A Death-Sentence, and the Preparations Falling into Place

"Today, from the morning, small-eaters were many."

"…"

"Stomach-timing on everyone's bad? Which day of the week, then, does full eating land?"

— Please. That corner — please don't think into yet.

"Look, Merea — which day of the week do you want to eat my cooking? The week-opening purple day? The week-closing yellow day? If holiday is preferred, black day and white day are also candidates."

— A death-sentence, this.

Merea, after putting his breakfast in half-portion, alongside energetic Elma deciding the next day-of-death, was walking the Star-Tree Castle corridor.

After breakfast. Time to return to the room briefly and prepare for the day.

Elma's room is on the fourth floor; Merea's, the fifth. Routes overlap; after the morning dish-washing, they often walked together in conversation.

"Today happened to be off-tempo… the banquet was, finally, last night, after a stretch — everyone ate plenty."

"Right — so when there's no banquet the day before, any time is fine."

— Sorry, everyone. I played the hand wrong.

Merea turned his back on Elma and put both hands to his face.

"Mm? What's wrong? — Still hungry, perhaps?"

Elma, watching, head-tilted.

"N-no, not particularly. — For reference — Elma — when you cook, do you taste-test?"

"Hah — of course. Feeding it to people — taste-testing is required."

— Eh-huh? Strange.

Elma's answer differed considerably from Merea's prediction.

To say it cleanly — he had wondered if she might not be tasting it.

In fact, Elma's cooking was that original.

To put it plainly — passing-out-grade.

"Today's was a slightly strange taste, but not can't-eat level."

"Slightly?!"

"Eu—?!"

"Ah — sorry — I shouted suddenly there."

"S-startled me…"

Elma, clean and slack-less in war-time, in Star-Tree Castle was, by the look, fairly eased, and on a sudden raised voice would, animal-style, show plain surprise.

At the line that snapped out of Merea's mouth, Elma's shoulders jolted, on a fast motion both hands raised in a stance, two steps back.

A strange posture, but the startled read came through plainly.

Merea, watching, on a hand-wave apologised and pulled the topic back.

"I-, I see — taste-testing is, properly, done…"

Which is to say — Elma is, this morning, eating her own cooking.

And — not flinching. On top — serving it to others.

— Possibly Elma's tongue is broken…

On top of that, possibly an off-human stomach.

— Mind — good things she does call good in the ordinary register…

"Elma — picky-eating, you don't really do."

"Yes. — While mercenary-ing, I fought clever opponents a few times. They'd cut our supply-line rather than face us straight on. We hit food-shortage a few times; on those, I ate every edible thing on the ground. So preferences narrowed. — Better than dirt, after all."

"Hmm—"

"Mm?"

"N-no — nothing."

— I see — Elma's tongue's low-bound on flavour-evaluation is frighteningly wide…

In a sense, that, also, is evolution.

Less growth, more evolution — that fits better. That level of variance. — That she can eat her own cooking is the proof.

— But — not registering bad food as bad food is, in some sense, a huge obstacle to becoming a cook…

Elma's care is much appreciated.

Truly, Merea himself, cooking is not his strength.

Or — generally housework, most of it, not strong.

In that, Elma is busily caring and acting around the place.

On things other than cooking, her hands are not, particularly, slow. Almost certainly the work of Marisa and the other women's tutoring.

Only — only the cooking —

"M-mind — Salman is truly skilled at cooking. Today the timing was off, but next time — properly — get him to teach."

"Yes — that's the idea. … Truly — today was supposed to be that, and he turned up late."

Elma, arms folded, cheeks puffed.

In her adult-shaped sharp-cut eyes, an unhappy shade rode — the puffed-cheek register was, somehow, girlish.

"Two in a row — none."

"That'd be hoped."

— For everyone's sake too, two in a row would be too much; I have to, by every method, get him into the kitchen on time.

Thinking it, Merea could not say don't cook to Elma.

So, on a sigh —

"Surely Elma will, soon, be better at cooking than Salman."

"R-really? — If you say it, I'll push through."

The line, on Elma's face, lit bright — and Merea, on a soft wry smile, returned the nod.

— That such innocent expressions surface more often is a good thing.

From puffed-cheek to smiling-bright, Elma began climbing the stairs to the fourth floor; Merea, watching, re-etched in his chest hold on to the now, away from war-business.

---

"Ah — right."

"What."

About halfway up the stairs to the fourth floor, on the landing, Merea threw a line at Elma stepping ahead.

"Elma — going to the art-city?"

The matter under planning.

Marisa, Salman, the twins, Shaw — already settled. As told to Salman, splitting into two squads, an additional escort or two needed.

If Elma had no business in the art-city, fine — and his prediction was no, almost certainly.

"Naturally."

Elma answered with almost no beat.

Black hair brushed back, posture clean, looking Merea head-on.

The standing-figure was, plainly, 〈Sword Emperor〉-shaped.

"I am always at your side — mm? — that phrasing is, somehow, bad, I think — no but, I've said the same thing before…"

"Elma?"

"…"

From Sword-Emperor-stance, mid-line, face going bright red — Merea, on the shift, tilted his head.

"N-no! — Nothing! — At any rate! I'm coming!"

Elma, on Merea's puzzled gaze, said it on a flailing-mouth.

Both hands waving, as if to block the gaze.

"Th-the art-city pulls in vintage and antique items, no?! Possibly Imperial Weapons mixed in too! And — other — various — information!"

"R-right. Mind, Elma is, on Imperial Weapons, attached to 〈Knowledge (Razlas)〉 too, so for that work, perhaps it lines up well."

"Yes! That's it!"

Elma, face still red, on three large nods, turned on her heel.

"Then — I'm out for today's commission — change clothes, head out!"

"Yes — take care. When the day for the art-city is set, I'll let you know."

Merea, internally on I'd like to go too, but — he has his own work — somehow held the curiosity down.

— A little more time, and that kind of slack will come, perhaps.

He had plenty he wanted to do — accompany Elma's contracts; tour the eastern continent on Noel for ground-level inspection; etc.

— But first — wishing for the 〈Bewitching Queen〉's safety.

Whether she be Demon Lord or not — that her interior is not, by that florid name, dragged — Merea prayed.

For now, world-roving was off the table.

---

"Merea-sama — before study, a visitor."

"Hm?"

After parting from Elma, Merea returned to his room, rested the stomach, and went to the second-floor study.

The usual hour for Marisa's lesson.

Plus, the important hour for confirming the per-squad reports — but that day, another matter came first.

He had no idea who, but Marisa, beside him, secretary-style and flat, told him so; no error, by the read.

"Who?"

Merea, deep in the desk-chair, looked up at Marisa.

Marisa, toward the study door, threw a clean-carrying line.

"Yes. — Please come in."

The door opened on the line; the figure that surfaced from the other side —

"Hmm?"

Bronze-skin firm-set, glossy cherry-pink hair flowing — a tall beauty.

Slim limbs running clean; a womanly-charge curve-richness.

The strange beast-ears at the head, twitching small, and equally —

"…A tail — almost dog-like —"

— attached.

No mistake — attached.

At the back, from below the thin shirt, a swaying-side-to-side furred tail was visible.

Fur the same pale cherry-pink as the hair — almost as if mixed with silver, a strange sheen.

Hard to call dog or cat, but the tail's fur was unusually smooth and fluffy, in a hard-to-describe beauty.

It promised a touch-quality that pulled the hand toward it on impulse.

— Eh, well…

He did not, at once, place who.

— …Ah.

But after a beat — it landed.

Naturally — last night, after the banquet, they had met.

Without that signature full-armour, the impression was different.

"Shiradis."

"Y-yes."

The one who, last night, had named herself 〈Beast God〉 to him — Shiradis.

Without armour, in front of Merea for the first time.

"Right. Later — let me touch the tail."

"Eh?"

"Merea-sama."

"Joke. Got carried away."

— That is bewitching.

Thinking it, Merea returned his gaze.

Shiradis, by the instant exchange, was cleanly left behind.

Looking back and forth between Merea and Marisa, flailing.

"So — what's the matter?"

"Eh? Not surprised? Not put off?"

Shiradis, before answering, asked.

Fingers on fingers fidgeting, watching Merea's face for mood.

A frighteningly tall figure, but the manner read as small-animal.

"Th-the tail and so on…"

"Put off — I want to touch it."

"Merea-sama."

"No moment of slack, with me."

"Are those words meant for yourself, perhaps?"

"…"

Marisa's clean-shot return made Merea drop his shoulders, and to Shiradis he said —

"Not put off in the slightest. Cute, this. — I've seen others with tails — that one's tail was a dragon's, mind, and I got whacked with it plenty, so good memories there are few — but this is — really, cute, let me touch."

"That much?"

"Yes."

Merea answered straight-faced.

Beside, Marisa was re-fitting her gloves.

"Th-then — later, perhaps —"

"Seriously?!"

Merea, on a hah face, sprang from the chair on momentum.

But Marisa, slowly, raised a fist mid-line; Merea sat back down.

"Are we good?"

"We are good. — So — what was the matter? Anything come up?"

Sitting again, Merea, on a slightly more serious face, asked.

To which Shiradis, taking the hem of her shirt in both hands, on resolve up, let the line out.

"I, also — Vergilia, going."

"Art-city?"

"— Yes. Last night I was going to say it, but I forgot."

"Mm."

That Shiradis is attached to 〈Sword (Emelie)〉 — well in mind.

And — that her combat-craft is first-rate — known.

In prior engagements she had not particularly used a weapon, but the peerless power-output through the armour — sending people flying with a single armoured strike — had been on display.

"My nose, also, works. My ears, also, beyond the ordinary human's. If anything happens, tracking-pursuit's possible — I can, properly, defend everyone."

Somewhere along the way, Shiradis's tone had shifted to a firm register.

That this was resolve showing — Merea and Marisa both caught.

Merea dropped his eyes to the desk for several seconds, in thought.

Then, lifting his eye and locking on Shiradis, said —

"Are you sure? That, you didn't really want to show others, no?"

Shiradis's line had carried the weight of the strength-tied-to-her-shape-and-title.

Merea noticed it, and knowing her prior fear, asked.

She has feared having her 〈Beast God〉 strength known.

Or — she has not wanted others to know the beast-mixed shape.

"Yes — fine. I decided it last night. — To everyone here, it is fine to be known. And — for everyone here, if it is needed, the Demon-Lord strength, I will use, without hesitation."

"…I see."

To Shiradis, fixing him with resolve-laden eyes, Merea returned a soft smile.

"Then — let's go together."

"!! — Yes!"

On Merea's nod, Shiradis's tail swung large, on a gladness smile.

"That's all right, isn't it? Marisa."

"All right or otherwise — the deciding party is you, Merea-sama. — Mind, if I add my line — I, also, agree."

Marisa said no more, but a slight gladness sat on her register.

That this was — in her way — concern for the other Demon Lords too — Merea, on it, let a soft smile up.

"— Then — about this size, perhaps. Too many, and motion slows; blind spots multiply."

"Indeed. Too many also reads as conspicuous. This expedition, with the investigation colour heavy, the call would be: secure manpower for moments-of-need, and at the same time keep the count where motion stays brisk."

"What about Lilium?"

"Pass this round. Too many people leaving is also a problem; on this side I have 〈Knowledge (Razlas)〉 work, she said."

"Already heard, then?"

"From Lilium's side, first."

"Truly — Lilium's head turns fast."

The Marisa-side report owed something, almost certainly, to their rooms being close.

Predicting that, Merea took the line.

"Indeed — also want her chasing other Demon-Lord intel — and if Lilium stays, that is fine. …Plus — while I'm gone, the per-issue direction — I can leave that to Lilium too."

"Lilium will handle it, but on the ask — she'll show fairly bothered face, I think."

Marisa, brow knotted slightly troubled, said it.

"Mind — Lilium's work-load goes up…"

In Merea's head, Lilium's strong-spirited eye narrowed coolly on him surfaced clean.

"Shall I help pick out an omiyage (souvenir)?"

"Yes — let's go with that tactic."

Marisa knew Lilium quite well.

The women, on their own, were maybe holding exchange-meetings without his knowing.

Merea, thinking it, accepted Marisa's omiyage tactic on the spot.

"After that — Aiz. — Shiradis — did Aiz say anything?"

"Yes. Going. The eyes will be useful, she said."

Shiradis, flat, nodded.

"Then — Shiradis — also escort Aiz, perhaps."

By that, eyes, nose, ears — assembled.

Merea has, on his end, confidence in his five senses, but whether he beats Aiz-and-Shiradis combined is hard to call.

— Rest depends on actually going.

Re-treading the firming footing in his head, Merea sharpened the resolve for the art-city.