Shall We Play?
Even as they were ushered into the hidden space, the knights could only stand there in a daze.
They had thrown a violent tantrum, and the result was being escorted with the utmost hospitality into the finest lounge in the building.
And to top it off, they'd picked up one very strange comrade along the way.
Could the staff fawning over them like valued guests ever begin to suspect the truth? That every single one of that man's actions had been calculated from the start?
Right up until Arendt had thrown the money pouch to the floor while playing the aggrieved noble customer, the clerks had been polite enough, but their hostility had been unmistakable.
Yet that one trivial act—a small thing, if anything—was all it took for Arendt to pull from them exactly the outcome he needed.
The sight of him pulling it off so nonchalantly was, frankly, chilling. Was that kind of calculation even possible for a normal person? The knights' expressions grew complicated.
Then again, the highest ministers of the Imperial Palace had already danced in the palm of that hand, so perhaps there was nothing new to marvel at.
All the while, Arendt calmly surveyed their surroundings.
"The tavern didn't look that large from outside. Did they build a passage leading to another building?"
"Yes, that's right. It's a commercial building that was converted somewhat."
"Hmm, that must have cost them a fair bit of money."
The tavern sat in a busy district where merchant buildings crowded shoulder to shoulder. Behind the walls of those connected structures, they had carved out a hidden corridor leading to what they called the 'lounge'.
"Do you guide all your guests through here like this? That seems rather inconvenient. You'd have to worry about keeping secrets, too."
"Not at all inconvenient, for such distinguished guests. Other patrons use a separate passage. This area is reserved solely for our most special customers."
"I see."
Arendt gave an indifferent nod.
Sensing the conversation about to lapse, the guide stole a cautious glance at him before switching topics.
"Forgive a personal question, but… are the two of you brothers?"
It seemed he wished to draw Richt, who had kept silent the entire time, into the conversation.
When Richt faltered, Arendt answered smoothly for him with a nod.
"My brother here has never learned how to enjoy himself, so I dragged him out to travel somewhere far away on purpose. I'm used to wandering around, but the heir to a title can't just go gallivanting wherever he pleases."
"Ah… our apologies, young lord. We failed to recognize you."
"Don't torment him too much—he's not accustomed to places like this. And he's every bit as stiff as he looks, so I imagine he doesn't much care for the current situation either. Am I wrong?"
When Arendt shot him a sideways glance and delivered the line half as a joke, Richt understood exactly what was required of him.
He turned his head away with a look of obvious displeasure, and Arendt puffed up his shoulders in satisfaction.
"Since we've come all this way to have fun, why not lighten up a little?"
"…"
"No fun at all."
Once Richt clamped his mouth firmly shut, Arendt simply lost interest. No one else would trouble him with idle chatter after that.
The long corridor finally revealed its end.
The guide, who had hurried ahead, flung open a magnificent door adorned with ornate carvings.
To Arendt's keen senses, the subtly changed scent of the air arrived first. The stale reek of alcohol and perfume, mingled with the thick haze of tobacco hanging in the air, pricked at his nose.
The raucous clamor came after that.
Into a space where men roared with laughter and drunks slurred their complaints, Arendt strode forward without a moment's hesitation.
What greeted them was a balcony on the second floor.
A great chandelier blazed in place of the sun beneath the high ceiling, and beyond the railing of an antiquated design, the scene below spread out in full view.
"Wow…"
The extravagance was absurd enough to wring an exclamation out of him unbidden.
The first floor was packed with people drowning in indulgence.
At tables laden with bottles, old gentlemen puffed away at their cigars, while well-dressed attendants wove between them, shuttling drinks and food with brisk efficiency.
At the gambling hall arranged along one side, ladies and gentlemen with bloodshot eyes clutched their last remaining gold coins and trembled.
Among them were mercenaries cut from the same cloth as Saif.
Some gulped down drink after drink to drown their anxiety. Others hugged their fattened purses and grinned from ear to ear.
"Well? Quite impressive, wouldn't you say?"
"It's splendid. I had no idea a place like this even existed."
"I knew you would appreciate it. Perhaps you'd like to take in the atmosphere first? If you need anything, I'll be happy to guide you at your side."
"I appreciate the offer, but I've got a lot of baggage trailing after me."
Saying this, Arendt made a show of glancing discreetly over his shoulder, and the quick-witted attendant nodded in understanding.
"I'll assign a separate guide to your brother, then. It's probably best he take his time adjusting."
"Find him a quiet seat somewhere. He doesn't care for noise. And like I said before—don't go striking up conversations with him for no reason. Hey, you. You come with me."
"Yes, understood."
Arthur swiftly fell in at his side. Arendt seized even the collar of Saif, who had been eyeing his chance to bolt, then flashed Richt a bright smile.
"See you later, Brother."
"…Right. Understood."
Richt nodded with a face as stiff as a board, looking for all the world like a man marching to his own execution.
Arthur cast a slightly worried glance after Richt, who was already being led away by another attendant.
Is this really going to be okay?
Everything up to this point had gone smoothly, exactly as discussed beforehand.
Wandering around as a pack would only invite suspicion, so Arendt had proposed they split into two groups and scout the interior.
"You seniors find a spot and settle in while you observe the mood. Gathering intel by moving around—that's my job, along with Senior Arthur."
The tone was insufferably bratty, but nothing he'd said was wrong, so they had meekly gone along with it.
But… would it truly be all right? That was the extent of the plan—a plan that ended at precisely those words. From here on, each of them would genuinely have to improvise on their own.
Arthur's worry lay in the fact that Arendt was a man who never showed his hand.
There's definitely something else he's cooking up.
Acting alone with Arendt meant, in the end, that whatever that lunatic pulled, Arthur would have to shoulder it entirely by himself.
"By the way, you're remarkably easy to talk to. What's your name?"
"Merlin, my lord."
Even amid all this, Arendt was busy exchanging introductions with the supervisor.
"Merlin, has this place been around long? Evading the authorities couldn't have been easy."
"That is thanks to the efforts of those above us. Because of their labors, we're able to serve our guests in comfort like this."
Wherever the eye turned, gaudy ornamentation made it swim, and the reek of incense and perfume was thick enough to turn the stomach.
Had this not been a mission, it was the sort of place no one should ever set foot in by accident—yet Arendt had, without anyone noticing, melted into it completely. The way he wandered from spot to spot, caught Merlin's eye, and leaned in with curious questions was utterly, perfectly natural.
But Arthur knew better now. Every gesture, every turn of phrase—all of it was something Arendt had deliberately manufactured.
The man was infuriating in more ways than one.
The actual problem was finding the missing people, though…
In a place like this, a person could vanish without a trace and nobody would be the wiser.
Hardly anyone paid attention to anyone else, and more than half the patrons seemed to have surrendered their senses entirely—either drowning in drink or bleeding money at the tables.
Eavesdropping on the guests' chatter didn't look likely to yield anything. And prying information out of that Merlin fellow, or the identically uniformed servants, seemed just as difficult.
Which meant the teammates they'd left behind probably wouldn't be much help either.
What am I even thinking right now?
The only thing left to hope for was the cunning of that insufferable junior of his.
As if he'd read Arthur's mind, Arendt came to an abrupt halt. Saif and Arthur, walking at his sides, instinctively stumbled to a stop as well.
"Then first of all…"
At the sound of Arendt's voice, Arthur swallowed dryly.
Arendt glanced back over his shoulder and said, flatly:
"Shall we have some fun too?"
"Pardon?"
For an instant, informal speech nearly slipped out of Merlin by habit, and he barely caught it in time.
Merlin beamed.
"Well, of course—what else would you come all this way for? Allow me to escort you to an excellent seat."
"Play your cards right and I might just line my pockets nicely."
Smiling along, Arendt looked for all the world like a naive twenty-year-old lordling giddy at the threshold of an unknown world.
Even Arthur, who knew perfectly well it was an act, felt a shiver run down his spine for a heartbeat.
"You two should enjoy yourselves as well—you've come all this way. Here."
Rummaging through his coat, Arendt pulled out a fistful of gold coins and handed them to Saif and Arthur.
Both men's eyes went round as saucers.
"All of… all of this?"
"It's pocket change. What, are your hands shaking?"
When a horrified Saif pressed him for confirmation, Arendt let out a soft laugh.
Arthur was every bit as dumbfounded.
He knew full well that Arendt was rich. He might be cut off from his family's support now, but he had his connections with the Neumann Merchant Guild.
On top of that, there were still magic crystals left over from what the Crown Prince had slipped him—selling off a few of those would leave him more than enough to burn through lavishly.
And he was going to scatter it here?
Whether or not Arthur's head was drowning in question marks, Arendt strode briskly toward a table where a game was in full swing.
At his side, Merlin hurriedly explained the rules.
"We spin the roulette wheel, and throw an iron ball into it. If you guess which numbered pocket the ball lands in when the wheel stops, you win."
"Simple. I like it."
The round wheel set at the center of the table was divided into pockets numbered one through one hundred.
"WAAAAH!"
A massive roar erupted from a table on the far side, apparently as a result came in. A madness-inducing heat of screams and fevered cheers dragged the men and women in its grip deeper and deeper into the abyss.
Arthur stared blankly at the spectacle for a moment, then let out a long sigh and gathered up his gold coins.
His own mood and feelings hardly mattered right now. This was work.
The moment Arendt joined an empty table, Merlin darted ahead and called out loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"Everyone—this young lord here will be joining us as well. Do give him a most enjoyable time."
"Oho…! Now there's a face we haven't seen before."
"So? Does he have deep pockets?"
The reaction was, of course, feverish.
Arthur resigned himself with a small sigh and simply decided to watch his junior's performance. Perhaps this, of all places, was where that strange talent of his could shine brightest.
That uncanny ability to seize every eye in the room.
THUD!
A money pouch landed on the table with a satisfyingly heavy sound.
At the glint of gold coins and jewels visible through the half-opened drawstring, the gamblers' eyes bulged as if they might pop clean out of their skulls. Merlin's grin stretched from ear to ear, needless to say.
Dropping into a chair, Arendt curled his lips into a knowing smile.
"What a question—you already know the answer."
His mischievous golden eyes caught the chandelier light and glittered with a strange, dangerous shine.