Chapter 67: The Man Whose Temper Can't Take Seriousness
Bracing himself half-sideways against the desk, Arendt stared at Cantares, who was sprawled face-down across it. Pen clutched in one hand, nose buried in paperwork, muttering what sounded suspiciously like curses — it was quite a sight.
Anyone else might have rushed over asking if he was feeling unwell, and no one would have blamed them for the fuss. Unfortunately for His Highness, the person staring back at him was Arendt.
The delinquent knight set down the documents Laios had entrusted to him with a light thump and opened his mouth.
"Quite a view, Your High—"
"If you're about to say 'quite a view,' just shut up."
The threat came snarling out before Arendt could even finish the sentence. He merely shrugged and dropped himself onto the sofa of his own accord.
"Well, all that commotion did produce results."
"And you look awfully pleased with yourself, don't you?"
"Nobody's come up to talk to me since, though. I suppose they all decided I've gone completely insane."
"Damn it, I would too."
Cantares grumbled as he pulled himself upright. The nobles who had rallied under the conservative banner were now visibly tiptoeing around, terrified of so much as brushing against Arendt by accident.
Thinking about it, it wasn't all that strange. After all, Marquis Lanford and Count Eckhart had both been dealt spectacular humiliations.
"Well, thanks to that, Marquis Lanford has become remarkably docile. Getting backstabbed by a green little whelp must have been quite the shock to his system."
Everything had proceeded smoothly. The wanted notices for Broken Heart's Sword had been distributed to every noble territory, and not a single soul had objected when the imperial family announced it would take first control of all intelligence regarding the matter — just to account for any possibility, however remote.
"Speaking of which — you got disowned by Count Eckhart, I hear. You holding up all right?"
"Not much was going to change anyway, was it?"
"Oh? That's a rather light way to put it. You always seemed to carry a fair bit of pride in your family name."
"You can still say that after witnessing that display, Your Highness?"
"I knew things were bad between you two, but not that bad. Even before, I had the sense that Count Eckhart was neglecting you, but I figured it was just sheer obliviousness."
For Count Eckhart to come all the way to the Imperial Palace had been unusual in itself.
"So — are you genuinely all right? I asked you to help me, sure, but I never imagined you'd go that far."
"It was something that had to be done eventually. The timing simply happened to be convenient. Besides..."
Arendt stopped there and flashed Cantares a toothy grin.
"I do believe I told you quite clearly that I don't work for free?"
"..."
Cantares's face contorted.
"Come on, you said yourself it was bound to happen eventually. And you've been released from your probation besides. What more could you possibly want?"
"That was... merely one step in the process of resolving the matter. I gained nothing from it personally. Or what, perhaps you intend to have me executed now, after the fact?"
"...Hnngh."
Pressed with that argument, there was nothing to be said in reply. When Cantares clamped his mouth shut, Arendt gave a dismissive shrug.
"Your Highness just set the mood and left everything to me, didn't you? Do you have any idea how much I suffered out there?"
"Right, you suffered so much — stuffing yourself with fine meals while playing the poor victim to farm everyone's sympathy, then backstabbing everyone at full force."
"You looked like you were enjoying the show plenty yourself, Your Highness. Be honest. It was fun, wasn't it?"
This argument showed no sign of ending anytime soon. Cantares dragged a hand down his face and heaved a long, deep sigh.
"Fine... arguing with you only makes my mouth hurt. So what do you want?"
"Nothing urgent at the moment, actually. So let's call it a favor — one I'll collect later."
"Tch. Fine. Anything within my power, consider it granted."
"I trust you won't be taking back your word after the fact."
Only then did Arendt nod with visible satisfaction.
Cantares propped his chin on his hand and grumbled.
"You're a vicious little creature, you know that? Anyway — Count Stadler sent word."
"Oh, finally?"
While all hell had been breaking loose at the palace, Count Stadler had been secretly analyzing 'The Uncooling Heart,' the gemstone that had gone up for auction — and the results were apparently in.
"He couldn't determine what it actually does. Apparently there's no way to know how it functions without triggering it directly. But he did manage a partial analysis."
"Oh ho."
Arendt's eyes glinted with interest.
"To sum up his conclusion: the thing is at least a hundred years old. And its maker was probably not human."
"Why do you say that?"
"He said the artifact is saturated with mana so dense it's nearly on par with a magic crystal. Something like that isn't something a human could craft."
Arms crossed, Cantares leaned back deep into his chair.
"Which would make it a creation of the other races, then?"
"The Count said as much, so it's practically certain. Most likely something forged during the war, back when Hero Kahn was still alive."
It was quite probable the artifact had been developed as a weapon of war at the time. Arendt agreed with that assessment.
He flexed his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist, feeling the now-familiar touch of the half-gauntlet that had become as natural as his own skin.
"If not human... then something an elf or a dragon made, that sort of thing?"
"Exactly. Humans simply lack the power to forge an artifact that potent in the first place."
This world held races beyond humanity.
They formed their own nations and villages, living apart from men, and their numbers were dramatically fewer. Moreover, most of them avoided mingling with human society at all — many people would go their entire lives without glimpsing so much as one of them.
A faint frown creased Arendt's brow.
"Were there races that sided with the Evil God during the war?"
"Quite possibly. The artifact would have been crafted by one of the other races that joined the cult, then."
They had fought to the last using their artifacts, but they had fallen before Hero Kahn.
In the chaos that followed, the artifacts had scattered to the four winds — and now, recently reactivated, Broken Heart's Sword had begun collecting them again. That much was easy speculation.
"...Hey. I just had a rather dreadful thought."
After a brief pause, Arendt spoke again. The flat, distinctly sour tone made Cantares lift his head.
"What is it?"
"Well — there are races out there that live tens of times longer than humans, aren't there?"
"True. But I doubt any survivors remain? The war must have ravaged their numbers badly."
"And if... one did survive?"
"..."
Cantares's mouth snapped shut. Apparently, that possibility hadn't occurred to him.
Races like dragons and elves boasted lifespans that humanity couldn't even begin to compare with. Arendt's words carried a very real weight of plausibility.
It took the Crown Prince quite a while to finally answer, forcing calm into his voice.
"...No. Like I said, the war slashed every race's population. Humans had the numbers to recover and flourish again, but dragons were reported to be all but extinct. And even the elf nation we trade with has no elders past two hundred years of age."
"There's no proof they died out back then, though, is there? What if a few survived? No — what if even one survived?"
Arendt scratched lazily at his head as he added:
"...What if he's spent all these long years mourning his dead kin, nurturing his vengeance, just waiting? And then passed the artifacts down to the cult with his own hands?"
"...!"
A spine-chilling cold slid down their backs.
That pleasant voice, so perfectly suited to Arendt's pretty face, hit the ear with unsettling clarity — and it made the blood run cold.
Beyond elves and dragons, there were any number of races that outlived humans by centuries. It was hard to guarantee that none of them had survived the war.
And if someone had hidden themselves away and clawed out a way to survive?
Cantares forced the corners of his mouth up into an awkward smile.
"You... don't say things like that. It's disgusting."
"I can't exactly say the possibility is zero. It seemed worth keeping in mind."
Arendt shrugged. Feeling a fresh headache building, Cantares pressed hard at his temples.
"Damn it, that is exactly the kind of reality I want to deny."
Dragons were walking natural disasters.
Most records concerning them were chilling in the extreme — tales of an enraged dragon erasing an entire city from the map, of two dragons clashing and permanently altering the very geography of the continent.
The other long-lived races were no less formidable should one ever find yourself facing them as an enemy.
"Hold on. In that case, shouldn't we inform the other side as well? This doesn't look like a problem for humans alone."
"The elf nation you mentioned just now?"
"Yeah. So far we've only picked up remnants of the Evil God Cult, but there's no telling how things will unfold. Better to give them some kind of heads-up."
Cantares's face scrunched up hard.
"That part I'll have to discuss with His Majesty. Foreign affairs fall under his purview entirely."
"Wouldn't it be better to bring them over to our side, if possible?"
"Easier said than done. They never leave their own lands if they can help it. On humanitarian grounds, warning them is the obvious thing to do, but I wouldn't count on their cooperation."
At that blunt reply, Arendt gave a vague answer.
"Hmm, I wouldn't be so sure about that."
"What's that supposed to mean? How would you know?"
"Just a gut feeling."
Brushing the question off with nothing but a shrug, Arendt buried his hands deep in his pockets.
While the Empire had been burning in The Blue Knight of the Sacred Sword, naturally the other nations hadn't simply stood by and watched. Small kingdoms bordering the Callion Empire had sent mercenaries, and other nations dispatched supplies and troops of their own.
The other races had extended their hands as well, directly and indirectly. Elf warriors had come to fight in the war, and the dwarves had sent weapons by the shipload.
But the enemy's side had received the same. Vincent had appeared dragging ghouls made from a dragon's corpse, and there had been the warrior with extraordinary toughness who had stood in Laios's path.
"Ugh, I can hear your brain scheming again."
"Hm? Ah..."
Cantares's voice, dripping with exasperation, cut through his thoughts.
"Anyway, that's not what matters right now. Clear your schedule for this evening."
"Why? That sounds like a pain."
"You're the only person alive who'd respond to a Crown Prince asking for your time like that."
The Crown Prince shot him an irritated look, clicked his tongue, and continued.
"We're going to trigger the artifact directly. You're by far the most comfortable handling artifacts, so it makes more sense for you to do it yourself than anyone else."
"That's not the tone of someone asking a favor, Your Highness."
"...Please? Will that get me punched or not?"
"If you can manage it, be my guest."
Cantares made a solemn vow to himself.
He would resume the sword training he'd set aside when he was invested as Crown Prince — and one day, he would beat the living daylights out of that man.