Chapter 11: The Goal Is to Reward the Good and Punish the Evil

It was a space of pure darkness, with nothing to see even an inch ahead.

The only things he could perceive were the sound ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of his own breathing and the chill of the air.

And there, in that place, Vincent knelt on one knee with his head bowed, utterly motionless.

He held himself that way as if he dared not raise his face before this darkness that loomed over him.

How long had he waited? At last, from within the pitch-black void, the voice he had been waiting for flowed out.

"It was not your fault, Vincent."

The tone was almost tender.

But Vincent only pressed his head down deeper.

"No. I know full well that my sin is not a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠light one. I beg your judgment."

With Marquis Grieg dead, the stream of funds he had so carefully arranged had all but dried up.

On top of that, he had failed to win over Count Stadler, and while it hadn't been entirely his doing, he had also lost the magic crystal mine.

"I would grant you whatever you wish, but unfortunately, we have no such luxury to spare."

From the darkness, a voice like one soothing a child whispered on... and then a cold presence crept silently toward Vincent.

"I will give you a toy, so this time, see to it that you remove the meddler as well. I will not overlook a second mistake."

A hand, swallowed by the blackness until it was invisible, lightly stroked Vincent's hair—then was gone.

Only then did Vincent lift his head.

Where the presence had abruptly vanished, a single round jewel lay alone, radiating a faint, eerie glow.

A wide smile spread across the mouth that emerged from beneath the mask.

* * *

The salary of an imperial knight was by no means small.

Having extracted two months' pay from each of Arthur and Licht, Arendt's purse had grown positively plump.

On top of that, he had sold off the gems pried from his sword at a decent price, so he wouldn't have to worry about running dry for a while.

But the two men who had been fleeced could not manage so much as a smile.

Arthur grumbled under his breath.

"How does someone raised in silk have such a filthy knack for money?"

"What? If you're that broken up about it, just sell the crystals again. You'll make back more than what you paid me."

"W-who says I'm broken up about it?"

"Just leave it alone. You'd never break even anyway."

Licht, offering that advice, made no effort whatsoever to hide the sour look on his own face.

Leaving his seniors glaring at him like they wanted him dead, Arendt swung his sword in wide arcs as he strode to the center of the training grounds.

The magic crystal socketed onto it had been a clumsy piece of work, but the effect was undeniable.

With his mana circulating so much more smoothly now, his fatigue faded faster, and he could train far longer than usual without wearing himself out.

And judging by how the other two, for all their grumbling about money, refused to leave the training grounds all afternoon, they were reaping the benefits as well.

Gripping his sword two-handed, Arendt settled into a downward strike stance.

He stole a sideways glance—the other two, it seemed, had also decided to bury themselves in their own drills, and were slowly loosening up.

Just as Arendt sharpened his focus and tensed his body, a bright voice called out from behind him.

"Sir Arendt von Eckhart. Are you there?"

Startled, Arendt turned around.

At the entrance to the training grounds stood Seton, waving his arm enthusiastically, his face flushed with excitement.

"Seton?"

"I've come on an errand! I was told to deliver a letter to you, sir."

"Hm? Isn't mail delivery someone else's job?"

At Arthur's puzzled question, Seton smiled sheepishly.

"I insisted on coming myself, so I swapped shifts with a friend for a bit."

The reason he had gone to such lengths to reach the 3rd Knight Order's quarters was obvious enough.

Even now, mid-conversation with Arthur, he couldn't take his eyes off Arendt.

"Hand it over."

"Yes, sir!"

When Arendt held out his hand, Seton passed over the bundle of letters he'd been carrying.

One was an invoice from the jeweler he'd traded with several times recently.

And the other one...

bore the seal of the Neumann Merchant Guild stamped on the envelope.

A deep smile curled across Arendt's lips.

The news he'd been waiting for had finally arrived.

* * *

That evening, at Arendt's request, a small meeting was called.

Those in attendance were Laios, Arthur, and Licht.

"A rather interesting gem has surfaced."

Gathered with no preamble whatsoever and hit with the main topic straight out of the gate, the others could only blink in confusion.

The only one who actually kept up was Laios.

"You mean the thing you asked His Highness the Crown Prince to look into?"

"Yes, exactly. Guildmaster Neumann got there a little faster, though."

Jewels and ornaments with a story behind them had always been a beloved device—in classic literature and modern novels alike.

And the item Guildmaster Neumann had recently tracked down was precisely that kind of thing.

A cursed jewel, said to bring an unhappy death to whoever possessed it.

Arthur's expression soured at once.

"What the hell? Things like that actually exist?"

"Yes. From what I hear, it belongs to some noble living on the outskirts of the empire..."

Neumann's letter contained a fairly entertaining tale.

The jewel's owner was Baron Cromwell.

Having inherited vast tracts of fertile grain country from the previous generation, Baron Cromwell had managed his estate, doted on his family, and lived a life wanting for nothing.

His relations with the farmers who worked his land were warm, and his mild temperament meant he'd never been embroiled in serious conflict with anyone.

What's more, perhaps because his territory lay so far removed from the heart of the nation, there wasn't even another noble who could be called a rival—in short, he had enjoyed a perfectly peaceful country life.

And then, one day—

"Baron Cromwell went abroad on a pleasure trip and brought that jewel back with him. From that point on, the baronial house was thrown into absolute chaos."

Arendt crossed his arms and carried the story forward.

"It started with a fire. They managed to put it out somehow, but it happened to spread to the grain storehouse, and they took a heavy loss. Then part of the castle collapsed... well, disasters like that just kept repeating."

"That's quite something."

"I imagine he couldn't possibly have imagined it was the jewel at first. Then one day, he caught his young son playing with it."

Before he knew it, Licht and Arthur had been pulled deep into Arendt's tale.

Arthur urged him on.

"And?"

"Here's the strange part. The jewel should have been locked away in the vault, without question. That's what he thought—but for the time being, he simply took it from his son and returned it to its place."

Arendt paused for a beat before adding,

"But within days, the boy collapsed from a sudden illness no one could explain."

As it happened, the foreign merchant who had sold ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the baron the jewel was staying at the castle at that very time, on business for a grain deal.

With the baron's son collapsed on top of everything else, once the merchant heard of all the strange occurrences that had plagued House Cromwell, he finally confessed the whole story behind the jewel.

It was a thing that brought misfortune to whoever owned it.

"And yet the jewel must have been dreadfully alluring, because the previous owner kept holding out—and apparently didn't come to a pretty end. Anyway, the baron quietly started looking around for a way to dispose of it. Can't exactly announce you're dumping a cursed heirloom when you're a noble with a reputation to keep. That's how he ended up connected to Guildmaster Neumann, who happened to be searching for something similar."

"...Is that the end?"

"Of course that's the end. What more could there be?"

Licht, who had asked while staring blankly into space, grew slightly embarrassed at the deadpan reply and composed his face.

Arthur cleared his throat for no particular reason.

Why did the bastard have to be so unnecessarily good at telling a story.

Laios, too, dragged a hand down his blank face and steered the topic along.

"So, an auction is being held? Apparently quite a few people want to buy."

"Yes, which even Baron Cromwell didn't expect. Apparently, once word got quietly floated around, quite a few people wanted to see it at least once, even if they wouldn't buy. And more than a few covet it, too."

"You said the owner's guaranteed to be miserable. And people still want to buy it?"

"It's not just the story—the craftsmanship is supposedly exquisite. The necklace the jewel is currently set in was made by a famous foreign artisan, so it carries considerable collector's value."

At Arthur's follow-up question, Arendt gave a casual shrug.

"So for the time being, they'll stop through the major cities and exhibit the jewel in turn, and once they reach the territory governed by Count Retel, they'll hold the auction."

Baron Cromwell's territory was extremely remote, and the whole affair hadn't come to light all that long ago—so it was hardly strange that none of it had reached Cantares's ears until now.

"Guildmaster Neumann has offered to provide the auction venue. The story hasn't spread very wide yet, but it seems to be gradually making the rounds through the places where Baron Cromwell held his exhibitions."

"I see. And Guildmaster Neumann gets to advertise his guild in the process."

Besides, Neumann was exactly the sort of man who would drop everything and leap at the chance if it was Arendt asking.

Laios nodded, and Arthur chimed in from the side.

"Then Guildmaster Neumann will have already verified whether those people are frauds or not?"

"The jewel itself is said to be genuine. The accidents at Baron Cromwell's castle are real, too—several of them. But anyway, that's not what matters."

Arendt's voice dropped lower.

The attention that had naturally scattered gathered back onto him at once.

"Why do you think I went on at such length about the jewel? You don't really think it's because I find curses fascinating, do you?"

"I... suppose not."

Arthur, who had been muttering blankly, quickly conceded with a nod.

The man might turn people's stomachs now and then, but he wasn't one to drone on about pointless things.

The light tone remained, but the voice that followed was one that could not be dismissed.

"Besides collectors and wealthy purists—or whatever people who like creepy ghost stories—there are others who'd take an interest in this sort of thing. Aren't there?"

"Don't tell me..."

Licht, guessing what came next, wet his lips.

Laios, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke.

"A curse is, in the end, a form of magic or alchemy. Which means... that jewel might well be an artifact."

"Correct. Those bastards are frantic—desperate—to find artifacts."

The East Vault incident was proof enough of that.

Only then did Arthur and Licht nod as well.

"They can't afford to miss even the smallest possibility. They want it that badly. And the person most likely to show up at that scene is..."

Arendt paused for dramatic effect before adding, with pointed subtlety,

"Someone who recently made a blunder and needs to redeem himself with a triumph—even if he has to overextend to do it. Wouldn't you say?"

"Hold on. Don't tell me... that masked bastard?"

At Arthur's question, delivered through gritted teeth, Arendt gave a light nod.

"It's only one possibility among many. But I'd say it's worth guarding against, wouldn't you?"

"...Yes. It's certainly not something we can simply wave off."

"I share that opinion. Ignore even a small possibility, and there's no telling what it breeds later."

When Laios, after a moment's consideration, slowly nodded, Licht echoed his agreement.

Watching the knights murmur back and forth, Arendt let out a short sigh inwardly.

'Possibility among many, my ass.'

The bastard was going to show. Without question.

His objective would be that very jewel.

And he would carry out a merciless massacre, burning the terror of his organization deep into people's minds.

In the novel, every single soul who had gathered to see the jewel met a gruesome end.

Come to think of it, calling it a jewel that summons curses wasn't entirely off the mark.

And in the novel, after that—after a relentless pursuit—the protagonist Laios at last came face to face with Vincent.

Before the adversary who sought his head, Vincent appeared shielded by the ghouls and golems under his command.

Like a king of the dead.

At present, there was no way to know for certain whether this cursed jewel was that very artifact, or something else entirely.

But one thing was absolutely certain.

This was the final chance to drag Vincent down onto the stage.

Unlike back then, when he had sat around empty-headed with no information ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and been helplessly run through, there was now ample time to prepare.

'Next, what I need to do is...'

Arendt's eyes gleamed, sharp and brilliant.