And So, the Man Arrived

"This much."

Watching the centre of the field, Hasim let out a small grunt.

"At this point, you start to wonder if we're even the same species."

The words came out on their own. The sight of Merea's unnaturally high combat ability had drawn them out.

Hearing about it and seeing it for yourself were not in the same range of shock.

To Hasim, Merea's combat power was a happy miscalculation — and at the same time —

— I really may end up putting half of Lemuse on the table as collateral.

— a thing that cooled the gut.

But that thought, only for a beat.

"No more time for admiration. I'll do my own work."

Hasim brought his focus back to the field.

---

Hasim had foreseen the shape this fight would take, and had laid in a defence line that rotated on the wings — exchanging units in and out as fatigue grew.

If you tried to counter-attack on top of all that, splitting forces was a luxury you did not have. Specialised purely on parrying, however, the picture was different. Just doable.

"Now! Switch!"

The hardest part of running this kind of defence was when to swap the unit on the contact line.

Pull them out too tired and they break on extraction. Swap too often and the other side gets gift after gift of fresh openings. The judgement is hard to set right.

On that count, Hasim's hand was nothing short of masterful.

The eye to read the other side's push intent without slipping. The timing to peel that intent off. Above all — the precision with which he was reading the fatigue of his own front line.

"Second platoon, hold the encirclement's spearhead with the minimum fall-back!"

A limited rear area, sliced into the bare-minimum chunks of use, kept in balance against the centre line at the same time.

A fight that did not let up for a single beat — and Hasim's command was holding it.

And the other side of that rock-solid command was, in turn, the Demon Lords in the centre.

Because the Demon Lords were stopping the Mūzegan central column at the line, Hasim had the budget to keep his careful eye on the wings.

And the Demon Lords, in the centre, were beginning, gradually, to show their full value.

---

"The power of money is, after all, GREAAAAT—!"

"Stop making weird noises even at a time like this!"

In the centre of the field, an enormous gold-coloured sphere was airborne.

About the bulk of one of the dead land dragons in the distance — a literal great mass of gold.

"Aaagh — and yet the sight of money leaving me has a kind of sadness to it —!"

"Shut it! Just generate the next one, fast! Their cavalry numbers keep growing!"

The voices of 〈Alchemy King〉 Shaw and 〈Fist Emperor〉 Salman were ringing back and forth.

The two of them were standing side-by-side, slightly to the right of centre.

No enemies in the immediate area, but in front of them rolled the black wave of Mūzeg's cavalry.

Faced with that wave of men, Shaw made a slow movement.

"I am getting these back later, mind you!"

Shaw threw down a heap of gold coins from somewhere in his clothing — where exactly he had been keeping that many was a separate question — and dropped both his hands into the pile.

From the moment his hands touched the pile, a formula array spread; the gold mixed with the wilderness dirt; the lump expanded in a single breath; and out of it rose another massive sphere — the same kind that had just gone flying into the Mūzegan line.

"Aagh… the purity… this foolish act of mixing gold with anything else. This war that forces such barbarism on me is — really — no good at all."

"The complaint itself is fair, but the route you take to get there is not normal! — Anyway! Move it, get back, here we go!"

Shaw was nuzzling reluctantly against the gold sphere, cheek to it; Salman shoved him aside, too close to be safe.

Standing in front of the sphere, Salman —

"Right. No one in front."

— looked up the line once to confirm, then —

"— Come on — fly!"

— set his fist mid-guard, purple particles wrapping it, and shot it forward in a beat the eye couldn't follow.

The fist hit the gold ball with a roar — and —

"…Why is it that one punch sends my gold sphere off at that speed."

"The failed Seven Imperial isn't just for show. The user finds it pretty hard to wield, mind. Though I think I'm finally getting the feel."

The gold mass flew at a speed that didn't look at all like the result of a punch.

Destination: the Mūzeg cavalry.

A direct hit.

Roar and screams in equal measure — and the sphere blew a clean hole through the enemy mass.

"Damn. Still not thinning. — How's the left?"

"There's a pillar of fire going up over there. Lilium-jou, perhaps."

"Right, fine, the left's fine."

"Quick judgement."

"There's all-out laughter coming from there, I do not want to be in that area! Merea's drifting left as well, that's covered. — So that leaves —"

The sphere-impact had eased the Mūzegan cavalry's pace.

In that beat Salman swept the immediate field with his eyes.

"On this side it's mostly close-combat. Marisa included."

"That make-believe maid hasn't shown a single sign of using a formula or any kind of secret art. And she's still up at the front, taking heads. That's not slightly terrifying?"

"She was already terrifying. There may be a reason she doesn't use formulae. The 〈Violent Emperor〉 line carries baggage. Either way — for now, that's enough."

"The twins?"

"In the rear. Unanimous call: don't go forward. Tight as it is, there are some lines I'm not willing to cross. How old do you think those two are. — That said, they're doing tie-down work on the wings with formula bursts, so they're not idle."

"Then the question is just how long we hold like this."

"That's it. We hold for now. But the count keeps growing. The Lemusan general had better play another card soon."

"Elma-jou is over there. She'll do something shortly."

"Right. The one I most wanted at the front, on loan to him. If he botches it, I'll put ten lumps on his head. — Oh, here they come again. Next one, fast!"

"Do you, perhaps, think that gold coins keep coming out of my pocket infinitely? — I'm running low here! My gold is running low!"

"If it runs out, we go pick them up!"

"That place is full of enemies!"

"Wear gold armour or something, you'll figure it out!"

"Oh — that's actually nice! Let's do that!"

The two of them turned their eyes back to the Mūzegan ranks.

Not the same all-at-once wave as before; the black tide was now grinding closer in patient little pushes.

— A favourable factor would be welcome, just about now.

Both of them thought it inwardly, set their bodies to combat — and kicked off the ground.

---

"— Right."

After running the defence-and-fall-back command for a stretch, Hasim, watching the Mūzeg side, had picked up on something.

Having picked up on it, he resolved to play a new card.

"That's the moment."

Between the left wing and the right wing of Mūzeg's encircling force — there was a slight difference.

Specifically, the speed with which they regrouped after a disruption, and the precision of their re-formation.

A small difference at first. Each repetition widened it.

— The right side has higher precision.

What you read off that —

— the commander is, probably, on the right side.

"Sword Emperor!"

He called Elma at last.

"What is it!"

A clean, snapping reply came back, almost on the call. Within two seconds of that, Elma rode up on her horse, tossing her black hair aside with a finally sort of impatience.

"Look — that area. The enemy's commander is, most likely, somewhere right of centre."

Elma's gaze went to where Hasim was pointing.

Hasim narrowed his own eyes the same way, watching for a clean read on the commander's outline.

As if to assist, another voice came in.

"He was, probably… there. The big one who was near Sa-al earlier."

Aiz, riding pillion behind Elma, popped her head out from behind her shoulder.

"If I recall — the 〈Heavenly Demon〉 —"

Hasim, looking at her, recalled the abilities briefing from before the battle, and asked her on reflex —

"If you have the rough position, can you fix it precisely with those eyes?"

"I'll, try."

Aiz nodded without a beat's hesitation.

"Good. Watch that big man. Whether he's issuing orders — that alone is enough."

"Got it. Wait, a moment."

Aiz closed her eyes.

A short silence,

"— Mm. Yes. I think it's him."

She opened her eyes and nodded.

"I just confirmed him myself. If Aiz says so, it's confirmed. That's enough for me."

Elma drew her demon-blade clean from the sheath as she said it.

To Elma, Hasim spoke again.

"As I told you earlier — I'll lend you a cavalry platoon. Use them as a stepping board. Loop in from the right."

What that meant —

"— Take the commander's head."

He said it with a perfectly straight face.

Elma let a sarcastic, exasperated half-smile flicker over her features.

"As I said before — you do ask some unreasonable things, King of Lemuse."

The smile didn't last.

What replaced it was, again, a face every bit as serious.

"— Understood. As the descendant of the commander of the Thirty-Eight Heavenly Sword Brigade, I'll show you a battlefield duty fulfilled."

"Counting on you. — I'll send a decoy left. Don't move until the signal."

He said it evenly, then added, last —

"— Be careful. If it looks impossible, you don't have to take the head. Even a near-miss across the throat would do as a threat."

"Don't worry. I've been in this kind of unfavourable battlefield before. That time I took three enemy commanders' heads. One is easy."

There was exaggeration in Elma's words.

It was, in part, to put Hasim at ease — and equally to lift her own spine.

"— Right."

Hasim took it for what it was, and gave the final nod.

Then Elma turned to her own back, looked at Aiz — clinging tightly there — and smiled.

"Aiz. Stay here."

"Eh?"

Aiz's eyes went wide for a beat, then her face fell.

Elma, seeing it, made a wry face — I'm sorry in the eyebrows. But she didn't budge.

"From here on, it's too dangerous for you. We've got the rough position; I don't need guidance any more."

"B-but —"

"If I let you take an injury, Marisa hands me my head later. She, too, would rather be by your side, but the centre needs every body — that's why she's at the front, going scorched-earth. I took you off her hands. So this is our own selfish responsibility — even so, I can't take you somewhere I know is dangerous."

Aiz caught what Elma was choosing not to say at once.

She was — when it came to that kind of thing — too sharp.

"…I see. From here on — it's dangerous, even for Elma."

"…Yes."

At that short answer, Aiz tightened her arms briefly around Elma's waist.

But then —

"…All right."

— she let go.

And without anyone's hand to help her down, she jumped from the horse.

Watching her go, Elma said —

"Inversely — this is the safe spot, you know. Right behind Merea, beside the supreme commander on our side. And — your ability is more useful at the commander's side. It's not a kind way to put it, but I'll say it out of respect for your willingness to fight."

A small forgive me in the brows, smile bent slightly.

"Mm. I'm fine. So Elma — be careful too."

Aiz wore the same shape of smile, looking up at her.

Elma reached down once, brushed her hair — reluctance in the touch — and finally cut her gaze away.

Then —

"— Hasim."

— she put a sharp gaze on Hasim, who was back on the field.

Before either of them had noticed, King of Lemuse had become Hasim. Not, however, out of warmth — more like she was using his given name to drive a nail in.

"If you want this Demon Lord's hand — you will keep Aiz from a single scratch. — A scratch on Aiz comes very expensive."

"Burned in."

"— Good."

She let out a small hmm through the nose, satisfied with the answer.

Then she turned the horse on its heel and put its nose to the right.

"Then I'm off. My comrades — into your hands."

She said it with her back to him, and rode off into the Lemusan ranks, vanishing toward the right.

Aiz watched her back go, worry on her face.

---

By the time Elma had Hasim's directions, the Mūzeg cavalry had shoved themselves quite a way forward.

A rough, full-bodied charge.

That the Lemusans were more stubborn than they'd projected had set off their irritation.

In the meantime, Hasim could see, with his own eyes, that the Mūzeg riders' field of view had narrowed.

Looking across the whole picture, their faces were locked too hard in one direction.

The encirclement that wasn't closing.

The centre, taking a fight much fiercer than expected.

Waiting for something to crack and getting tired of waiting; and underneath that, growing impatience.

On top of the Demon Lord defence — and above all, the gaudy formula-armament Merea was putting on at the very front — they had been gradually giving up on punching through that bracket.

Which meant their attention shifted back to the original plan — getting one of the wings, left or right, to complete its loop first.

In particular, they were watching Hasim's left wing.

Because the Lemusan cavalry on the left were, plainly, giving ground.

If this kept up, the left was going to crack first.

That belief showed, openly, in their faces and in where their eyes went.

But —

---

— it was a trap Hasim had laid.

---

Hasim had deliberately had the Lemusan riders on the left fall back.

Since the engagement was a knife-edge to begin with, that gradual withdrawal didn't read as unnatural. In a sense, this was a trap only available because he was outnumbered.

Watching the receding line with extreme care, Hasim was certain the trick had landed.

And then, as if to deliver the killing blow, he played his last card.

"Go. Loop wide, make it visible."

A small body of decoy he'd been holding back. A particularly fast cavalry unit.

He sent them on a long arc outside the left engagement, swinging out further still.

A move that looked like a strike at the enemy headquarters from behind.

To actually hit the headquarters from there was much too far. To pull the eye, more than enough.

"Kick up dust. Make your bodies look opaque, large as you can. Carry an exaggerated wrongness. Pull their eyes."

The decoy unit dragged spear-shafts through the dirt as they rode, made the hooves stamp out hard, and threw up a curtain of dust over the column.

— Look.

Watching them, Hasim, in the same beat, kept the wide view of the entire Mūzeg deployment.

He didn't blink. He waited.

He waited as long as he could.

Pulled their eyes as far as they would pull, and then, in a single instant —

— drove the real sword in on the right.

The instant was a hair's breadth away.

His brain processed everything in his vision in parallel and finally —

— Now.

Hasim threw his right arm wide horizontally. The signal.

In the same breath —

— looping wide of the right engagement, Lemuse's fastest cavalry company, with 〈Sword Emperor〉 Elma in among them, ran.

It was, in itself, a single arrow shot back at Mūzeg.

---

— Hold.

After he'd sent Elma off, Hasim's eyes immediately went back to the left.

If Elma slipped clean into the rear and drove her demon-blade through the commander's neck, the enemy command would, in all likelihood, collapse.

But there was, in parallel, the question of whether the left would hold until then.

The fact that he'd let the left give meant Mūzeg now had momentum on that side. A real fact, not a clever one.

In the middle of all that, Merea — wrapped in white lightning — was threading the centre at a frightening speed and barrelling into the left, applying pressure on the line as he went.

Merea, predictably, was reading the field's flow without being told.

Not stopping for a single beat, he just kept running across the field. Hasim — feeling something close to awe at the stamina in that — gripped his own sword-hilt harder.

If it came to it, he'd have to step out himself.

The standing orders were out; the cavalry were starting to settle into this style.

If hands were needed more than head —

— I'm not as strong in a melee as Serius or Muran were.

Even so, he'd go.

He was, with the small spare bandwidth that left him, drafting the excuse he'd give Aisha for overriding her objections, when —

— it was the next moment.

---

"Ah —! No! 'It's coming!'"

---

The girl Elma had set down for him — silver-eyed 〈Heavenly Demon〉 Aiz — pulled her thin frame in around herself in plain fear, voice up.

What, Hasim almost asked back; the words didn't come out.

He didn't need to ask back. He understood.

— A gaze.

What he felt, in the next instant, was a gaze on his back — one that felt as if it could see all the way to the bottom of his stomach.

His spine prickled. A chill ran through him.

He didn't know whose gaze.

But surely —

— I'm being watched.

And — Hasim felt a strange force settle on his body.

As if his body, not his mind, were ordering him: turn around, fast.

It felt almost like a god's revelation.

He whipped around in the saddle at full speed and threw his eyes deep into Mūzeg's rear.

What caught his eye first was Mūzeg's banner-cavalry, the same he'd seen before the battle. At the rear of centre, charged with carrying the country's banner up no matter the situation, they were still holding the black emblem aloft.

But — not them.

He narrowed his eyes harder, sent the gaze further back, behind the banner-rank.

In the next moment —

— from behind the snapping banner —

— something large showed.

Then the banner caught the wind and covered the something again.

Hasim forgot to blink.

When the banner snapped open the next time, he watched, ready to catch the whole.

The second snap came.

"— Land dragon (Reirnote)."

A red-scaled land dragon.

And on its back —

---

— a man with grey hair was visible.

---

Far. Still small.

Hasim did not, for one second, doubt it was a man.

And he intuitively knew that the man was someone he knew very well.

That hair colour, to Hasim —

— was a colour he could not forget.