Dressing the Part
The vanguard had been whittled down to eight, including Arendt, Arthur, and Richt — just the right number to pass as an ordinary mercenary company.
It was evening on the day of their departure.
Arthur and Arendt, returning from an errand out in the city, dumped an enormous pile of gear onto the floor. When the seniors eyed the heap with open suspicion, Arendt tossed out a line with his usual air of nonchalance.
"Get out of your uniforms and put these on."
"These? Why?"
"From this moment on, you're not knights. You're mercenaries. Carve that into your bones."
The gear the two had brought back was nothing more or less than what common mercenaries might actually wear — clothes and armor alike.
Ryder, who'd been roped into the mission as well, lifted a leather belt and examined it with a sour face.
"Where the hell did you even get this stuff?"
"You'll need to switch swords as well."
It was Arthur who spoke, dragging over an enormous sack from somewhere. It was packed full of crude, unadorned weapons — swords stripped of even a hint of ornamentation.
Everyone's expression darkened another shade.
"Honestly, I wanted to bring what we already use, but—"
"I talked him out of it. It's all brand new, so don't worry."
Arthur hastily cut in over Arendt's wistful murmuring.
Grateful looks rained down on Arthur. Had he not, they'd have ended up sweating inside armor worn by mercenaries whose faces they'd never even seen.
"If it's the Commander's orders, I'll go along with it, but... does it really have to go this far?"
"Still unhappy with new equipment, I take it?"
"Ugh. Don't even get me started."
The knights heaved deep sighs and began changing, one by one.
Richt had just picked up his own outfit and was about to change when Arendt stopped him.
"You and I are over here."
"What?"
What Arendt handed him was a luxuriously tailored outfit — the kind one might expect on the pampered sons of noble houses.
Richt asked, unamused, "Why?"
"What gives? Why are you playing favorites? Fine, sure, Richt gets a pass, but what about the rest of us?"
"Is this a 'nobles can't wear rags' thing?"
Grievances burst out from every corner, all asking the same question.
Arendt glanced back at his seniors, utterly indifferent.
"You really want the actual reason?"
"Obviously."
At the chorus of jeers, Arendt clicked his tongue and hauled Richt over to stand beside him.
"His face."
"...?"
"Do you honestly think a mercenary suits this glossy, freshly-scrubbed face?"
"..."
There was nothing any of them could say in rebuttal.
The knights pressed their lips shut and exchanged glances with one another. Come to think of it, aside from Arthur, the group was assembled entirely from the biggest, roughest, most fearsome-looking men in the entire Order.
Arthur, meanwhile, was already busily changing into his costume — as if he'd fully anticipated whatever would come out of Arendt's mouth next, or simply wanted no part in the conversation at all.
Taking their cue from him, the rest decided to shut up and comply.
From casting down to costumes and props, Arendt's eye had handpicked everything himself, and it was dead accurate. The team, long accustomed to nothing but uniforms and formal dress, transformed into a band of mercenaries without a single awkward seam. Richt and Arendt, who had emerged separately in their own attire, had likewise become a pair of young noblemen through and through.
Once preparations were complete, Laios came by for a final inspection — and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words at the sight before him.
"Well... they certainly suit you."
At that thoroughly ambiguous compliment — was he supposed to be pleased or not? — the newly minted mercenaries let their shoulders slump.
Laios cleared his throat for no particular reason and got down to business.
"I've already tipped off the man from the Security Department's intelligence division. You'll be able to link up with him once you're in the area. Follow his lead and he'll take you to the hideout."
"Yes, sir!"
Crisp, disciplined answers came back, as if they'd never slouched at all.
"The journey will take about three days. We depart tomorrow under the pretext of training exercises and will wait in the nearby forest. When the time comes, send a signal. We'll move to join you immediately."
Laios handed the Communication Crystal Ball he'd brought to Richt and added, "Your objective is to find out what happened to the missing people. Once you've accomplished that, stir up an appropriate amount of trouble, extricate yourselves, and rendezvous with us. And one more thing."
Just when the briefing seemed finished, the knights looked up at their commander with puzzled eyes.
Laios was more serious than they had ever seen him.
"Don't let that idiot cause an incident."
Confronted with an instruction delivered in absolute sincerity, the knights were struck speechless.
But only for a moment. Soon every pair of eyes among them burned with resolve.
"Yes, sir! Understood!"
"Leave it to us, Commander!"
Unaware that on the other side of the room, Richt and Arthur were gazing off at some distant mountain.
"If he could be stopped when we tried, we wouldn't be going through all this."
"Exactly what I was thinking."
The two men's eyes drifted toward Arendt.
But the man himself simply stood there with a bored look on his face, apparently having no intention of either defending himself or voicing complaints. For some reason, that kind of attitude only made him more infuriating.
Nearby, the knights dressed as mercenaries were still stoking their enthusiasm. Arthur considered offering them a word of advice, then thought better of it.
They'd figure out the reality of it soon enough.
* * *
Deep in the night.
A group shrouded in hooded cloaks slipped quietly out of the Imperial Palace.
The Palace never truly slept, even after dark — but no one was capable of detecting knights who had made a deliberate art of erasing their presence.
Having escaped the palace without incident, they set their course away from the bustling districts of shops and inns, toward the opposite end of the capital.
Moonlight was their only illumination.
Even that was smothered behind clouds — a mercy, for those who wished to remain swallowed by darkness.
They located the horses they'd hidden outside the city gates beforehand, and only when they were certain no trace of their presence lingered did they mount up and begin the journey in earnest.
One of the company tossed back the hood he'd had pulled over his head and let out a groan. It was Glenn.
"I thought I was going to suffocate. We're not even doing anything wrong — why do *we* have to suffer like this?"
"Great undertakings demand small discomforts be endured. That is simply how it is."
"I know that, Commander, but this is suffering on a whole different scale from common sense."
As Richt spoke, Ryder grumbled along and shot a sidelong glare at Arendt.
"And it's all because of that little punk."
"I distinctly remember saying that anyone with complaints was welcome to propose an alternative."
But to even that accusation, Arendt offered only an indifferent shrug.
Richt stepped in to wave off their complaints.
"Enough chatter. We move. We'll need to ride the entire day just to arrive by tomorrow night."
Grumbling all the while, the company spurred their horses forward and began making smooth progress.
Neither the deep darkness nor the obstacles of the wilderness could stand in their way. Guided by glittering starlight and a pale, hazy moon, they pressed hard down the road.
Ryder, focused on the ride, stole a sideways glance toward Arendt.
Fitting the scenario of young master escorted by hired swords, Arendt and Richt rode side by side at the center of the formation.
Still, he just couldn't shake the unease.
How on earth had things come to this? He'd been swept along in the current, sure, but he still couldn't grasp what was happening or how. The mere fact that a force of this size was moving at the beck and call of that insufferably arrogant apprentice knight was already beyond all reason.
"Absolutely absurd, isn't it?"
"Huh?"
Just then, Arthur's voice, bobbing up through the cutting wind, jolted Ryder out of his thoughts.
"That brat who treats us like we're dirt under his boot — and he talks the Commander and even His Highness the Crown Prince into whatever he wants, just like that."
"Uh — yeah, I mean..."
Admitting it outright felt too embarrassing, so Ryder fudged an answer. Through the rush of hooves and the wind howling against them, Arthur's grumbling carried on.
"The rest of you will figure it out soon enough. Just how utterly insane that kid really is."
"Oh, we've already got that in surplus. Who the hell walks out on their own family just because they're pissed off?"
Lately, the hottest topic of whispered conversation among the knights whenever Arendt wasn't around was the affair of House Eckhart.
Every single person present had witnessed the Count Eckhart — that legendary pillar of the Empire — trotting back to his territory with his tail between his legs like a dog chased off by a chicken.
Technically speaking, Arendt had suffered the greater loss. Yet for some strange reason, what lingered in their minds was the sight of the Count's retreating back, leading his eldest son home — and how wretched it had looked.
"Old news, that. If all he did was fly off the handle beyond all reason, we'd be lucky."
"...?"
Ryder frowned and glanced sideways at Arthur.
Arthur's mouth twisted as he spat out the words, genuinely fed up.
"That much is honestly nothing. You'd all better steel yourselves. That one is *properly* out of his mind."
"..."
The conversation ended there, and Ryder was left feeling a little strange.
Arthur had frowned as he delivered that final remark, yet somehow he hadn't looked all that displeased about it.
Ryder tried for a moment to decipher the expression that had flickered across Arthur's face.
So that was... what, exactly?
'...Anticipation?'
But even once he'd read it, it remained just as baffling. Of course, everyone had felt firsthand that Arendt was no ordinary kid.
Ryder promptly shrugged the thought away.
So the brat had a quick head on his shoulders — at the end of the day, he was still nothing more than a cocky apprentice knight.
'Been strutting around ever since he lucked into a bit of credit a few times lately.'
Someday, Ryder vowed firmly, he'd drill those manners out of him for good. All without the faintest idea of just how badly he'd misjudged things.
* * *
Pushing hard down the road, they rode a full day straight and reached the edge of a small village around nightfall the next day.
It sat along the route to the next territory — a village that made its living off travelers.
Richt called the company to a halt.
"We should stay there for the night."
None of them were the type to blink at a little night chill, but there was no need to push themselves needlessly. Everyone had spent the entire day on horseback chewing jerky without a single proper meal as it was.
They passed through an entrance that lacked even a proper gatekeeper, guiding their horses in slowly.
The streets were packed with people — travelers hunting for a place to stay, tangled up with merchants and eatery keepers hawking their wares.
Nobody gave the newcomers a second look. A few eyes flicked briefly at the striking figures of Arendt and Richt, but that was all.
"It's been a while since I felt this."
"Hasn't it just."
Ryder nodded along to Glenn's murmur.
There wasn't a soul alive who wouldn't recognize an Imperial Knight Order uniform — that held true even beyond the palace and the capital.
They'd grown so accustomed to striding through the gates with shoulders squared and heads high that simply blending into a crowd felt strange now.
Then Arendt abruptly spat out, "Stop acting like country bumpkins. It's embarrassing to be seen with you."
"What?"
In an instant, the seniors' gazes — brimming with sheer disbelief — rained down on him. But Arendt simply kept his shameless chin raised high.
Facing that insolent expression, the whole team's faces contorted in seconds. The moment one of them opened his mouth to fire back, Arthur beat him to the punch.
"Our apologies, young master. It's been some time since any of us made a journey this long."
Slightly stiff, but good enough to earn a passing grade. Arendt then piled on more.
"We've still got a long road ahead, so keep your eyes on it. Sir, I think we should lodge here for the night and move on in the morning. Will that suit you?"
"Er — ah, yes."
Richt, still bewildered, nodded along in a daze.
With Richt and Arthur riding along on this drama that had burst out of nowhere, the rest of the knights could do nothing but dart glances at one another, lost.
The one who rescued the poor souls who hadn't grasped the situation — rather more attentive to the seniors than Arendt had ever been — was Arthur.
Catching each knight's eye in turn, he moved only his lips, soundlessly, so that no one else could hear.
'Other mercenary companies are watching us.'
It was a single sentence that made every spine go cold.