A Parrot That Learned to Talk
The next day.
It was late afternoon, just as the Knights' daily routine was winding down, when an unexpected guest appeared at the barracks.
Arendt, on his way back from his room and drifting lazily toward the training grounds, stopped mid-stride when he noticed a commotion at the entrance.
The knights had blocked the doorway and were murmuring among themselves in a restless cluster.
Sensing movement behind him, Ryder turned his head, spotted Arendt, and let out a startled, "Oh!"
"Arendt?"
"……What is it?"
Arendt scowled and strode toward the group. At that, the knights who had been packed together like a bank of clouds began edging backward, one furtive step at a time.
Only then did the man at the center of it all come into view.
Even standing among knights, most of them powerfully built, the tall man would have suffered nothing by comparison. His dark reddish hair was neatly combed, and his deep-set eyes carried a certain blunt, unyielding quality.
He was unmistakably a stranger.
And yet…
Why does he seem so familiar?
Arendt blinked blankly for a moment before realizing that the man was staring directly at him.
And that wasn't all.
The knights who had gathered in twos and threes were each wearing expressions of utter mortification or bewilderment, their eyes darting back and forth between Arendt and the stranger.
In that situation, there was exactly one thing Arendt could say.
Standing askew, one eyebrow cocked, in the most insufferably rude tone imaginable:
"First time seeing a handsome man, sir?"
…or something to that effect.
It was a magic phrase that snuffed out the entire uproar in an instant. The knights' faces contorted in anguish, and the visitor's expression hardened into stone.
Ryder dragged a hand down his face and gave voice to everyone's feelings at once.
"……That lunatic little bastard."
"What? What's going on here?"
With his hands buried deep in his pockets, Arendt sauntered toward them. Even in that moment, the visitor never once took his eyes off Arendt.
With the knights shuffling back and the unknown man standing ramrod straight, Arendt naturally ended up squared off face-to-face with him.
Late twenties, perhaps—a face that looked younger than either Laios or Cantares.
Since the man was considerably taller, Arendt had to tilt his chin up to meet his gaze, and the longer he quietly studied that face, the stranger the sensation growing in his stomach—like something twisting it into knots.
Then, at last, the man spoke.
"So you won't even call me 'brother' anymore."
"Ah……"
Only now did Arendt recall the portrait of Count Eckhart he'd seen in the documents a while back. Come to think of it, the man bore a strong resemblance to that portrait.
Arks von Eckhart, was it?
A completely unknown figure—one who hadn't even appeared in the novel.
Arendt scratched the back of his head.
"We weren't exactly on warm enough terms for a belated reunion, I believe. Does that displease you, perhaps?"
At that curt remark, he could feel the surrounding knights flinching in horror. Arks's face stiffened even further.
"Seniors, if a guest has come for me, you could simply have called me instead of raising all this fuss. Bareheaded, without so much as a—"
"You, the way you talk—!"
"Don't make a fuss over nothing."
Ryder, who had been about to explode, froze at the voice that suddenly cut through the crowd of knights and stepped back.
Richt strode over and planted himself in front of Arendt and Arks.
"We stopped you at the entrance, my lord, yet you appear to have forced your way through regardless. Had you stated your purpose there, a message would have been sent to Arendt."
"My apologies. But I doubted anything short of this would get me an audience with my brother."
Arks answered levelly.
"I heard you tore up the letter our father sent you as well. If a servant had merely announced my intention to visit, you'd have bolted long ago."
"Whether or not to answer a summons is Sir Arendt's decision to make, I would think."
Richt's voice dipped slightly at that.
Arendt let out a long, heavy sigh and waved a hand in dismissal.
"Enough, Senior. What brings you here? Though I suppose asking is pointless."
"Father wants to see you for a moment."
"Just like that? Without a single word of consultation with me first? What if I had appointments or prior engagements? What then?"
"Then you would simply have to ask for the other party's understanding."
"Ah, so my understanding isn't required, I see."
As Arendt answered with perfect indifference, a faint crease formed between Arks's brows.
It seemed some revision of the character known as 'Arendt' was in order.
Not a pampered young lord spoiled rotten by a good household until his manners rotted away… but rather a brat whose naturally foul temper had curdled even further because the people calling themselves his family kept prodding and needling him.
"You haven't changed at all, have you."
Then who, exactly, is the one acting here?
Hands still shoved in his pockets, Arendt tilted his head with deliberate slowness.
"Did you expect a person to change that easily? Hmm, what to do. I think I promised to train with Senior Arthur sometime soon. Or maybe I didn't. I can't quite recall."
The mockery could not have been more obvious.
The moment Arks's face twisted in fury, Arendt struck first.
"I don't know what it is you want to say, Brother, but the one with the right to be annoyed right now isn't you—it's me. After all, you're the one who barged in here without warning."
"What?"
"I believe I've already made my unwillingness to see you abundantly clear. I'm not a seven-year-old. Did you assume I'd come when called and go when dismissed?"
Arendt's entire atmosphere transformed in an instant. His eyes went glacial, and for a moment Arks found himself utterly lost for words.
It suddenly came back to him—the memory of Arendt tearing his father's letter to shreds. That, presumably, was the 'expression of unwillingness' he meant.
As the air turned abruptly murderous, the knights began stealing nervous glances at one another.
Arendt kept his mouth clamped shut and glared daggers at Arks, while Arks, his tongue tied, could do nothing but work his lips soundlessly.
So he never even imagined he'd be the one getting counterattacked.
Judging by how he showed only bewilderment—no cry of insolence, no how dare you—the man wasn't a complete fool, at least.
Had Arendt been meekly dragged along, it would have ended as a momentary anecdote. But once Arendt himself got serious about assigning blame, there was no room left for excuses.
Reconnaissance complete. That should be enough.
Arendt pulled his hands from his pockets and shrugged.
"Let's leave the argument here. If Father has summoned me, I can hardly refuse to go."
"What?"
The bewildered outburst came from the knights. Even Richt's eyebrow rose a fraction.
"You're not refusing?"
"I'll be back shortly. As for leave to go out… Senior Richt happens to be right here, so you can just pass word along to Commander Laios."
At the light pat on his shoulder, Richt exhaled a short sigh and nodded.
"Understood. Don't stay out too late."
Without bothering to reply, Arendt strode out of the barracks a full step ahead. Arks remained rooted to the spot, rigid-faced, watching the retreating figure in silence.
Richt addressed him.
"My lord, I will accept one act of discourtesy as a mistake. But I would ask you to be more careful in the future."
"……Yes. Forgive me."
After a brief pause, Arks offered the apology plainly, then bowed his head to the knights. With heavy, deliberate steps, he followed Arendt out of the barracks.
Thud.
Only after the door closed and the two had vanished completely did Ryder murmur, dazed:
"What in the world was all that about……?"
No one had an answer for him.
Arks walked on ahead, mouth sealed shut, without uttering a single word. Arendt, trailing behind, did nothing but stare fixedly at that broad back.
Apparently there was a far more tangled story here than he'd anticipated.
Frankly, it was a nuisance.
Even before coming to this world, he had spent far more of his life alone than not. And now he was expected to get entangled in these tiresome blood ties all over again?
Quite the domineering attitude he has, too.
They said you could guess a good deal about parents from their children. From Arks alone, it was easy enough to imagine how Count Eckhart normally treated Arendt.
At this point, he was almost curious what manner of man this Count Eckhart actually was.
"……It seems you get along well with your comrades."
Arks abruptly tossed out the remark as they walked. He was referring to the earlier scene, obviously.
"Highly unlikely. Those are all people desperate for a chance to grind me up and drink me."
"That's not how it looked to me."
"Then your eyes are crooked, Brother."
Only then did Arks glance sideways at Arendt.
Arendt didn't dodge the look, and added:
"Still, I'd say that beats having a father who doesn't so much as blink when his own son gets thrown into the underground prison, doesn't it?"
"That was the result of your own recklessness. It's hardly something Father should be held responsible for."
"When a child acts out, isn't it a parent's job to knock some sense into him—with a fist, if that's what it takes?"
Arendt fired back instantly, as though discussing someone else's affair entirely. Arks stopped dead in his tracks, spun around, and spat out in a voice seething with anger:
"You're the one who defied Father and abandoned the family. And now you have the gall to say that? Shameless. Utterly shameless."
"I don't particularly resent you. I never asked for anything like that in the first place, and that matter can simply end where it ended. But… I honestly can't fathom why you're so set on meeting me now, of all times."
"Father has his reasons, surely."
"Do you have no self of your own, Brother?"
At the words that came flying out of nowhere, Arks's face screwed up.
"What?"
"You've done nothing but speak on Father's behalf this entire time. I was beginning to wonder if you had any thoughts of your own at all."
That was the thread Arendt had seized on from their brief exchange.
Every sentence out of Arks's mouth—Father is, Father wants, Father said—had Count Eckhart as its subject. Without a single word revealing his own will.
"Not even a single word of common greeting. 'Father wants to see you.' 'You defied Father.' 'Father has his reasons.' All you do is repeat the same lines, over and over. Honestly, a well-trained parrot would be an improvement. At least parrots are cute."
Arendt leaned in close with a slow, deliberate swoop and needled him for all he was worth.
"And it seems you don't even have the appetite to land a punch on your good-for-nothing little brother's face. Not that I'd have any intention of sitting still for one, mind you."
"……What exactly are you trying to say?"
"Nothing at all. I was simply sharing my observations. I find it a little strange, that's all—you not being Father himself, and all."
At that infinitely flippant answer, Arks's fists clenched tight.
"If a single word from me could ruin Father's affairs, then it's better to hoard what few words I have, isn't it? Was that answer sufficient for you?"
"I'm sorry—what?"
Even at Arendt's incredulous echo, Arks only wheeled around and resumed his brisk stride without another glance back.
"……Ha. Unbelievable."
A moment later, Arendt rubbed the back of his neck and let out a hollow laugh.
Now it was beyond all doubt.
Count Eckhart's approach to raising children had problems—serious ones.