The Black-Haired Demon God

Hasim, on horseback, chewed through what Merea had said.

Among this group, he was the man closest to Merea's level of thinking.

Which meant he was, in fact, able to follow the outlandish scope of Merea's vision — the kind of vision the rest of the world would have laughed off as a fairy tale.

But, on the other hand —

— I see.

— that Merea's vision sat at a different terminus from his own dream pulled a strange small smile out of him.

Not a wry smile. Not a sneer.

Just a smile that deferred judgement on whose vision was the right one — that absorbed the moment.

Even so, Hasim did not refuse Merea's dream.

If anything —

— What you're aiming at may be considerably larger than what I'm aiming at.

He felt almost like applauding Merea for having reached the starting point of a dream that he, Hasim, hadn't been able to walk to.

— I'm no longer pure enough to make that call.

Too dyed in the colours of the world and the era.

And, even if he had been pure, would he have had the courage to stand at that point —

— No, leave it. Don't push the thought.

He had, on his own terms, embraced a dream large enough to be sung about as the dream of a madman. No compromise.

But that dream, alongside Merea's, did seem to carry too much realism.

— Are you actually a man who was born in this world.

Merea's free reach of imagination prompted, suddenly, that absurd question.

But Hasim laughed it off at once.

— Either way is fine.

It didn't matter any more.

The man was Merea Mea.

A Demon Lord who, beyond doubt, existed on this ground.

For a beat, Hasim saw something enormous on Merea's back.

Behind him, he felt — a great many people standing.

---

While Hasim was watching Merea's back from horseback, another movement came in from outside the field of focus.

Not a movement so much as — a sound.

"— Wind-bird?"

A pyui —

— a clean, clipped birdsong went through every ear in earshot.

From above.

Elma, faster than anyone, looked up and caught the bird.

A bird.

A distinctive long four-coloured tail. Wings of large, sharp angle, beating.

After circling once or twice, the bird, as if locking onto target, dropped in a clean line to Hasim's shoulder.

"Finally."

Not just the Demon Lords — Hasim's own imperial guards too were tilting their heads at the new arrival. Hasim alone had the look of a man receiving exactly what he'd been waiting for; he was already untying the paper bound to the bird's leg.

While he opened the paper, beside him, Merea —

"What's that?"

— asked Elma.

"A wind-bird. Wind-birds are oddly good at distinguishing certain peculiar scents. By blending those scents in matched pairs, you can use the bird as a courier between two specific points. It's a delivery method that's been in use for centuries. Scent alone gets messy, of course, so they layer in conditioning and training, but the scent-pair is the distinctive bit."

Merea took the explanation with a small nod.

Elma asked back —

"Listening to your conversation with Marisa just now, it sounds as if you're using some peculiar inherited art. The time-cap thing — that hasn't run out, has it? Your hair's gone black —"

— puzzlement crossing her face.

Merea answered easily.

"The gate isn't fully open yet, so it's fine. Half-open, more or less. Granted — for someone whose default mode is one or zero, keeping it half-open like this takes work. So this state isn't going to last long."

"Really. The other Demon Lords run such fiddly arts, don't they. On my side, I'm just swinging a demon-blade."

"Hah. That's simpler. Better, in fact."

Merea laughed.

Elma, watching him laugh like that, felt a small relief.

In the middle of here, of all places, having the usual Merea close at hand — there was something close to gladness in her chest.

While they were having that brief exchange, Hasim finished opening the dispatch.

He scanned the page in one beat.

"…Fifteen."

He muttered it.

"— Fifteen minutes."

A clearer voice, after.

Merea caught the meaning.

"Fifteen minutes until the Three Kingdoms reinforcements arrive."

"Yes. Zuria's 〈Azure Spearmen〉. Time of writing, location, rough march speed, plus the wind-bird's flight speed I had on file — backed it out from those. — Crisca actually wrote it in detail, for once. The lecture at the castle landed."

A small note of pleasure on Hasim's face.

Then the serious face came back.

"Trusting my arithmetic — fifteen minutes. — Can you do it?"

"I'll do what I can do. Either way, ten of them are guaranteed. That's why I used this art."

Merea hadn't reached for 〈Fury of the Violent God〉 on raw emotion alone.

He had reached for it after seeing the strain on the Lemusan-and-Demon-Lord line.

This side bleeding fatigue; Mūzeg, with successive reinforcements, growing.

On top of which, Serius — a single man who could pull all of it into a clean line — had arrived. With him, the spell-corps capable of the wide-area annihilation formula.

Any one piece collapsing now would, almost certainly, take the whole front with it. He had begun to see that.

"Then the remaining five minutes — guts."

"Ha. That kind of phrasing, in a way, is the cleaner option."

Merea as the head of the Demon Lords, Hasim as the head of Lemuse — each had the same read.

So the dispatch arriving here was, for both, a real piece of luck.

For Merea in particular it eased an internal worry about afterwards, which steadied him.

"You'd better die-trying yourself."

"Yes. Don't have to be told."

But Merea wasn't going to lean on the reinforcements alone.

Hasim's tone said the Zuria force would matter; even so, Merea was not going to put his weight on it.

Merea —

— I'll end it here.

— had decided.

The cleanest outcome was push Mūzeg back at this engagement.

Reinforcements arriving guaranteed nothing. — Not at all.

— I cannot let any of them die.

For his own dream — he could not let the other Demon Lords die.

He had things he wanted them to do.

And above that, they were —

— precious to me —

Even silently, framing it like that flushed his face slightly. He cut the line of thought, deliberately.

"All right. Going."

"Yes."

Merea took the first step forward.

Beside him, Hasim — demon-spear set — nodded.

The two who had been chatting like old friends were no longer there.

The two of them, gazes sharpened by the imminent engagement, crossed eyes once.

And, at the same instant, looked across the field.

Their eyes met Serius's, where he sat on the back of the red land dragon.

---

"I'll be the first one in. Stay back, all of you."

Merea said it on the second step.

Marisa was watching him with worry on her face, but she didn't try to stop him.

Stepping out in front of everyone, Merea finally opened the four gates in his head.

First: Demon Gate.

Second: King Gate.

Third: Emperor Gate.

Fourth: God Gate.

What was supposed to be opened in order, he opened simultaneously.

The instant the four gates fully opened, an enormous quantity of magic surged out of Merea's body — at a density visible to the naked eye.

The magic, blowing around him like wind, carried the same black colour as his hair; oddly, that black read as clear.

In the torrent of black mana, his black hair lifting around him, Merea clapped his hands together — a cleaner note in the air this time.

A bright paan, clear, cut through the dry air.

And —

"〈White Lightning of the Lightning God (Celesta Barca)〉. 〈Six Wings of the Wind God (Van Ester)〉."

The voice, almost singing.

"〈Three Tails of the Earth God (Kria Lilith)〉. 〈Resplendent Sword of the Water God (Seura Euras)〉."

And —

"— 〈Death Flame of the Flame God (Fram Brand)〉."

Five named formulae, in series.

Merea was, technically, still under the Sealing Formula's processing-area block.

But as if to say that has nothing to do with this, the formulae loaded onto his body anyway.

What's more — they were, plainly, bigger and stronger than they had been before.

Five God-tier Demon Lord signed major formulae deployed at once was already past anything that fit on a normal scale; that they were, on top of that, larger and more vicious than the previous deployments meant the watchers could no longer place them anywhere on a scale at all.

Plain version: it had punched cleanly past the imaginable, and thinking stopped.

The five formulae kept taking on motion, regardless.

The white lightning, with Merea's body as anchor, kept stretching arcs out into the surrounding space.

The six wings of wind unfolded high enough to wall in a great castle.

The three black serpentine tails, anchored at the tailbone, were of an absurd length — coiling around to spots far away as if the anchoring were simply not a concern.

The 〈Resplendent Sword of the Water God〉 no longer fit in Merea's hand; four of them generated at once, suspended in the air around him, with reach long enough to read more like thrown arms than swords.

And —

"Wai- wait, isn't that — 〈Azure Death Flame〉 —"

Lilium, struck, was looking dumbly at the blue-black flame manifesting on Merea's arms.

As 〈Flame Emperor〉, Lilium knew the 〈Flame God〉 — the title above hers — in some detail.

Catching her mutter, Salman beside her asked back.

"〈Azure Death Flame〉? I've heard that somewhere —"

"History books, probably. The 〈Flame God〉 seat has been vacant a long time. Will stay that way."

"Why, exactly. You said that with conviction."

"The previous holder's record and ability were too far past anything we could match."

"…Ah. That kind."

A wry smile from Salman.

"Mind, azure is also Zuria's national colour. Some connection?"

"Yes. — In ancient times, the founder of Zuria was the 〈Flame God〉."

"…You're joking."

"And — that Flame God killed himself when Zuria moved from its revolutionary period into stabilisation."

"…Eh?"

A blank cry from Salman. One after another, Lilium was throwing him facts that didn't sit easily.

But she didn't wait — she went on, eyes still on the blue-black flame burning along Merea's shoulders and arms.

"Folklore says: a flame too strong burns its own bearer — that was the reason. Revolutions need that kind of force as fuel. Once a country reaches stable peace, the same force becomes a burden."

"That's not generally a reason to kill yourself, though. He couldn't just not use it, or — that's me being convenient, maybe?"

"Half right. I get what you're saying, but that formula isn't a just-don't-use-it level of formula. The historians call it a Massacre Formula. So there were probably layers of binding we can't easily picture."

"Massacre Formula?"

"Once it's released, control's gone. Death Flame is the opposite of my Living Flame. Living Flame makes life. Death Flame takes life."

"Just burn-to-death sense?"

"No. — Or, not only. — Touch it and the life is drawn out. And as it draws life, it grows itself, automatically. Once it's freed, it's pulled toward any nearby life-scent and tears around indiscriminately. The Flame God always went into a battlefield alone, the records say. Without enemies on every side, he'd have eaten his own allies."

"That is — unbelievably horrifying."

"The Death Flame holds the consumed life inside its flame body, so on that front it's similar to my Living Flame. In effect — Living Flame specialised purely to take."

"Massacre Formula about covers it. — Wait."

Salman, looking at Merea —

"You're saying he's about to use that?"

In the next beat —

"I won't use it the way the 〈Flame God (Fram Brand)〉 did. The auto-circulation built into the formula does, by design, eat life indiscriminately. The 〈Flame God〉 drilled into me, repeatedly: while there are allies in your line of sight, do not use this."

"But the flame on your arms —"

"With the four gates open in Violent-God mode, I can run the auto-circulation block by hand. Meaning — full control over 〈Azure Death Flame〉. As of now, wrapping it on my arms is the most I can manage. But — touch them, you're done. That's enough."

"This is the kind of thing only someone like you can pull off — running multiple God-tier signed formulae together. — Really, who raised you. I want to know, but I'm starting not to want to know either…"

Salman shrugged, wry smile on him. Merea was watching it through the wind-wings.

"That said — multiple major formulae and all the bandwidth — the formula budget and your mana. Are they actually holding?"

"Yes. Still spare. Mana refills as fast as I spend it."

"W- what are you saying."

Salman's cheek twitched.

"And the formula-processing slots? You said earlier — holding the reverse-formula reserve, two more. Right?"

"On top of which, one more got sealed by Serius. When that lifts, I don't know."

Merea said it as if it were nothing.

"It doesn't matter. One slot sealed. Fine. If the budget shrinks, expand it."

Salman opened and closed his mouth, lost. Then, with an I give up gesture, threw both hands up.

"Right. Right, I get it. Lots I want to ask, but the ten minutes have already started, no? Park it. Sorry for slowing you down. — Just one thing first."

"Mm?"

Salman scratched at his head, clearly trying to find the word — let out a long breath, and finally said it.

"This time, we're leaning on you all the way through. — Already are, actually. We're a long way below your ceiling, and steeling our resolve doesn't make us strong overnight. — But we don't intend to stay here, leaning on you forever, either. So —"

His sand-coloured eyes met Merea's red — head-on.

"— Save us."

No joke, no clowning, no flush of embarrassment.

Just clean and straight, no shame on it, Salman said it.

Merea — receiving the line — answered with a full, undisguised smile.

"Yes. — When the fight's done, give me another round of that lemonade."

"Cheap order, master."

Salman let his face go to a smile too.

And Merea turned to face forward.

He didn't look back again.

"All right, Serius. The fight you wanted."

He spread his arms wide, making his body bigger.

In response, the six wings expanded further, the three tails reared like serpents braced to strike.

The four glittering water-blades hung in the air at his sides, two on each, like guard-blades attending a master.

And the blue-black flame on his arms surged higher, climbing skyward —

"If you want a Demon Lord's power —"

Merea finally raised the line, voice carrying.

---

"— get past me first."

---

Running this many formulae in parallel, and still signalling that he wasn't full open, Merea's body let out a black exhalation of mana that exploded outward.

On that field, no one any longer doubted that this was a 〈Demon God〉.