Martial God and Sword Demon

The two-of-them sparring, abruptly begun —

"Damn! — who taught you body-craft?! — Never seen that movement, and it's not the kind a normal human can pull off! Receiving and redirecting clean…!"

"Taught by people who weren't really human-shaped…"

— with that exchange in passing, ran flat and steady.

Both of them, refined of motion.

Salman's combat-craft leans toward attack — high-speed strikes interlaced with movement.

And — he doesn't, particularly, hold a position.

To which Merea, not moving the feet, was steadily deflecting those strikes.

Even the Salman-circling-into-the-blind-spot strike — a clean stepping pattern — Merea handled without trouble.

"How are you stopping attacks you can't see. — No, seriously — interested."

"Sound."

"Seriously…"

"Do years of being attacked from every direction blindfolded — and accuracy of non-visual sensing climbs, apparently…"

"Eh — I do not want that training program…"

While saying it, Salman set up the second strike's prep-motion.

A fist flew — angled to lift Merea's flank from behind.

"Ah — close."

"Stopped easy while talking about it."

Merea, just before Salman's second strike landed, executed an in-place rapid pivot. To bring the around-the-blind-spot Salman back into front-line view.

Mid-pivot, Merea caught the second-strike incoming and stopped it with one hand mid-spin.

Gripping Salman's fist with frightening hand-strength, body now squared on, Merea moved.

"Oh?"

The instant Salman put strength in to yank his fist back, Merea caught it with no-error precision.

In that instant, Merea, deliberately, let go.

Salman, on over-momentum, tilted his weight slightly backward.

But Salman, on his end, returned the weight forward by reflex.

A motion only the body-craft-skilled make.

"Ah."

But Merea used that.

Same instant.

He grasped Salman's chest as Salman tried to bring his weight forward —

"Hop."

— and on anomalous speed pulled his body in, then, on a water-flowing motion, threw him over the back.

By the time Salman caught the danger, his feet were swept and his body was in float.

"Whoa."

In a single moment, several motions at once.

And those motions all fast, response could not catch up.

"—"

Salman, at the moment his back was about to slam into the ground, sensed a subtle deceleration on feeling.

Then — impact at the back.

Sky in the field of view, on the blue canvas a hawk crossing — he watched it idly.

After a few beats, he reconfirmed I was thrown, and Merea, at the last, eased the throw's force.

He had sensed it by feel; clean head-acknowledgement still took time.

That's how fast the move was.

"Damn — throw in the toolkit too."

"〈Martial God〉 used everything."

"Hah… eh? — Did you just say 〈Martial God〉?"

"Yes."

"Seriously. So — that class is on your side too. — Mind, hearing it from your mouth lands special."

Salman, on the strength leaving Merea's grip on his collar, sat upper-body up.

The pre-impact easing meant it was, in effect, just being thrown — but his organs still felt, by feel, shaken.

Salman, brushing the sand-coloured fringe out of his eye on one hand, looked at Merea and said —

"〈Martial God〉 is a slightly special title even among titles."

"By the talk."

Merea, standing, wiped sweat from his brow on one hand and looked up at the sky on a cool-air-soak register.

Salman, watching, internally: Got him to break a sweat — alright, a small relief.

A touch pathetic, he felt too — but to cleanly recognise the gap between him and Merea, he had decided not to make excuses.

"My ancestor used to claim it too. Combat-style heroes and Demon Lords with melee-side titles all aimed for 〈Martial God〉, more or less. By the talk."

"The general aspiration?"

"Yes — close to that."

Merea's gaze dropped from the sky and went back to Salman.

Jewel-like red eyes shone in the sun.

That a curiosity-shine was mixed in, also, Salman did not doubt.

"In the end — those who throw themselves into fighting with delight carry, by various measures, a seeker-of-strength side. Especially the martial-side titles show that strongly. So they competed for the 〈Martial God〉 title at the top, surely. Now that the title-system is mostly used on Demon Lords, that kind of competition is rare."

"〈Titles〉, in older times, were used plainly to honour a country's heroes; on a different track, used by bards to flower-up a tale; and, in places, even coined by the populace for an entertainment of competing on phrase-floweriness — used in entertainment-tinted ways too, on the talk."

"Yes, yes. On the origin, there's various theories. Mind, the anomalous-naming origin probably traces to fear-laden naming of the oldest wicked Demon Lord… But the institutional use as a system likely starts in the next era."

Salman, thoughtful, and immediately, as if recalling, continued.

A slightly troubled smile on his face.

"Mind — if you say it, the entertainment register really did exist. — Heard direct from a Heroic Spirit, after all."

Salman knew quite a bit of Merea's circumstances.

When they first arrived at Star-Tree Castle, Merea had explained it.

Once one sat to listen properly, somehow believable — a strange story.

"I'm not, mind, doubting."

Hard to believe is not the same as not believing.

Merea's words held no scent of lies; what he had already shown could only be explained by that origin.

"— Anyway — for 〈Martial God,〉 a specific-this-line genealogy isn't really in the records. Of course, going by surviving texts you can pin a most-likely line — but in the end, who acknowledges it is the question."

"Right."

Salman, returning the topic, looking up at Merea —

"For reference — the name of the 〈Martial God〉 who drilled this craft into you is?"

Merea, on a brow-up, answered.

"— 〈Lin Mu〉."

"Lin Mu? Don't recognise it."

"A young-girl-shape. — In appearance, anyway."

"Girl, you —"

Salman, on that point, was plainly surprised.

For someone to drill this into Merea, he'd, on his own assumption, pictured a ridged, frightening, hard-bodied man.

"Mind — she didn't, herself, claim 〈Martial God.〉 But her brother said if anyone is the Martial God, it's her. — Reads almost like brotherly bias, but he said it."

"Brother-and-sister. — Both of them, Heroic Spirits at the same time? — Wait. — You said 〈Mu〉?"

Salman caught something there.

A bare-handed line was slightly different in shape, but he had heard the same surname somewhere before.

"By any chance — the brother is — 〈Shin Mu〉?"

"Oh — you know."

A pleased smile from Merea.

That Salman knew of his Heroic-Spirit-parent, the gladness.

"Know him, know him. That 〈Sword Demon〉 is, in a sense, easy to spin into stories. — Many mysteries on him."

"Mystery-laden in person, too… he barely spoke — except when praising his sister; even drilling craft into me, didn't teach in words."

"Whoa — interested in that one. 〈Sword Demon〉 is a Demon-class title, but by one school of argument should have been 〈Sword God〉 — debate's still alive."

"Hm."

"〈Sword Demon (Shin Mu)〉 didn't leave flashy on-record achievements. Stayed out of public eye — that sort of register."

"Right — wasn't interested in that kind of thing."

"As I'd thought."

Salman, talking with Merea, felt his curiosity steadily welling.

To hear old stories is, yes, a pleasure.

He'd liked digging through historical archives anyway, but hearing it through people was not bad either.

Or rather — the man in front of him likely knew things even archive-texts don't carry.

"Damn — very curious — but I'll save it for later. Save the pleasure for later. — And — that 〈Sword Demon (Shin Mu)〉 had a sister is shocking on its own; why he called her 〈Martial God,〉 I wonder."

"On that he didn't elaborate either, so — hard to say. — Mind, several times, he said *because she's especially physically weak — because she's a woman."

"〈Sword Demon〉's read of the essence of martial, perhaps."

"Possibly. Lin's body itself was almost ordinary-human. If anything, frail, per Shin's read. Even so — I won against her only once."

"Right. …Interesting. — I, also, technically wear 〈Fist Emperor;〉 maybe I should think about this side more seriously. …Mind, my own case sits more with the Seven Imperial Houses side, so…"

Salman, suddenly, intent on the strange pattern carved into his forearms.

Merea watched it; after a moment, noticed Salman's eye drift to the far distance, and pulled the topic back.

"For reference — at first there were other Heroic Spirits who claimed 〈Martial God〉 too."

"Oh?"

"After sparring with Lin, all cried I'm dropping the title."

"Hah — what was that. — On the sacred mountain all that time, no sparring until you arrived?"

"Yes. Until I arrived, they hadn't been actively moving. Spirit-shaped, drifting, register."

Merea shrugged as he said it.

In his head, the picture of the Heroic Spirits laughing pleasantly.

"Then — someone found otherworld-grass, the great plan kicked off, and they started moving more actively. That run."

"— Yes."

"…Otherworld-grass. Real, then. — No — was real, then."

Salman knew that much.

And, knowing that, accepted Merea as he was.

So — Salman, noticing Merea's slightly fragile expression for an instant, on a read of his interior, immediately added —

"Don't worry. You are you. You may have been born in a strange way, sure — but children's birth in general is strange, yes? The more I think about it, the more women's extraordinary register sinks in."

Salman, with a hand-wave: I, even now, don't get the principle of that side. Studied as a discipline, ended up less clear, on a laugh.

Merea returned the smile.

"Right. I, too, am not, on that point, going strange. I'm aware that I'm now standing on this world by my own feet."

"Yes. That is plenty."

So saying, Salman finally moved to stand and put a hand to the ground.

A hand reached in from the side — Merea.

Salman, on a small ou, took Merea's hand.

"Stories about 〈Sword Demon (Shin Mu)〉, and about 〈Martial God (Lin Mu)〉 — let me hear them later. Today — soon those lot'll be moving — no time, mind."

"With pleasure."

"Ah — and — if you're going to the art-city, take me along. Time to talk on the road."

To Salman's line, Merea, on a speaking of note, recalled what he'd been thinking about earlier.

"Fine, mind — Riina and Miina?"

"Ah — wouldn't want to bring them, but… they'll come on their own. Forced-leaving is possible, but the castle-stay side will then take a labour-spike."

"Then — attach them to Shaw's side, the less-dangerous track."

In that instant Merea had decided something. Hence the line.

"Shaw will be — art-product appraisal and information-collection, almost certainly. While he's far out, he'll milk it. I, on the other side, will run the 〈Bewitching Queen〉 lead as the first target."

"Right — split into two squads."

On Salman's nod, Merea, with hand-gesture, continued.

"Yes. And — if anything happens, almost certainly on my side. If 〈Bewitching Queen〉 is a Demon Lord, the people after that strength will move. Whether Mūzeg, Saisalis, or someone else — open."

"Right."

"So — if you're worried about the twins, attach them to Shaw. Shaw needs his own escort anyway. Convenient."

"You — already thinking me + the twins as a set, yes?"

A mischievous smile from Salman.

That Merea wouldn't call just-the-twins an escort — Salman knew.

"Naturally."

"Hesitate, briefly…"

"— Mum."

"Say that again and I flatten you…!"

"Joke joke."

Merea, mischievous smile too.

Salman only sighed.

"— Mind — if going, that shape is the better play. I want them to see other cities, and being with the money-fiend is, in many ways, useful."

"Truly — mum and dad both."

"Quiet."

Salman, embarrassed, looked away.

Merea, not pressing, watched him with an honest small smile.

That those two — at that age, no parents, and the tragedy of being Demon Lords on top — Salman watches over more than anyone.

The other Demon Lords also watch over them, but Salman's care was one notch above.

That this was a praiseworthy trait of his — everyone, also, understood.

"For safety, one or two more 〈Sword (Emelie)〉 members as escort. So we can adjust on the ground."

"That'd be the call."

"And — while we're absent from Lemuse, the castle-stay side should be told don't roam too far outside. Wanting everyone along, sure — but —"

"Efficiency-wise, a touch wasteful too. The delay generated may, in some case, mean another Demon Lord dies. Mind — if it does, result-talk by then."

"There are still mountain-quantities of texts not yet examined; while this runs, the information on the other tracks should be progressed. 〈Bewitching Queen〉 is not confirmed a Demon Lord either."

"Yes. Anyway — a contact-method needs to be settled. So we can recall you immediately if anything happens."

"I'll bring Noel, and tuck him near Vergilia. So if it comes up, we jump back."

"That jumping is, truly, alarming… If we're doing it, we'll have to scout Vergilia's surrounding terrain in advance. Need a clean hide, or the art-city's rare-creature-fans will get on him. — On the fan-side, I mean."

Salman, head in hands, started walking.

Merea followed.

"An ordinary citizen, trifled with by that one, dies… he's mostly trifled with you, so his easing is truly unrefined…"

"I'll lay it out firmly with him."

"Yes. Do."

Merea, noticing a sweat-drop running vertically by his temple, on clean-bearing, said it.

After that, on light chatter, the two went back into Star-Tree Castle.

"Ah — bad, speaking of — Elma was, today, demanding cooking-lessons…"

"Eh?"

"Bad… bad…! What time is it now?! How many bell-strikes?! — Without me there she starts on her own! Today's me can do it! — every time, with that strange confidence! If a kitchen-rota person stopped her, fine, but if she wasn't stopped today's breakfast may exterminate the whole alliance…"

"…"

"…"

"Run?"

"Yes."

That morning's breakfast — many, deliberately, did not eat.