Chapter 22: The Victor Defines Justice
"Rescue the civilians, crush Rebecca's syndicate, and pull out useful intelligence while we're at it."
For a mere apprentice knight to speak so boldly to the Knight Commander himself was an insolence beyond measure. As always, Arendt spoke in that leisurely tone of someone discussing other people's problems, ticking off his fingers one by one, and the sight was nothing short of infuriating.
"I'll need time."
It was a fact everyone already knew, and yet Arendt stared at them steadily, deliberately pointing it out, his eyes carrying an openly contemptuous air.
Roughly translated, it meant: You lot can't even manage something this simple, can you?
The words that followed could be summarized thus: buying time, and in the meantime, he would follow Warren and infiltrate the place himself.
"No. It's too dangerous."
Laios dismissed it out of hand, as expected. But Arendt was not the sort to back down because of that. With an expressionless face and eyes narrowed to slits, he posed an oblique question.
"Do you know who I am, sir?"
Oh, he knew perfectly well. The most infamous swindler of his generation, one who would never set foot in the Imperial Palace a second time.
No one answered, but the apprentice knight seemed satisfied with that awkward silence, and continued.
"Including travel time, I'd say about a week should do it—"
"Three days."
Laios cut him off cold.
Caught off guard, Arendt blinked several times, momentarily forgetting to retort. Seizing that opening, the Knight Commander pressed on, swift and resolute.
"Three days. Not a moment more."
A flame seemed to flicker in those piercing blue eyes. Arthur and Richt swallowed dryly, glancing back and forth between the two men.
After a moment, Arendt nodded, his face openly displeased.
...And that had been only a day ago.
Cheeky brat.
For the first several hours after he vanished, the entire imperial knighthood mobilized in pursuit. But before long, the full story reached the ears of the commanders of the 1st and 2nd Knight Orders, and the order came down to halt the search.
As a result, only the palace guards and the Security Department continued their checkpoints, while the knights returned to their quarters.
"We move out at dawn tomorrow."
That was the declaration Laios made shortly after his subordinates returned.
By now, even the knights of the 3rd Knight Order were beginning to grasp how things stood.
Ryder sidled up and thumped Arthur on the shoulder.
"Hey, don't tell me that bastard—"
"Don't tell me is right. The Commander's in a foul mood, so I'd recommend groveling as hard as you can."
Arthur answered flatly without even turning around.
"Your mood doesn't look so great either. Fine, I get it. That guy's a lunatic, plain and simple."
After a few more grumbles, Ryder drifted away from him.
The timeframe Arendt had proposed had clearly been calculated from the palace all the way to Warren's village—and through wiping out every enemy there. Truthfully, even a week would have been tight for rescuing the captives and putting down Rebecca. Laios had essentially declared he would accomplish it all in three.
It would be a brutal forced march, but not a single person in the 3rd Knight Order voiced a complaint.
Because there was no way in hell they were losing to that damned brat.
Arthur clenched his fist, then released it. In his eyes, alongside the irritation, a hardened resolve took shape.
His comrades' worries proved entirely beside the point—Arendt was living in the lap of luxury.
Somewhere along the line, a fresh change of clothes had been procured to replace his torn, bloodstained uniform. An impressive feat, achieved within a single day of his capture.
"This is truly absurd. I knew you were shameless, but not to this extent."
"Call it a talent, why don't you?"
Warren muttered in disbelief, and Arendt merely shrugged.
The flamboyant outfit, dripping with jewels and tailored precisely to Rebecca's tastes, seemed made for Arendt from the start—it suited him perfectly. And what he kept popping into his mouth at every spare moment was none other than the fine confections Rebecca herself had provided.
"What on earth did you do?"
"A trade. I sold off some fairly juicy information."
"Information? Imperial secrets?"
"Yeah. I told them who's holding which artifacts."
Is this guy seriously right in the head?
Deep skepticism clouded Warren's face.
"Never heard the word 'race traitor' before?"
"Being called that by a serial killer—why, I'm honored."
The face that burst into a snort of laughter was, even to Warren, who paid little attention to looks, rather easy on the eyes... but that only fanned the flames of his urge to land a solid punch.
"What? Jealous because I look like a well-groomed puppy trained to my owner's tastes? Want me to put a ribbon on?"
"Do you genuinely want to die?"
"Try it if you can. Oh, and that yelping you did back then? That was pretty entertaining."
"...One of these days, my fist is going to meet your face."
Warren growled ferociously, and Arendt shot back something wickedly cheeky.
"On another matter—Rebecca herself doesn't take the field in combat, does she?"
"No. She can manage a measure of self-defense, but she has no talent for battle. That's why she always travels with bodyguards."
"And those bodyguards are mostly yours, aren't they?"
"That's right."
"Mana detection?"
"She can't do it. She leaves most of that to me. Mana detection is rare enough that few people can manage it in the first place."
"Perfect, then. You'll be heading back to her side soon, won't you?"
Without waiting for an answer, Arendt pulled something from his coat and tossed it to Warren.
It was a pristine white cube with a small magic crystal set into it—something he had somehow managed to conceal and protect through all the shoving and searching of the past day.
"What's this?"
"It activates with a bit of mana. Keep it on you, then bring it back to me. Wander around as much as you can—and just in case, steer clear of anyone sensitive to mana."
"..."
Warren's gaze darted between Arendt, who was casually tossing another pastry into his mouth, the cube, and the video recording stone.
"But if I loiter about pointlessly, I'll draw suspicion."
"No worries. Rebecca—I'll keep her as occupied here as I can."
It was a shamelessly irresponsible remark, and yet somehow it carried a strange certainty that failure was absolutely impossible. There was nothing left to say against it.
Warren let out a short sigh and tucked the recording stone away inside his coat.
"...What exactly did you pull? Rebecca would never trust you this easily."
"Of course not. She suspects me. You too."
Arendt answered as if humming a tune.
"She's letting us both run loose—a little 'show me what you've got.' After all, we're both just as much in Rebecca's grip as ever."
And as he said it, Arendt looked strangely pleased with himself.
Just like that moment days ago, when their blades had first crossed.
Even with his life hanging by a thread, the simple fact that his predictions were holding true seemed to delight him—the way he smiled under the moonlight, eyes glittering...
A hollow laugh escaped Warren's lips.
"So lunatics understand only other lunatics, is that it?"
"You just keep playing Rebecca's loyal hound like you always have. I'll handle my own movements."
"What?"
"Bark when she says bark, bite when she says bite. Half-measures on my behalf would only get in the way."
Meeting Warren's eyes, Arendt flashed a wide grin.
"That lover of yours seems to expect it of you, so you'd better put on a proper show of tricks."
And a mere few hours later, this demented apprentice knight demonstrated his words with pinpoint precision.
Is this actually reality?
Warren had no choice but to doubt his own eyes.
The mercenaries' communal mess hall. The familiar silver-haired brat had planted himself squarely at a table, surrounded by mercenaries on every side.
...Is this right?
Why was a man who should be locked in a room sitting there? What on earth had he done to blend in so naturally, looking so utterly at ease?
Above all—why were those wary, rough-handed mercenaries chattering, eating, and drinking right alongside him? From beginning to end, it was nothing but one incomprehension after another.
Even Rebecca, who had arrived with him, could only manage an exasperated laugh at the spectacle, too dumbfounded for anything else.
"How in the world did this happen? I distinctly remember ordering you to keep a close watch on him."
"Well, you see..."
The subordinate who had come running with the initial report swallowed dryly. The story he stammered out went like this:
Arendt had smashed down his locked door, strolled out on his own, and picked a fight with the mercenaries guarding the corridor—whom he then promptly floored.
He had taunted the men writhing on the floor to his heart's content, and the ones who took the bait ended up relocating to the training grounds for round two.
And as word spread, the idle ones began drifting over one by one... until they'd all been thoroughly pummeled and thoroughly mocked by the apprentice knight, after which they bonded over food and drink.
Just then, Arendt—who happened to be in the middle of some banter over a mug with the mercenaries—recognized him.
"Oh! If it isn't Mr. Warren and Lady Rebecca."
"Wh-what did you say?"
CRASH!
The mercenaries who had been carrying on noisily moments before scrambled to their feet. In their wake, a human-made corridor opened straight through between Arendt and Rebecca.
Arendt, mug in hand, smiled sweetly.
"Care to join us, Lady Rebecca?"
"...Well, I never."
At that breathtaking display of nerve, Rebecca gave a wry smile and patted Warren lightly on the shoulder. Warren, catching her meaning instantly, growled at the mercenaries.
"Back to your posts. Now. Your reckoning comes later—be ready for it."
"Y-yes, sir!"
The mercenaries bolted out in a thundering scramble, and in the wrecked mess hall only Rebecca, Warren, and Arendt remained.
"You... what on earth am I to do with you."
"Accept it. Isn't it fun?"
Shaking her head at that shameless reply, Rebecca walked over and sat down across from him.
"At this point I'm honestly a little confused. Are you shameless, or do you simply have no sense of danger? Or are you just stupid?"
"Everything but the shameless part is wrong. My life comes first with me, and using my head happens to be one of the things I do best."
Having drained his half-full mug completely, Arendt grinned like the mischievous child he always was.
"You stretch your legs only as far as your bed allows, in other words. Isn't that exactly why you pulled me out of that cell? You were hoping for something like this."
"True enough. But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine you'd run this wild."
Resting her chin on her hand, Rebecca slowly curled the corner of her mouth.
"So. Finished sightseeing, Sir Knight?"
"Everyone here is remarkably devout. I almost thought I'd wandered into a temple."
"Impressive, isn't it? Foolish, granted, but they're good, obedient subordinates who listen well. Warren, unfortunately, has little interest in the gods' word."
At the sudden mention of his own name, Warren flinched.
"And you, Sir Knight? What about you?"
"I don't believe in gods or anything of the sort."
"Serving the Imperial Palace of the Holy Empire, and yet rather irreverent, aren't you?"
After a brief pause, Rebecca tapped the grimy table with a tap-tap of her white finger. A faint edge of displeasure had crept into her gaze toward Arendt.
"You know perfectly well your life is forfeit if I will it—so why do you insist on pushing?"
"Because I want to."
Meeting her gaze head-on, Arendt answered with disarming plainness.
"Do I need another reason? This is simply who I am. Whether it's Cernion's front yard or Luce's temple, moving as I please doesn't strike me as such a terrible sin."
"My, my..."
Rebecca, whose eyes had rolled slowly as if weighing something, let another wry smile slip.
"Have you finished checking the place out, then? Is this a suitable spot for you to lie down in?"
"Hard to say yet. Whichever god I end up under, as long as my life is guaranteed, I couldn't care less."
Arendt gave Rebecca a meaningful look.
"Decent meals would be a bonus, too. Though the liquor's disappointing, I'll admit."
Those golden eyes held a veiled smile.
It was unmistakably Arendt whose life hung in the balance right now. Locked in a cell or strolling about freely—nothing about his situation had actually changed. He had to know that better than anyone, and yet there he was, brazen as ever.
No ordinary lunatic, this one.
In the end, Rebecca had no choice but to let her expression soften and burst out laughing.