The Vassal's Gambit
"……."
Marquis Lanford neither affirmed nor denied it. But that silence alone was answer enough.
Cantares broke the ice.
"Since the matter has come up, Marquis Lanford, let us settle it once and for all. Do you and your faction still distrust Sir Arendt?"
"We do not distrust him. We merely harbor concern."
At the marquis's measured reply, Cantares let out a soft chuckle and tossed the ball right back.
"Concern, is it? Your words differ considerably from what they were only recently."
"I beg your pardon, but my thinking has shifted somewhat. I have had the pleasure of speaking with him on several occasions of late, and I now understand fully why Your Highness places such trust in him."
"And yet you still call him the mistake you made in first measuring him wrong?"
When Cantares asked back with conspicuous interest, Marquis Lanford answered without hesitation.
"Sir Arendt is without doubt a capable man. But how precarious his beginnings were — I imagine every minister and honored guest in this room knows it well enough."
When the marquis finished, a silence heavy as eternity settled over the chamber.
No one rose to contradict him.
Which meant that many present had been thinking the very same thing all along.
"These are trials difficult for an apprentice knight of such tender years to bear."
Precarious may even have been the polite way to put it.
Right before the East Vault incident, he had come within a hair's breadth of a death sentence. When he uncovered the exchange hidden beneath that strange bakery, the three of them had nearly found themselves facing down a horde of mercenaries alone.
And what of the magic stone mine affair?
The hair-raising friction with Marquis Grig, and the furious battle that followed. It was sheer fortune that things had worked out — one misstep and they might have lost three capable knights and a nobleman with a promising future besides.
And then this latest business.
They had written it off as luck, but had he mishandled it even slightly, every soul there that day would have been slaughtered to a man.
Arthur, his nerves wound tight, stole a sidelong glance at Arendt standing beside him — and then saw it.
A fleeting smile ghost across Arendt's lips. One that said, how very interesting.
Is he out of his mind?
It was a moment so brief that anyone else would have missed it entirely. But Arthur, who had witnessed every manner of lunacy at this man's side, caught it at once.
This was a gathering of the empire's foremost ministers.
Civil officials, of course, but mages and priests as well — everyone filling that council chamber was someone of standing in this empire. And in the midst of it all, his own name was on their lips.
Yet Arendt simply stood there, watching their exchanges unfold as though it were someone else's affair entirely.
Those eyes, languid yet strangely luminous, were without question taking in every single person in the room.
A peculiar sense of déjà vu crept over him.
The banquet held just before the mine uproar had felt exactly like this……
Arthur, still lost in his daze, snapped to attention at the movement beside him — Arendt was taking a step forward.
The hand that had hung slack at his side rose and came to rest lightly against his own chest. The smile lingering at the corner of his mouth vanished in an instant.
As if he had changed faces altogether.
What the—?
Only moments before, the man had been as languid as a cat sprawled beside a warm hearth.
"Forgive the interruption, Marquis Lanford."
But the instant his lips parted, a chill so sharp it ran a shiver down the spine of even Arthur standing beside him filled the air.
"Is it your intention to say that my abilities are lacking?"
"Th-that fellow—……"
Someone, flustered, let their lips flutter. For a knight to dare interject while the Crown Prince and a marquis were in conversation — the audacity was staggering. But the rebuke never came to fruition. Marquis Lanford answered as though it were only natural.
"How could that be? You have served admirably to this very day."
"Then why say such a thing? Am I to understand that I am useless to His Highness the Crown Prince?"
There was no mistaking it — raw, barely contained fury simmered through every syllable of Arendt's probing question.
Cantares, who had been listening in silence, burst into a soft laugh.
"Marquis Lanford, I understand your sentiments well enough — but I ask you to understand Sir Arendt's position as well."
"It is precisely because I understand his position that I dare speak so discourteously. He has courted grave danger again and again in service of His Highness's will."
The longer Marquis Lanford spoke, the greater the stir rippled through the assembled nobles. Depending on how one parsed it, this veered dangerously close to a direct indictment of the Crown Prince himself.
"I likewise fully understand why Sir Arendt is angry now. When one's life hangs in the balance, anyone would feel the same."
The knight commanders narrowed their eyes.
"Believe that if your worth goes unrecognized, you die — Sir Arendt surely thinks so. But whether actions born of such a heart truly serve this empire is a matter worth reflecting upon once more."
"……."
"As one sworn to knighthood, I humbly petition that his loyalty be guided so that it may flow wholly toward His Majesty the Emperor and His Highness the Crown Prince."
Only days before, this was the same Marquis Lanford who had insisted Arendt could not be trusted. Now, from his very mouth poured words that shielded an insolent apprentice knight — and those unversed in the finer details could only blink in bewilderment.
Moreover, the nobles who had stood shoulder to shoulder with the marquis, insisting to the last that the man must be watched, now nodded along and added their own voices.
"I believe Marquis Lanford speaks the truth."
"Sir Arendt is still young. What he has accomplished thus far is more than enough. It is no sin to spare a young man an undue burden."
Arthur's unease curdled into dread as his gaze darted between Arendt and them.
He had just realized it — the ministers who had spoken up were among those who had recently invited Arendt to their estates. The 3rd Knight Order, arriving at the same conclusion, began glaring at Arendt with murder in their eyes.
To them, it could only look as though Arendt, seeking to clear his own name, had gone crawling to the nobles who stood opposed to the Crown Prince.
But Arendt merely gazed straight ahead, calm and unmoved.
That very composure poured oil on the fire smoldering in the knights' hearts.
"That little bastard…… forgot the mercy we showed him and is betraying us again?"
"Stay your hand."
As Ryder growled through clenched teeth, Licht quietly stopped him.
Even in a moment like this, Licht remained perfectly composed.
Ryder let out a discontented groan but obediently shut his mouth.
The Crown Prince took up the thread once more.
"I understand well that you hold Sir Arendt's achievements in high regard. So what, precisely, is it you wish to say?"
"We believe his innocence has, in effect, already been proven by all that has transpired."
After a deliberate pause, Marquis Lanford at last produced the proposal he had been holding in reserve.
"We believe it right and proper that Your Highness render a verdict of innocence — not a provisional release — and permit him to walk free of surveillance at last."
"……Hm."
A faint crease formed between Cantares's brows.
The expressions of the three knight commanders, meanwhile, grew stranger by the moment.
"That witless fool — he has no choice but to comply, is it……"
The words came out tangled in a hollow laugh. Diana, evidently of the same mind, heaved a long sigh.
She had grasped the shape of it.
"And what say the rest of you?"
Cantares's question swept across the packed chamber. The nobles merely fluttered their lips, unable to answer easily.
It was a genuinely absurd spectacle.
Tugs-of-war between the Crown Prince and the nobility were as old as the empire itself.
But for the prize at the center of this one to be a single apprentice knight — it was almost too ridiculous for words.
On the surface, the discussion concerned nothing more than whether his sentence should be lifted. Peel it back, however, and the substance was entirely different.
That the Crown Prince would audit the nobility was already a settled fact. On that point, no room for rebuttal remained — the Grig affair had handed him all the justification he needed.
It was equally certain that Cantares would set the Imperial Knights and Arendt in motion to shake the nobles loose. And so long as Arendt's life remained held in pawn, he had no choice but to play the loyal hound of the palace.
But what if Arendt became a free man?
Then Arendt, indebted to the very nobles who had saved him, would defect to their side — and Cantares's own movements would find themselves leashed.
That was why even Arendt's usual defenders could not bring themselves to voice approval.
It was then that Duke Lancelot spoke first.
"I am of the same mind. His methods were somewhat unorthodox, it is true, but Sir Arendt braved mortal risk for the sake of this empire. If anything, he is owed a reward rather than a punishment."
At this unexpected reinforcement, Marquis Lanford's eyes widened slightly.
Once Duke Lancelot — who had presided over Arendt's tribunal — put it that way, no grounds for objection remained to anyone.
Cantares was in the same position. Try as he might, he could not lightly dismiss the duke's opinion.
Laios, silent until now, finally opened his mouth.
"It may overstep my station, but I would add my plea as well, Your Highness."
"Even Commander Laios says so."
Cantares stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment — then let the corner of his mouth curl ever so slightly.
"Congratulations, Sir Arendt. It seems you have racked up quite a stock of goodwill."
"……."
A barbed remark, through and through.
Arendt kept his mouth shut tight and did not answer. As if the jab weren't even worth the breath.
By any measure, Marquis Lanford held the winning hand.
Cantares's options were few. At last, wearing the expression of a man swallowing something bitter, he slowly nodded.
"Very well. If that is the will of this assembly, I hereby officially suspend the sentence of Sir Arendt von Eckhart."
Color began to bloom across the faces of some of the nobles. Others, by contrast, grew hollow and twisted with dismay — most of them men of the Imperial Knight Orders.
Oblivious to it all, Cantares flicked a glance at Laios.
Laios caught the look and drew out the crude, rough-hewn magic stone he had carried on his person all this while — a device paired with the bracelet, built to execute the sentence on the spot the moment it was activated.
When Laios crushed the magic stone in his hand, the bracelet glinting on Arendt's arm snapped apart with a soft pop and dropped to the floor.
The shackles that had bound him for months finally fell away.
A strange hollowness washed over him, and Arendt ran his fingers over his bare wrist a few times before lifting his gaze and sweeping it around the chamber.
Marquis Lanford wore a contented smile, and beside him Count Eckhart kept his eyes firmly shut, as though events had merely unfolded along the course they were always fated to take.
The other nobles who followed the marquis had likewise brightened, their relief plain to see.
By contrast, from Arthur at his immediate side down through all the familiar faces of the 3rd Knight Order, every expression was a tangle of turmoil.
Arthur stared at him blankly, mind reeling, while his other comrades fixed him with looks ready to devour him on the spot.
Arendt felt a flicker of enjoyment.
Every one of them was convinced: Arendt, with the power of the Neumann Merchant Guild at his back, would now abandon the Crown Prince and throw in his lot with the nobles.
This was always his favorite moment on stage.
The twist upon the twist — the strike that lands square on the back of the audience's head.
"To think you trust me to this extent, Your Highness — I hardly know where to place myself."
The flow had already passed to him. From here on, the stage was his alone.
Drinking in every last gaze trained upon him, Arendt took another step forward.
"Then surely I must pay the price for the freedom I have been granted."
Step. Step.
Arendt broke from the ranks and began walking toward Cantares.
"H-hey……!"
Arthur timidly reached out to stop him — then froze.
Somehow, he had the unshakable feeling that he must not interfere.
The others were no different. For a moment they forgot the situation entirely, and simply stared, spellbound, tracking Arendt's every movement.
Step. Step.
The room had fallen so utterly silent that each footfall carved itself sharply into the frozen air.
At last, he came to a halt directly before Cantares.
And then, a voice too clear, too resonant to be let pass unheard, filled the vast council chamber from wall to wall.
"Here and now, I swear anew my loyalty to His Highness the Crown Prince."
With those words, Arendt sank to one knee and bowed his head deep before Cantares.
It was at once the solemn, devout oath of a knight more faithful than any other — and a single, devastating blow swung full force into someone's unsuspecting skull.