Chapter 80 — Madness Is Contagious
An immature young whelp truly was the easiest kind of prey to work over. With every round of drinks the card-obsessed kid ordered, Merlin's grin climbed higher toward the ceiling.
Empty bottles already littered the floor by the dozen. Perhaps because he wanted to play the part of a big spender, the brat refilled the room's supply every time it ran dry—by emptying his own wallet.
And naturally, every last bill was running up on his tab. This place charged triple what the taverns outside did, and the cost of the liquor and side dishes he'd put on credit was snowballing at an alarming rate.
And then—
"Hahaha! Young man, your luck has utterly abandoned you."
"Damn it."
A curse finally burst from Arendt's lips. His face had stiffened, and he seemed to be slowly sensing the danger—though it was already far too late for that.
"Oh, I do feel terrible about this."
"Not yet, sir. One more round, I say."
"That's the spirit. You've got grit."
It had already been hours, and the kid appeared to have completely lost his sense of time. He'd stepped into this room late at night, yet the hour was well on its way toward dawn.
Arendt's companions, for their part, were waiting without a word of complaint—it seemed they'd each managed to find some amusement of their own in the wait.
Merlin, lost in thought, snapped back to his senses at the voice of a middle-aged man that drifted over.
"Oh dear. Has the money run out?"
Arendt's purse, once stuffed full, was somehow empty.
Arendt clicked his tongue and shot a glare in Merlin's direction.
"Hey. Get me money."
"Pardon? A loan, you mean?"
"What else would it be?"
"But—"
When Merlin hesitated at the aggressive demand, Arendt bellowed at him.
"Don't argue—when I say bring it, bring it! Do I look like someone who couldn't cover even that much?"
"No, sir. Of course not. Understood. I'll have it ready at once."
Merlin hastily bowed his head and shot a glance at the attendant standing by. Quick on the uptake, the man darted out of the room at once.
That young fool himself was nothing special, but the backers behind him would surely be a noble house with deep pockets. That much was obvious just from the fortunes Arendt had been flinging around all night.
Before long, Arendt had a fistful of gold coins again.
The other gamblers, watching this, wore expressions subtly different from before—a touch uneasy. Because the moment you laid hands on that money, you crossed a river from which there was truly no return.
"Is this really going to be all right?"
"What's there to be all right about? Worry about yourselves."
Arendt snapped irritably at the old man's question.
Since he said so himself, it was no longer their business to pry. Besides, they were the ones taking his money.
"Then, shall we continue?"
And so the game began turning once more.
Naturally, the money Merlin had been sent to fetch also vanished at a blistering pace. The purse emptied again, and once became twice, and then three times.
By now Merlin had learned to read the signs, sending the attendant off for more gold coins before Arendt even had to shout.
No—he was about to.
Until suddenly, Arendt raised one hand in a smooth, unhurried gesture.
"Hold on. Hold on a moment."
The puzzled gazes of everyone in the room converged on him.
"Now that we've come this far, there's something I ought to confess."
When Merlin tilted his head, Arendt tossed it out as casually as could be.
The old man with another cigar clamped between his teeth looked up, as did the woman and the man who had been counting the towers of gold coins piled before them.
"A confession? What, did you cheat?"
The first question came from the woman; the scoffing laugh that followed was thrown out by the middle-aged man.
Arendt had been stripped clean of everything—his own money and the borrowed sum alike, leaving him penniless. They teased him knowing full well there was no way a man in his position could have pulled any trickery.
But the answer that came back was not what they expected.
"Oh, I cheated. Just not in the vulgar little ways you did."
"What?"
In an instant, everyone in the room except Arendt froze solid.
Arendt let out a short, snorting laugh.
"All the hand signals and eye signals you've been flashing at each other? I've had that figured out since the beginning. Ah, and don't misunderstand—I'm not here to blame anyone for it."
"……That's a convenient attitude."
One of the men who had been frozen stiff for a long moment twisted his face into a scowl.
"Saying that won't bring back the money you lost."
"I have no intention of trying. I'm not the type to make an ugly scene over it. Frankly, I've always thought the party who falls for the trick shares some of the blame."
Arendt shrugged with perfect composure.
The old man pulled the cigar from his mouth and exhaled a slow puff of smoke.
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
"Simply put—being conned is a problem for you too. You especially, Mr. Merlin."
Merlin, who had been staring blankly into space, flinched violently at being suddenly named.
It was true that those three had used tricks. It was also true that because of it, the young man had lost a great deal of money.
But……
Arendt, who had been anxious and fidgeting until just moments ago, had suddenly recovered his composure.
Did the shock drive him mad?
The thought crossed Merlin's mind, but a far stronger instinct told him that wasn't it.
"You three—did you check the money I gave you properly?"
"Check it? ……Of course we did."
The woman lowered her gaze to the gold coins stacked in front of her. The amounts were exact. With eyes like theirs, no one could have skimmed a single coin unnoticed.
Arendt leaned back into his chair with a lazy stretch, folded his arms, and draped a full-fledged sneer across his smooth lips.
"No. Not the amounts."
"What in the world are you talking about? Say it straight!"
Finally losing patience, the man roared at him.
"Ah, it's really nothing."
Answering that demand, Arendt shrugged his shoulders with perfect equanimity.
"The gold coins and jewels I gave you. About half of them are counterfeits."
"……"
A silence fell over the room, as if they'd all been doused in ice water. None of them could grasp his words right away.
"They were rather well made, I'll admit. Still, I never imagined you'd fail to notice for this long. If you don't recover them quickly, you'll be in serious trouble, won't you?"
The money Arendt had brought with him had long since run dry. He'd pressed a generous handful into the palms of the attendants who ferried the food and drinks, and he'd flung money about freely at the roulette wheels outside as well.
It was the nature of a place like this that money never pooled in one spot—it passed through many hands. It flowed from a customer to the dealer, then into another customer's pocket.
That customer would order liquor and food and press coins into an attendant's hand…… then win or lose it across another table.
Which meant that counterfeit gold coins were already circulating through the gambling den.
A beat late, the realization struck them—and their faces drained bone-white.
For hours, no news had come from Arendt.
At one point, boredom had even overcome the tension, and Saif had dozed off. When he woke again, the situation was exactly as it had been.
Wiping the drool from his chin, Saif glanced around.
Arthur still sat perfectly straight on the sofa, without the slightest movement.
"……"
The room held only the two of them now, and an awkward silence stretched on.
I should have just slept straight through, Saif thought, rolling his eyes uselessly, glaring at empty air, fidgeting with his hands in a way that didn't at all suit his hulking frame.
Finally, Arthur snapped at him.
"Sit still, will you! You're driving me out of my mind."
"Ah—s-sorry, sir."
Startled, Saif froze rigid on the sofa like a statue hastily propped up there.
Arthur heaved a deep sigh and pressed hard at his temples.
Right…… what fault is it of his?
The fault lay with Arendt, who'd created this whole situation in the first place.
Saif kept stealing glances at Arthur as he sighed again and again, then finally ventured a careful question.
"Um…… is it really all right?"
"What is."
"Leaving that man alone in there. He doesn't seem like an ordinary lunatic."
"……"
It was clearly a slander against his comrade, and it was deeply, deeply unfortunate that Arthur couldn't find a single word to refute it. He scratched at his head, irritated for no particular reason.
"Leave it. It's way too late to do anything now."
"I'd say the party leaving him alone isn't entirely normal either, but."
"Shut it, you idiot. I've been straining my ears to the limit this whole time, so quiet down."
Saif had been about to ask whether that was even possible—but following Arthur's words, he simply shut his mouth. He'd realized just how stupid the question he was about to ask would have been.
Of course it's possible. That's why the royal knights are the royal knights.
Once his surroundings quieted again, Arthur drew up his mana as well and sharpened his senses to their finest edge.
As far as he could tell, nothing had happened so far. The attendants kept ferrying in liquor and food, which suggested the tables were turning at a fair clip.
And factoring in the occasional ring of Arendt's irritated voice…… it seemed the situation inside was flowing along quite nicely in exactly the direction that idiot wanted.
Viewed one way, it was an absurdly funny conclusion to reach—that things must be going well, deduced purely from the sheer disgruntlement in someone's voice.
But Arthur knew the truth by now: when he hit a wall, that one never flared up or bared his feelings. He simply calmed down and ground his brain through every bizarre solution conceivable.
Which meant those petulant shouts were, without question, an act.
Saif, crushed under the anxiety and tedium, kept idly picking up and setting down the refreshments set before him—when Arthur's eyebrows lifted.
And a short while later—
CRASH!
A commotion erupted, loud enough this time for even Saif to hear it clearly.
Saif's head snapped up.
"Wh-what is it?"
Arthur dragged a hand down his face and let out a colossal sigh.
"Haaah…… What do you think? That's the sound of a lunatic raising hell."
"Sir?"
BOOM! CRUMBLE!
The uproar continued, then abruptly fell silent.
Arthur murmured, his expression a complicated tangle.
"So this was the plan from the very beginning."
As if those words had been a signal, BOOOM!—the door, which had sat primly shut all this time, burst open so violently it looked ready to tear from its hinges.
The moment the terrified Saif scrambled to his feet, a horde of vicious-looking mercenaries came pouring into the room.
"Wh-what? What's going on?"
"You'll come quietly. Unless you'd rather watch your half-wit employer's head leave his shoulders."
Parting the mercenaries braced for a fight, their stances screaming readiness to pounce at any moment, the figure who emerged was Merlin—both eyes swollen shut in shiners.
"Haaaaah……"
He made that bruise himself, didn't he, Arthur thought, pressing a hand to his forehead and sighing from the depths of his soul.
He wanted to send the lunatic who had manufactured this situation in half a day a token of appreciation in the form of a fist.
Sincerely. Desperately.
And so the knights were reunited—in the deepest dungeon cell of the gambling den, thrown in like sacks of laundry.
After shoving Richt bodily inside as the last one hauled in, Merlin slammed the bars shut and locked them at once.
"I'll say this up front—don't even dream of getting out of here alive, you damned brat."
"Y-yes, sir. Thanks for all your hard work~"
Arendt gave him a half-hearted little wave of the hand.
Merlin spat on the floor, then herded the mercenaries out of the dungeon in a clattering horde. From far off came the sound of him raging at the top of his lungs.
"Stop all table rotations, NOW! We search day and night if we have to—every last counterfeit coin must be found! Otherwise we're all dead men!"
"……"
That single shout was enough for the knights to piece together the broad shape of what had happened. Eyes wide with disbelief all swung toward Arendt.
And to all his seniors, Arendt—face perfectly blank—stuck out his thumb in a solemn, silent salute.
"Operation successful."
"Successful? What the—"
Glenn's lips flapped stupidly, his eyes slowly regaining their focus. The other knights were the same.
They knew this was hardly the moment to assign blame. They knew there was no leisure in this situation for weighing who'd been right or wrong.
And still—they could not hold it in.
"Successful, my ass! What kind of frostbitten success is THAT, you absolute lunatic!"
Beginning with Glenn's shriek, every knight in the cell lunged at once for Arendt's collar.