Companions for the Art-City

"Speaking of — Shira-chan, you came to tell Merea-kun something, didn't you."

"…Ah."

After Merea and Marisa left, Aiz and Shiradis remained in the corridor and talked for a while.

By way of the earlier exchange, in fact, Aiz and Shiradis had spoken before too.

Shiradis — armet on, full armour, voice rarely heard — had, after leaving the Duchy of Neuce Gauss, on a stop at an oasis, let her tongue slip, slightly.

That she had not let her voice out had carried no big meaning, she'd want to think on her own end — but possibly, on her wish not to have her line known, the brake-pedal had reached even that level of detail.

But — Aiz, even so, was special.

She defuses people's caution.

That she carries no weapon, that she is — to be plain — weak, may be one tip of the reason.

— No. Aiz is, more…

Shiradis revised the thought.

The largest reason, almost certainly, lay in her character.

No malice.

And — not from being purely innocent but from being familiar with malice — the read was practised at handling malice.

By being practised, she also governs it.

By that — from her own body, the unpleasant malice is purified.

— Hard to put cleanly.

Aiz carried an embracing capacity hard to put in a single word.

Even Shiradis, also a woman, felt it strongly.

Whether this is maternal, she did not know.

If anything — it felt like something on a higher dimension; sharpening that precise reading didn't seem useful.

"Um —"

The shock of meeting her had been large.

At the oasis, on a brief exchange of words alone, the heart had been healed.

Bit by bit, after that, conversations had built.

"Right — yes. I, also, was going to say I'll go with Merea."

"Art-city?"

"— Yes."

Shiradis, both hands on her face, returned to her thought.

She had only just realised it — and cleanly missed the moment.

That she had even managed to come this far chasing Merea was, on her own measure, worth praising — but the core errand undone is, in any case, no use.

Did it, she thought, on tears-coming-up at her own uselessness.

"Mu… didn't go well."

"It's, all right — yes? Tomorrow Merea-kun, also, is here."

"Yes…"

Aiz's slim body, reaching only to Shiradis's waist, was, in a consoling way, patting her back; Shiradis felt it.

That it was through the armour was, on the contrary, the apologetic part.

"Tomorrow — this armour, perhaps I'll take off. — Inside the castle, only."

Going outside without armour was, still, hard.

But —

"From everyone — too many secrets — I don't want."

She had reached the point of being able to think it.

So — inside Star-Tree Castle, where only fellow Demon Lords were, the armour she wore to hide the beast-ears and the tail — taking it off might be, possibly, all right.

Wearing ordinary clothing in places other than her own room had been a long while; she had, on the small allowance from Shaw, bought clothes.

Whether they read womanly was unclear, but she thought they would do.

"Then — tomorrow, again — to Merea-kun, shall we go?"

"…Yes."

Aiz, peeking up from beside, looked up.

Shiradis, looking at her silver eyes, set her mouth and nodded with resolve up.

The picture of a tall bronze-skinned beauty in cherry-pink hair walking the corridors of Star-Tree Castle alongside a slim small silver-eyed girl — uneven in stature though it was — was, strangely, a heart-warming picture.

The two, knowing each other was not good with people-handling, would, often, walk shoulder-to-shoulder this way at the close of a day, congratulating each other on the day's effort.

That this had become one of the hundred-views-of-comfort the other Demon Lords at Star-Tree Castle quietly enjoyed — they would only learn somewhat later.

---

Next morning.

Merea, after a sleep slightly shorter than most need, ran his daily morning physical-training and stepped out into Star-Tree Castle's inner court.

The inner court, opening to the Great Star-Tree side, was wide enough that he could run in.

A small stretch and one might call it an exercise-ground.

Toward the rim of the court, where star-trees — almost children of the Great Star-Tree — circled, he turned his eye, drew the fresh air deep into his lungs and breathed out, large.

"— Phew."

He started, idly, to walk the rim.

Wind came up; on top of his head, an odd feel.

Bed-hair, surely.

The wind stroking the part of the head where the bed-hair-strand ran gave the sensation a different-than-usual register.

"In any world — common, this."

World, or rather body — the latter would be more accurate, perhaps.

Either way — that not-fixing-bed-hair me was the same as before.

A strange familiarity with himself sat there.

"Hah — familiarity with myself — slightly off, that."

A wry smile at his own line —

"— Right."

Merea switched gears.

Even this morning walk had its meaning.

When thinking through, nothing beats walking.

No need to walk fast.

Just — in a place where one can walk without minding others, walking on inclination — the head's circulation always opens.

He was not particularly versed in medicine; this was, in effect, empirical knowledge — but Merea did not ignore that kind of personal experience.

"Over-weighting it is also a problem, mind."

Even so — he did make a point of valuing the body's signals.

Almost certainly, that was a function of experience.

"Who to bring."

The 〈Bewitching Queen〉 rumour in the art-city.

Real curiosity, and going to look he had, by now, decided.

If various people gathered in art-city Vergilia, then information-collection on the side was implicit.

Demon-Lord-related leads were limited to that alone for now, but time he started moving himself was also a real feeling.

"Marisa said she'd come."

She'd come even silent, surely.

There was the matter of the 〈Violent Emperor Period〉 too.

Then —

"Aiz —"

Merea, suddenly noticing her existence, scratched the side of his head a few times.

A hair caught around his finger; in passing, bed-hair existence reminder.

"Mn —"

If possible, he'd rather not bring her.

Marisa would, surely, feel the same.

But — Marisa, treating Aiz as her Second Master and giving her special care, may, on the contrary, want her near.

— Hard to read.

Marisa, lately — checking the bonds with the other Demon Lords — had been, fairly often, hands-off.

In her own way, balancing — too clinging would be wrong.

That's a matter of her maid-pride; hard to know fully.

Even so — given that, if Star-Tree Castle's defensive line is sound, Marisa might, possibly, leave Aiz at the castle.

"In the end — depends on Aiz's will."

If Aiz says I'll go, fine.

As long as he is there, Aiz will not be cut — he had resolve to that level.

"Aiz's call, then."

The thought began circling; he set it aside.

"After that — Shaw, then."

He'd come, surely.

The uncharacteristic heat on the Saisalis topic.

That Shaw becomes that talkative on something other than money is rare.

Plus — on the art-goods flowing into the art-city, a merchant-side interest also showed.

"In the end — head-count's growing. But for the castle, 〈Sword (Emelie)〉 needs to be left here in sufficient measure."

He'd send Hasim a written notice that he'd be vacating the castle, but for moments-of-need, the 〈Demon Lord Alliance (Mea-Nesaia)〉 needed to retain solid defensive force.

"Managing an organisation is, in fact, hard."

Merea, on running everything through his head, let the grumble slip unconsciously.

After two laps of the inner court, muh-muh-ing along, his ear caught an unfamiliar sound.

A cutting-the-air sound.

The source seemed to be from a particularly dense star-tree grove on the rim.

Merea stepped, drawn by the sound, into the green space lit through with leaf-filtered sun.

A sharper sound, grew; mixed in, occasional breath sounds.

A human presence.

— Someone here?

Demon Lords running their own daily routines before the rest start their day, he had begun to notice lately.

The presence carried no unpleasant register; not an intruder, by the read.

Merea climbed a nearby star-tree on acrobat-style motion, threaded through leaves, and looked toward the source.

Through a gap in the foliage, for an instant, a sand-colour flashed.

Seeing it, Merea, almost on reflex, raised the line.

"— Salman?"

"Mm? Oh — Merea."

Merea jumped from star-tree to star-tree and moved toward the voice.

And, finally, from on a tree, caught him.

The sand-coloured-haired friend.

"Vigorous from the morning."

Wiping sweat from his brow on his arm, clean and bright in air, Salman stood.

"What are you up to?"

"What — same as morning you, basically."

Salman, on a mischievous smile lighting his clean-cut features, pointed at Merea, who from a branch had thrown the question.

"Training, training. Unlike the formula-users straight, body-leaning fighters like us need daily training, no? Doesn't move at the moment would be no joke."

"Want a partner?"

Merea, on a flash-of-thought, said it.

A pleased laugh; he leapt down from the star-tree branch.

Walking up to Salman —

"— Knew you'd say it."

"No formula. Hand-to-ground = lose."

The instant he said it — like a child play-fighting a brother, but on exquisitely refined motion — he laid a leg-sweep into Salman.

To which Salman, equally on a pleased laugh — leapt to dodge the lower-line sweep, like a roundhouse coming in at his feet.