A Waste of Money
From that point on, it became Arendt's one-man show.
That says it all—even Saif, who had been grinning ear to ear over his unexpected windfall, stood gaping with his mouth hanging wide open, staring blankly at the spectacle.
It wasn't about losing or winning money.
Every time the roulette wheel spun, Arendt scattered coins into the air. When he lost, he clicked his tongue and then wagered a fortune on the next round anyway; when he won, he declared that good moods deserved sharing and showered gold on everyone who had joined his table.
Before long, people from the surrounding tables began drifting over to watch, and some of them ended up joining in. Without anyone noticing how, Arendt had come to be fawned over like a king.
"Bwahaha! This young fella's got deep pockets, he does!"
"Gambling's meant to be enjoyed, isn't it? Why else would we do it?"
And this from someone who normally couldn't stand so much as brushing shoulders with another person. Arendt slung arms around strangers, accepted every drink that was pressed into his hand without a flicker of refusal, and seized complete control of the room.
Moreover, once it became clear that a bright young man of his age treated losing money as though it meant nothing at all, it was only natural that the gamblers worked up into a frenzy, throwing money around to the accompaniment of enthusiastic applause.
So to summarize what Arendt was currently doing, in the simplest possible terms...
The little shit's on a money-burning spree.
From one step back, Arthur thought distantly.
Did the ghost of a man who died from being too generous latch onto him or something?
Impossible, of course.
Not once in his life had that guy ever been strapped for cash. Whatever his relationship with his father, he was still the son of a great noble house.
So the more accurate read was simply this: a man who knew how to spend lavishly had decided now was the moment, and had slipped the reins to go wild.
But why does he look so damn happy about it?
Watching Arendt work his facial muscles more actively than usual, Arthur felt an odd sourness creeping in.
That beneath the shell of a young noble master lived a penniless actor who had scraped by his whole life, scrimping even on his own meals—of this, Arthur hadn't the faintest idea.
Arthur or no Arthur, Arendt kept raising the stakes and flinging money at everyone around him, and the amount riding on a single spin of the roulette climbed higher and higher.
The dealer spinning the wheel panicked and glanced toward Merlin. But Merlin's mouth was hanging open too.
He had assumed the young lord carried a fairly deep purse when he brought him this far—but this exceeded anything he'd imagined.
He couldn't tell whether the boy was just a fool drunk on his own ego, blind to everything around him, or genuinely overflowing with rotten money—but either way, this couldn't go on.
Merlin came to his senses with a start and strode over to Arendt.
"Are you enjoying yourself, my lord?"
"It's amusing, I suppose, but it's starting to bore me. Winning money in a place like this hardly means anything."
Arendt answered as if he'd been waiting for exactly this.
As if he'd anticipated that very answer, Merlin leaned in close and murmured at Arendt's ear.
"Then how about somewhere else?"
"Somewhere else?"
"Consider this the appetizer. There's a far finer space deeper inside. I'm certain it will be to your liking."
"Hmm..."
Feigning deliberation, Arendt drew out the pause a moment longer—then nodded.
"Well, since you put it that way, I suppose I'll have a look."
Arendt shot a sidelong glance at Arthur and Saif, who had retreated a few steps back.
"My companions may accompany me, I trust?"
"Companions are permitted, but your guards will have to wait in a separate room."
Beside him, Saif began muttering something about how he wasn't actually a bodyguard, actually—until Arthur jabbed him hard in the ribs and shut him up.
Even so, Arthur looked at Arendt with an uneasy face.
"Are you sure about this?"
"What danger could there possibly be?"
But Arendt remained utterly composed.
And there was nothing more Arthur could say. After all, at the moment he was nothing more than a hired mercenary attending his young lord.
Merlin smiled broadly and nodded.
"Then I shall escort you at once."
* * *
The three of them left the rowdy hall behind and followed Merlin down into a basement level one floor below.
Walking behind Arendt, Arthur stealthily took in every detail of his surroundings.
From the street, it just looks like an ordinary single-story shopping block, huh.
They must have dug deep beneath the building to carve out this space. As they descended the stairs, the dizzying noise faded far into the distance, and a space with an entirely different atmosphere unfolded before them.
"For guests of your standing, my lord, a place like this is surely more befitting."
All the while, Merlin kept bowing and scraping, relentless in his flattery. Though it was enough to turn anyone's stomach, Arendt betrayed not a flicker of reaction, offering only listless replies.
"At least it's not so noisy. That room back there stank to high heaven. How about paying a bit more attention to ventilation?"
"Yes, my lord, I shall make that suggestion."
The thick carpet differed from the one upstairs in its very texture. The long corridor was lined with beautiful candelabras and carved statues, and the doors that appeared here and there on either side were as splendid as any noble's estate.
Guards in reasonably fine dress could be seen stationed at intervals along the corridor as well.
It was impossible to gauge just how deep this organization's coffers ran. Surely a fair number of nobles were bankrolling them from behind the scenes.
The moment that thought landed, Arthur's mind grew troubled.
Just how many people are tangled up in this...?
A gut feeling told him this business would not end cleanly.
He tilted his head back slightly and caught sight of Saif gawking around with a daft look on his face. Apparently this was the idiot's first time down here too.
Which meant this was a hidden sanctum not open to just anyone—and the whole thing was truly absurd. To think they had penetrated the enemy's heart this easily.
"You may enter through here. You two will wait in the room next door. Drinks and refreshments have been prepared."
Arthur nodded, stealing a glance at Arendt. Arendt met his eyes, and the corner of his mouth curved into a faint smile.
"See you in a bit."
The words were maddeningly cryptic, and a slight crease formed between Arthur's brows. But Arendt had already turned his back and strode straight into the room.
The door closed without a sound.
With Arthur and Saif peeled away, Arendt was now perfectly alone.
He shifted his gaze to the front.
A gentleman in splendid clothes lounged against a sofa, puffing smoke from a dry cigar, while a woman in an evening gown anxiously picked at the fingertips of her gloves.
So this is the VIP section, in other words.
The areas where mercenaries and commoners gambled were kept separate; the floor they'd just come from catered to nouveau riche with some coin, or to junior nobles—the sort of young lord Arendt was currently playing at.
And the people gathered here would be the genuine article.
"Merlin, what brings you here with a fledgling in tow?"
As the man looked Arendt up and down with a wide grin, Merlin leapt smoothly into his performance.
"This young lord is no ordinary gentleman. I assure you, he will make excellent company."
"You really are the worst kind, aren't you. Dragging a boy with his whole future ahead of him into a place like this."
From the side, another voice burst into giggles. Listening quietly, Arendt twisted his lips into an asymmetric sneer.
"Wasting one's life in a place like this—you and I appear to be in the same boat. At your venerable age, shouldn't you be dandling your grandchildren on your knee rather than playing games with money?"
"Judging by that tongue, you've had a thorough apprenticeship."
The reply came back laden with scorn.
Provocation, then, would not come cheap with this crowd.
Not that I expected otherwise.
In that case, it seemed wiser to show them with action rather than waste a three-inch tongue.
"Everyone's here, so shall we begin?"
At the man's curt remark from the sofa, the scattered occupants of the room drifted languidly toward the table. The dealers who had been waiting quietly along the wall also drew near on soft footsteps.
Evidently, so long as the money flowed their way, the moneylenders cared little who sat across the table.
"What will you have? We'll suit the game to the young man's taste."
"Well, if it's all the same to you, something with simple rules, if you please. I can't claim much experience with this sort of thing."
Arendt shrugged. At that, an even deeper smile spread across the man's face.
"Then let's try a simple odd-or-even. Any objections?"
"Fine by me."
"Yes, good."
The others readily agreed, and Arendt nodded without any particular change of expression.
At that, a dealer brought over a stack of cards and began to shuffle.
"I will draw a single numbered card. You, ladies and gentlemen, need only guess whether the card I draw is odd or even. The winnings will be divided fairly among those who guess correctly."
The instant the explanation ended, everyone pulled out their purses and plopped them down on the table.
"Let's start light—five gold coins apiece."
Anyone else would have squawked at where exactly the "light" was in that, but not a soul raised an objection.
Shff, shff, shff.
Everyone fell silent, and the sound of shuffling cards etched itself into the quiet room.
As Arendt idly watched the cards with hardly a trace of tension, the others exchanged covert glances across the table.
The elderly man flicked his eyes; the woman gave a small nod. Next, the middle-aged man blinked in acknowledgment. One by one, the rest followed suit.
They had no idea where this whelp had come from or what he'd been doing—but it seemed necessary to flatten his nose first. Odd-or-even was the perfect game for breaking in a newcomer.
At last, the dealer placed a face-down card on the table.
"Where will you place your bets?"
"I'll bet on even."
"Then so will I."
"I'll take odd."
Merlin, leaning against the wall, let a faint curve touch the corner of his mouth.
There was nothing quite so entertaining as the sight of a cocky young upstart digging his own grave. Not that it mattered—the others would groom him nicely on their own.
"Then I'll also bet on odd."
That composed face would not last long. Of this, Merlin was certain.
The card flipped over, revealing the number three.
Gold piled up in front of the man who, like Arendt, had bet on odd. A pleased smile settled over the youthful face.
Show them a taste of sweetness first, then close your hand around their throat so they can never crawl free. So leisurely that they won't even realize they're dying.
"Straight to the next round, my lord?"
"Let's make it ten gold."
The stakes doubled. Again everyone wagered without a murmur, and the dealer began shuffling once more.
While the young man's gaze was glued to the cards again, the rest exchanged another brief volley of glances.
Their purpose was one.
To strip that young man down to his last coin.
To these veterans who had made the gambling den their stronghold and whiled away years within it, sending a single child down into the pit was no challenge at all.
That boy would surely not leave here unscathed today. And they would each take a fat cut for themselves.
They all soaked in the same dream—utterly unaware that the naive child who seemed to have eyes only for the cards was, in fact, a swindler officially certified by the Crown Prince himself.