionally found in the wilderness was usually either naturally occurring or an escapee from some old tomb, left there as an anti-robbery measure. And even those had all but died out by now.
They were no longer being produced. Naturally occurring ones were barely ever born, and those that were were so fragile they could be destroyed by a wild beast's attack or a particularly violent storm.
Zereon picked up the thread.
"According to the examination of the golem fragments, it appears to have been manufactured very recently. What's more, its durability and strength were incomparably superior to existing golems. Whoever made it is an alchemist of extraordinary skill."
"I thought as much. And to shake off three knights at once and escape... we'll need to be careful."
Cantares murmured quietly, then clapped his hands once to dispel the heavy mood.
"In any case, your contribution this time was considerable. Which means you deserve proper compensation—just as I promised at the start."
Cantares pulled out a leather pouch the size of a fist and tossed it over with a flick of his wrist. Arendt caught it with a smack of his palm and immediately opened it up.
It was stuffed full of small magic stone shards tinged a deep violet.
Arendt eyed it skeptically.
"What's this? You're giving me all of it?"
"I did say it was yours, so the Count processed and sent them to me directly. They're probably the finest of the finest grade."
Arendt gave his usual shrug.
"If it weren't for you, no one would have found the mine in the first place. That's your share, so sell it, use it for training—do as you like. You're not going to refuse because it's too much, are you?"
"Wouldn't dream of it."
With a smooth smile, Arendt tucked the pouch away inside his coat.
"And I have a favor to ask."
"What now?"
"Put some feelers out for unidentified accessories and gemstones with a story behind them, if you would."
"Accessories? Looking for artifacts?"
Cantares repeated his words in puzzlement, then frowned faintly.
"You never know. After all, my gloves were dug out of the depths of East Vault."
"Even so... there's more than one or two objects with a 'story' in this world. Got anything more specific?"
"If I knew that, I'd be out looking myself. Though I suppose items with an interesting tale attached would improve the odds."
"Honestly, that insolent mouth of yours."
When Cantares threw a glance at Zereon, the aide gave a dignified bow and promptly excused himself from the office.
Arendt whistled in admiration.
"Speedy as ever, I see."
"Zen is competent and loyal. Unlike some people."
"Yes, sir, I'm sure. Well then, this disloyal knight will be off. Don't work too hard."
Without waiting for Cantares's leave, Arendt spun on his heel and marched out.
Cantares muttered at the back of his head.
"Right. The prince who does all the dirty work can go back to being buried in paperwork."
Thud.
The door slammed shut unceremoniously.
Cantares took up his pen again, muttering under his breath.
"Damn brat."
"If he just wanted artifacts found, none of this legwork would be necessary."
Arendt flopped onto his bed, grumbling in irritation.
He'd stopped by the Crown Prince's office, sent Neumann a letter setting his request down word for word in writing, and even quietly asked Siton to sniff around for rumors—only just now making it back to his quarters.
What he needed to find right now wasn't a gem or an artifact. It was the place where a man named Vincent had first appeared in The Blue Knight of the Sacred Sword.
'A rebel appearing alone at a gem auction house slaughtered everyone present, set the mansion ablaze, and fled with the gems up for sale. The culprit: a single masked assailant.'
With the civil war at its height, that was the report Cantares received in the novel. First, he needed to find the auction venue.
And if there was a problem, it was that the event was mentioned in exactly those few lines—making that search anything but easy.
"Ugh, whatever. Forget it. I've done enough for now."
He'd done everything within his power. All that remained was to wait for the results.
Setting the thought aside, Arendt opened the pouch the Crown Prince had tossed him. The heaped magic stones revealed themselves.
The softly glowing violet jewels, each brimming with that peculiarly clean mana, glittered beneath the light of the chandelier.
"I wonder how many gold coins this pouch is even worth..."
No wonder it had felt so heavy in his hand.
Looking down at the thirty-odd magic stones, Arendt weighed a passing thought. Selling them off, as the Crown Prince had suggested, was certainly one option—but with money already in hand, he didn't particularly want to.
After a moment's consideration, Arendt grabbed the sword propped beside his bed.
It was a rather flamboyant blade, studded with any number of jewels along the hilt—just as garish a choice as one would expect from that "Arendt."
He looked from the magic stones to the sword and back again, then made up his mind and sprang to his feet.
A little while later, Arthur barged into the room in search of Arendt—who was, unusually, nowhere to be seen at the training grounds—and was met with a truly bizarre scene.
Amid countless magic stones scattered haphazardly across the bed, Arendt was clutching the sword hilt and grunting away at it. In his hands sat a hammer and set of chisels that defied any guess as to where he'd gotten them.
Tap. Tap-tap.
Face a portrait of utmost concentration, Arendt was prying the gems off the hilt one by one. Only belatedly noticing another presence, he looked up.
"What? How long have you been standing there?"
"...What are you doing?"
"If you're here to bother me, leave. Or close the door and come in."
Was that a command to get lost, or an invitation to stay?
Arthur stared blankly into the air for a moment, then let out a long sigh and, true to instruction, shut the door and stepped inside.
"What are you doing?"
"Just a modest little pastime?"
"Doesn't look modest to me."
Beads of sweat had gathered on Arendt's brow. But his labor had evidently borne fruit—the large gems that had originally adorned the sword had been detached almost without a scratch, sitting neatly on the bed.
Arendt brought a magic stone to the emptied setting.
The stone slid into the space where the gem had been and settled perfectly into place.
Arthur made a strangled sound.
"...You really do have annoyingly good hands."
"All wisdom that comes from experience, senior."
"What nonsense is that? What noble actually does this kind of work himself?"
Arendt, naturally, ignored the barbed question. Having picked out a few magic stones of the right size, he set to the task of fixing them into the sword.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
As he began carefully tapping the joins with his hammer, Arthur found himself without quite knowing when, drawn in by every movement of Arendt's hands.
"So, again—what's this for?"
"Figured it would help with training."
Before long, a sword fitted with three magic stones was complete.
"I'm sure it would... but really, no matter the reason, you're just going to hammer that kind of treasure straight into a sword?"
"Things are precious because they're useful. An object's true worth only emerges when it's put to proper use where it's needed."
Rising from his seat, Arendt swung the sword a few times—whum, whum—and smiled in satisfaction. It looked like it would hold under a fair amount of punishment without shedding a stone.
Arthur just stood there, gaping at him.
Arendt stowed the sword away, then shot Arthur a sidelong glance.
"Jealous?"
"Yeah."
"......"
At the reply, which came without a shred of hesitation, Arendt's face briefly went blank. Then he shrugged and spoke with the air of dispensing charity.
"Well, the Crown Prince gave these to me... but we all suffered through that nightmare together, so hogging them all to myself would be a bit mean, wouldn't it?"
"What? Seriously?"
Arthur's eyes went round at the unexpected offer.
But his hopes were shattered to pieces by the very next sentence.
"How much are you paying?"
"......"
"I'll go considerably under market price. Put in a bit more and I'll even socket one into your sword for you."
Grrk.
Arthur's fist clenched of its own accord and began trembling violently.
But there wasn't much he could actually say here.
"...Would next month's salary do?"
"Two months' worth. And that includes a confidentiality clause."
You absolute bastard.
Swallowing his tears, Arthur nodded.
And a few hours later, Arthur could be seen trudging out of Arendt's room, lighter of purse and carrying a sword fitted with a single magic stone.
His emergency funds had been wrung dry to the last coin—but he'd acquired a treasure without parallel in a magic-stone-fitted sword, so there was really nothing to complain about.
And that evening.
Arthur spotted Richt wandering through the knights' quarters wearing an expression remarkably like his own.
"You too, senior?"
"......"
Richt answered with only a short sigh.
An unprecedented sense of kinship settled between the two of them.