Encounter

The Demon Lord party's pace shot up sharply once Noel joined.

The principal reason was that Noel was carrying the cargo the horses would otherwise have carried. But the horses themselves deserved some of the credit. Faced, in the wild sense, with a clearly higher-ranked predator — they kept their distance, but they didn't bolt.

A worry that had quietly been on Shaw's mind got resolved without effort.

These were horses Zaido had every right to take pride in.

"Capable man, isn't he."

The 〈Alchemy King〉 Shaw, faintly proud.

"Surprising. You being proud of something that isn't gold."

"People are also a form of asset, you know!"

Merea was riding on Noel together with the cargo. He occasionally exchanged Dragon Tongue with him; he had also adapted to the riding-a-dragon posture itself. The image read, more or less, as dragoon.

"Adapted to it quickly, that one."

"Predictably enough, for the first stretch he was visibly nauseous."

"Better than puking."

A formation of fifteen horses had already not been particularly inconspicuous. With a land dragon added, inconspicuous had stopped being a possible aim.

That was the trade. Speed, prioritised.

Unlike the early stretch — where they'd worked hard to keep their direction unreadable — inconspicuous was no longer something they had to bother about. From here, they only had to clear the run to Lemuse. Reach Lemuse before Mūzeg's pursuit caught them.

"— Right."

Riding at the rear of the column, Shaw squared his collar slightly and shifted into a more serious tone.

"We've made it this far at a pace I truly didn't predict. Frankly, if Mūzeg has outmanoeuvred us even at this point, no method we have left would clear it. Even with a dragon on our side."

"Yeah. If they do, I'll just have to applaud Mūzeg with both hands. Their power, plainly, exceeds ours."

Salman released a hand from his reins and spread his arms.

"How far to Lemuse, by the way?"

"At this pace — earliest, two days. Reasonable, three."

"Rations hold."

"Yes. Stamina — for the moment, fine."

Shaw scanned the rest of the column.

"Then in the good scenario we don't need to think more about it. The problem is the bad one — if Mūzeg did cut ahead of us."

That was actually the only branch worth thinking about. If they hadn't been cut off, the rest worked itself out.

"…You think they did?"

Salman, sand-coloured hair in the wind, serious face.

"Hmm — a coin's-flip, I'd say."

The same serious tone in return.

"Coin flip. After all this — coin flip."

"Mūzeg is that kind of opponent. — As an example—"

Shaw lifted his right hand off his reins and held up a single index finger.

"What if they're using land dragons too?"

"Oi, oi. Nobody has ever fielded that kind of frightening unit. Even if they wanted to — where would they get them?"

"Hm. Around. Somewhere."

"Land dragons move in prides. Try to take one and the adult dragons flatten you. — Ah, that picture is more nightmarish than a nightmare. I almost cried thinking about it."

"Hmm — eggs, then. Quietly, while it's still in shell."

"I doubt the parents leave a clutch unattended."

"A noisy play on one of the young — while the parents are looking that way—"

"A simple distraction. — I don't know. Not entirely convincing yet. — In any case, securing a single land dragon would cost any country a great deal of casualties."

"And Mūzeg, if they decide it's needed, accepts casualties effortlessly. The country's strength is built on stacks of them."

Salman noted, internally, that they themselves — and their ancestors — were exactly the sort of casualty Mūzeg's strength was stacked on.

"Mind you, occasionally a stray land dragon is sold privately. So it could be brute economics."

"You're already running on the Mūzeg has dragons assumption. — I hate that. Your forecasts have a way of landing."

If it had been pure invention Shaw wouldn't have brought it up. As a merchant, he was more or less a realist. So if the picture was on his board, somewhere small pieces of information were lining up under it.

Salman let out a slow blue breath.

"If it's real, that's the worst case. I'll throw both hands up at that one."

"Hah. Same."

Shaw laughed.

But Salman dropped the resignation almost at once and spoke seriously again.

"If land dragons do show up between us and Lemuse — and near Lemuse —"

A hard light in the eye.

"First job is to push the non-combat ones, no matter what, into Lemuse."

"— Yes. Agreed."

It had become apparent — vaguely from Lindholm, more sharply through travel-conversation — that several of the Demon Lords here weren't really combat-types.

The 〈Heavenly Demon〉 Aiz was the clearest case.

The states, after the first great age of war, had begun targeting Demon Lord designations onto people who carried useful arts of the more non-combat kind: economic-power-types like Shaw, espionage-types like Aiz, anyone whose ability turned out to be useful in the broader strategic frame without necessarily being good at killing.

As the form of war had diversified, those non-combat arts had become increasingly precious — at moments, more prized than raw fighting strength.

It also didn't hurt the states that those targets were physically weaker than the original-era Demon Lords who had pushed back. Weaker physically meant easier to capture.

Several of the people in this party were descendants of exactly those post-original-era Demon Lord designations.

Salman knew that. So he proposed pushing them out of the engagement first — into Lemuse — by any means.

"If it comes to it, I'll throw them. Putting non-combat people on the front line is the one thing I refuse. That's my line as the 〈Fist Emperor〉."

A clean resolve.

Shaw shrugged with a wry smile.

"Hh. You should probably start carrying stomach herbs in your coat. Quietly, you've been the one minding everyone the most."

"Then your firm should source me the herbs."

"If we make Lemuse safely, while I'm setting up the Lemuse branch I'll do it for you."

"As I might have expected — you've already drawn up the schedule for setting up a Lemuse branch."

"Of course. Who do you take me for? I am the money-grubber Shaw Jules Sherwood. Survival is the premise; making money on top is the premise."

"I'd almost respect that."

A wry barb from Salman.

"As for me — I'm fine. Reaction-formation, more than anything. The opposite swing of how I used to be. — Drop my line. My story is parochial next to Merea's, Elma's, even yours. Not worth the formality."

"Then — in time."

"I told you to drop it."

"I smelled gold."

"I am properly afraid of your nose right now."

Salman laughed.

"Anyway. Forward. We finish this conversation after we reach somewhere we can sleep without worry."

"— Indeed."

They cut the conversation there and pushed the horses forward again.

---

One night crossed. The next evening.

By then, the party's air had begun to crackle.

— The tension was on display.

Reasonable enough.

In two days they could reach Lemuse. In two days they could meet Mūzeg again. The latter would be a head-on collision. They could not, this time, expect to dodge the way they had on Lindholm. That had worked because they'd had situational and terrain advantage. In a clean five-against-five, the result was unknown.

So the tension built.

And, simultaneously, they prayed.

Please. Let them not be there.

They believed they had not left an obvious trail. But weighing possibilities, Mūzeg laying a search-line along the east felt, on probability alone, natural.

Mūzeg might not believe the Demon Lords were aiming at the declining Lemuse, but they would consider the deeper Three Kingdoms a likely escape destination. Without exact intel, Mūzeg would, with the numbers it had, lay a wide net that included detour-routes. They had the manpower for that broad-and-massive style.

But over-pessimism was its own problem. In the end, until they actually saw, they did not know which way it was.

So they prayed and prayed.

Let it be the way we want it.

---

The second night cleared.

By Shaw's projection, earliest tomorrow might bring Lemuse.

The Demon Lords' chatter dropped sharply. The two thoughts — we might just reach Lemuse without incident, and we might run into Mūzeg — sat in everyone simultaneously. The tension was now visibly leaking off them.

---

The third night.

Of Shaw's two estimates — earliest two, reasonable three — the three version had landed.

Tomorrow, by extension, something was going to happen. The tension reached for its ceiling.

A nervous urge to push the horses harder. But if they didn't rest the horses now, they wouldn't have legs left when Mūzeg actually appeared. Conversely — being able to give the horses one last rest at the very edge was a small mercy.

The combat-oriented Demon Lords were starting to throw needle-sharp killing intent off their shoulders; the non-combat ones, mindful of that, were keeping their faces composed and resolute. The party's coherence had visibly tightened. That much was certain.

---

Day four, by Shaw's projection, opened.

If their forecast held, by midday they would either see Lemuse — or something else.

Everyone packed silently. They mounted; they rode hard.

On day four Merea, on Noel, ran considerably ahead of the column. White hair in the wind, perimeter awareness wide. Behind him, Elma — covering her own perimeter to similar standard.

Everyone hoped no enemy would catch in those two's perimeter.

---

The sun was reaching its zenith.

High overhead. Noon.

Riding Noel — feet braced at the base of the dragon's neck for balance — Merea swept the area.

— About now.

Three days from Shaw and Salman's projection. If the projection held, something should appear.

"…"

He narrowed his eyes.

The red eyes scanned across the open country. He couldn't see any town silhouette yet. He couldn't see a single human figure either; the peddlers and merchant caravans they had occasionally passed earlier were gone today.

He looked harder.

To the right — sparse green over a hill. South. He'd never seen it himself, but the southern stretch of the eastern continent was, by report, fertile. He noted it and immediately shut it out.

Left — brown wasteland. So they were running along the seam between field and waste.

He looked harder.

— Far ahead in the distance, dust was lifting.

Dust kicked up by wind, or — kicked up by something passing.

He sharpened.

Was there anything inside the dust? He tried to make it out.

A sudden gust ran left to right, broad and fast, and pulled the dust apart.

He caught his sleeve over his eyes against the wind and held the line of his gaze.

The dust thinned —

And in the gap —

He saw something.

There.

That dust hadn't been wind. Something had been there, and the something had churned the earth between waste and field, throwing the sand up.

In an instant, Merea identified it.

---

That silhouette had a shape very, very like the dragon he was currently riding.

---

"— Land Dragons!"

Merea's shout was, to the rest of the party, both a tension-spike and — more — a wave of despair.

On the backs of the dragons, raised high, they could see the black banners of Mūzeg.