The Alchemy King's Strategy

Shaw, looking thoroughly fed up, watched the Demon Lords brawling at the front line. "Ugh, ugh, muscle-heads. No thank you." — Then Marisa's bizarre proclamation made him whip around, eyes round.

What is she up to now?

Dubious, he turned to look. Marisa had already crossed to Aiz, fluid, and dropped to one knee at her side.

The posture was unmistakable: a servant kneeling before her lord.

"Aiz-sama."

"Wha— huh? ...sama?"

"Yes. As of this moment, I have officially designated you my Second Master."

"Eh? ...Ehhh?!"

Caught off-guard, Aiz shrank into herself, trembling.

Beside them, Shaw winced visibly. "Wow… in its own way, that's pretty tyrannical too…"

Marisa paid him no mind and pressed on.

"You're not particularly suited to combat, are you, Aiz-sama?"

"N-no, not really…"

"Then I shall take it upon myself to deliver you safely to the foot of the Sacred Mountain. As a capable maid. — Yes. As a capable maid."

"Why did you say it twice? Is that the important part?!" Shaw's interjection bounced harmlessly off the strange bubble that had formed between the two women.

Marisa's face stayed doll-like and expressionless as ever — but to Aiz, her eyes carried a faint, unmistakable gleam.

"U-um…"

"Is the offer not to your liking?"

"Ah… please… do."

For just an instant, a flicker of sadness crossed Marisa's face — and only Aiz caught it.

And having caught it, she found herself nodding before she'd quite decided to.

---

It wasn't that she'd ever intended to refuse.

Aiz knew perfectly well she had no power to fight; an offer like Marisa's was plainly a kindness she should accept.

But the other Demon Lords were surely struggling enough with their own predicaments, weren't they?

That was the thought that had stalled her.

Everyone's having a hard time. We're all the same.

So she'd done her best to make herself small, to take up as little space as possible. To draw any attention to herself would only burden the others.

Worry about your own survival first, she'd told herself. If anyone has the room to spare, then ask.

Her wish to live was real enough. But the fear that someone might end up in mortal danger because of her — that fear weighed heavy enough to pin her own wish down.

Aiz drifted in the gap between the two pulls.

Last is fine.

She couldn't save anyone. She didn't have that kind of strength. So even though she wanted to be saved, last was fine. Last is fine.

That was what Aiz believed.

And then a doll-faced beauty named Marisa had reached out to her.

More than that, she'd reached out as if to say let me save you. There was a force to it. A near-insistence.

Well — if she was going to insist that hard, then —

"I want to live too. If Marisa-san is offering me her hand, then I'll take it."

Aiz wasn't that humble. Not humble enough to bat away a hand held out for her.

She closed her grip on Marisa's hand firmly; strength came back through it. Marisa, for her part, allowed herself a small smile only Aiz could see.

"Acknowledged. You have shown a hunger for life befitting one chosen as my Second Master. For my own dream of becoming a capable maid to come true, Aiz-sama must live. My First Master over there appears not to require any tending in the heat of battle, so during combat I shall devote myself entirely to keeping Aiz-sama safe."

"…? I — I don't quite follow, but, um… thank you?"

Aiz tilted her head like a small animal — you could practically see the question marks in the air above her — and gave Marisa a baffled little smile.

---

"Right then. Let's work out how to get from here to the foot of the Sacred Mountain. — Hey, you. Money-grubber."

The faintly warm expression Marisa had worn for Aiz froze over the instant she turned around.

"Hold on! The temperature swing is unbelievable…"

"For Aiz-sama's sake, hurry up and devise something."

"It comes back to me in the end?!"

"If you're useless, I'll go down on my own. If you're useful, I'll make use of you."

"That's the kind of thing a person normally keeps to themselves."

"Ah. Did I say it aloud?"

Any further sarcasm would be wasted breath. Shaw understood that much.

So instead —

"All right, all right, fine. Honestly, ever since I climbed Lindholm Sacred Mountain I feel like I've been haunted by the Plague God or the Poverty God. While the two of you were enjoying your weird little moment I've had time to think things over. Allow me to explain."

He looked down the slopes.

---

"For starters — the assassins Mūzeg sent us aren't all of them. Mūzeg's army is famous for being well-drilled and large; there's no way they'd commit only that handful of bodies to chasing down a Demon Lord."

"Then those down there are scouts."

"Most likely. A fast unit dispatched to gauge the situation. Reconnaissance-in-force, that sort of thing. Which means a main body is waiting somewhere further down the mountain. Count on it."

"Then descending eastward would be folly."

"No. We descend east anyway."

"…Why?"

Marisa's brow furrowed.

"Because being chased by multiple forces from multiple directions is no way to live, is it? We're going to be pursued whichever way we go, so we may as well keep Mūzeg's attention on us and only Mūzeg's. …Granted, looking at that lot down there, it's easy to think Mūzeg's a weakling — that's our Lord for you — but in the actual hierarchy of nations they're firmly upper tier. Let's let them be the wall between us and everyone else."

"And after that? Mūzeg's homeland is on the other side, you know."

"We skirt around it carefully and hope not to get caught. The Kingdom of Lemuse lies a little to the south, and it might be worth leaning on that country's faded glories at this point."

Shaw's lip curled in a private little snort.

The irony was directed at himself, for having no better destination — and at the word Demon Lord, for putting them in this situation at all.

"'Leaning on,' is it? Quite the desperate phrasing."

"I won't pretend otherwise."

He laughed again.

His eyes were serious enough, but the way he shrugged carried something almost cheerful in it.

To this Shaw, Marisa now turned what felt like a final round of questioning.

"You're a merchant."

"I am."

"For money's sake, you act with utility and reason."

"…I do."

"Would you stake your life for money?"

"I'd very much like to. But if I die I can't earn any more — so my life would have to come first, I suppose."

"Last question. To survive this, have you concluded that we'll need to make use of the other Demon Lords' strength?"

"Of course."

"— Very well. Then I'll trust your merchant's rationality. The fact that you, knowing yourself to be a money-grubber, have nonetheless built a plan around using the Demon Lords' power — that is exactly why your plan can be trusted."

"That is a truly unflattering way to put it, but… fine. I'll take it."

Shaw gave a wry smile — the easy charm of a likeable young man overlaid with the cunning of a seasoned dealer.

"Then by all means — what's the actual method?"

She wanted specifics now.

"I'll use the earth and some gold coins to alchemise a metal ship."

The word landed flat. Marisa's expression turned openly suspicious.

There were two layers to the look. First, surprise that the word ship had even been spoken atop a peak with not a drop of moisture in sight. And second —

The contents of this man's skull have been converted to money too, haven't they?

— a frank, blazing concern for the structural integrity of the money-grubber's brain.

"…"

Then Marisa fixed the money-grubber beside her with a flat, withering stare entirely unbecoming of a maid.

A weaker-spirited person, Shaw reflected, might well have cracked under the sheer offensive force of it.

"Haaa… as I suspected, there are still concerns. …In order to put those concerns to rest, I shall hear you out. Go on. Please. Do."

"I have never seen a maid this insolent…!"

Shaw, for his part, seemed to be getting used to Marisa.