The Art-City's Secret Paths, the Monster's Keys

In the end, Merea was in a single room.

The room-split runs along men and women.

Aiz + Shiradis. Marisa + Elma, plus the twins. And — Shaw + Salman.

That said — split though they are, the rooms aren't large. Above all — one wall apart, next door.

The room-distance is nil; the Pavilion isn't large; if response is needed, response is immediate.

Particularly on the women's side, the rooms are almost the same — the twins moving between the two as they please, on non-sleeping hours, almost certainly one of them will hold both groups often.

"Merea-sama — alone is all right?"

About to step into his room, Merea was called back by Marisa from behind.

Merea, on a smile-turn —

"Unless the Lindholm Heroic Spirits jump me in my sleep, fine."

— shrugged his answer.

Marisa, on it, returned a troubled sigh.

"Then — most things, fine."

Marisa, also, knows Merea's being alone is no problem.

That he is a key figure does not change.

But — for Merea, the escort-or-not dimension is, fundamentally, not the right framing.

Merea, fundamentally, is, in such cases, the side that protects others.

If anything — escorted and yet protecting the escort is the more accurate read.

"Hah — at this level of place, let the maid ease. Plenty of routine work elsewhere I make you carry."

Merea, on gentle red eyes turned to Marisa, said it.

"— Understood. Then — taking your kind word. Mind, if anything happens — say it immediately."

"Yes — at this point, no holding back."

To Marisa's graceful one-bow, Merea answered, and stepped into the room.

A chic-shape, atmosphere-rich room came into view.

The light of the art-city slipping in past the wood window-frames, again, stirred Merea's interior.

---

"Right —"

In the room, Merea first set the back-luggage down. Pushed not-immediately-needed clothing to a far corner.

Things needed near at hand he set at the foot of the clean-grain desk.

Then, from the near-luggage, pulled a single large parchment.

"That parchment is the choice — fits the art-city, somehow…"

On a brow-low wry smile, Merea spread the parchment on the desk.

A map of art-city Vergilia.

Handed to him by Shaw at parting.

A latest-version map obtained inside the art-city. Bought, almost certainly, at a stall along the way in.

Before entering the city, Shaw had had a Vergilia map already.

In the carriage they'd gone over it.

But, the moment they entered Vergilia, Shaw threw it.

Then opened the new map he'd somewhere acquired, gave it a single look, and handed it to Merea.

"This year's street-pattern has shifted slightly, so memorise off this. This map is by a fairly skilled internal 〈map-drawer〉, so it's more reliable than the earlier one. I've already memorised."

Shaw's line then.

When Merea took it, on Shaw's phrasing, he gave the contents a glance.

And immediately grasped why Shaw had bought a new one.

The contents were subtly different.

On top — the back-roads and hidden-roads common in intricate street-layouts were finely drawn on the new map. Not on the prior one at all.

The reason Shaw weighted the insider's map was clear.

"…Central Street, Inn-Row, Painting Lane, Opera Lane…"

Merea, dropping into the same clean-grain wooden chair, sent his eyes across the map.

Once seated, he ran a finger along it and named the streets aloud, memorising.

"Some zoning is in place, but — the streets are fairly tangled…"

Vergilia's street-pattern, aggregating diverse arts, lives up to its complex reputation.

Stepping inside, the impression strengthened.

"On top of that — back-roads and hidden-roads."

Those were marked separately from the regular black-ink streets, in various coloured inks.

A fairly standard, theatrical street-marking style.

The names alone are too on-the-nose.

But —

"— Hah — not bad."

The standard, theatrical marking, even so, made Merea's chest beat up. Possibly because it was standard.

In coarse, scrawled hand alongside the street-marks — late-hour caution, smuggler-trade-spot, and other notes contrasting against the gleaming art-city — read; a wry smile + amused smile both leaked.

— Possibly this side fits my temperament, in fact.

So, internally, Merea.

After that, for some time, intent on the map, he set to memorising the fine-grained Vergilian layout.

While running the eye across, Merea, recalling, took up an action.

Right thumb and forefinger curled; between the fingertips, white lightning set running.

A bachi-bachi spark sound; between the finger-pads, white light flickering.

This was a formula-training method developed with Lilium.

〈White Lightning of the Lightning God (Celesta Barca)〉.

Training to enable finer control of the formula.

"…Truly — coarse of me. Drop awareness for a beat, it goes out."

Merea, the other hand still tracing the map, in a small grumble. The white lightning that had been sparking went out.

Noticing, he lit it again.

A match-flame-grade lightning, sustained continuously between fingertips — that method was, for Merea, enormous labour.

"Sense-reliance is the bill."

A finished formula has to take this kind of inserted modification in the body, on the body's own input.

For that, theory-comprehension alone is not enough; an appropriate formula-element supply, plus adjustment-formula-knack, is required.

Mind — that he's bad at this kind of fine modification is not particularly his fault.

The original design-direction was abnormal.

Merea was drilled to deploy formulae by motion-association and conditioned-reflex.

The information itself sits in the head, but to use it, standard formula-side thinking is blown out of the way.

By now, a kind of formula-machine.

"Merea, in there?"

— While Merea sighed large, a voice came from outside the door.

Elma's voice.

"In —"

Merea moved his eye off the map to the door.

"There's something I'd like to ask — about earlier —"

Earlier, almost certainly the 〈Sword Demon's single strike〉 moment.

"For now, come on in."

Predicting roughly, Merea answered; a beat later, the door opened.

Through the door, Elma — cloak off — stepped in.

Behind-hand-closing the door, on kotsu-kotsu shoe-floor sounds, walked up to Merea.

A serious face, sharper-than-usual edge in her cut eyes.

"Earlier, you split a sword with a wood-stick."

"— Yes."

By the look, she wanted to ask about 〈Sword Demon〉.

"You — swordwork too?"

To the question, Merea, on a guiding gesture toward the chair across, on a wry smile —

"No — not to the level of swordwork. 〈Shin Mu〉's craft is, for me, too deep still."

Not a lie.

The truth.

"But you cut it. That was no ordinary art."

Elma sat and tilted her head on Merea's answer.

"That, alone. — Just that."

Merea, on a self-mocking smile, started to explain.

---

"First and foremost — time-cost."

"At that moment you said bringing it down — that's why?"

"Yes. Not, in fact, bringing a spirit down, but the feel is close. I, fundamentally, run self-suggestion-near methods to access the Heroic Spirits' crafts and formulae."

Merea brought his palms together.

A clap-shape, soundless this time, but a long-familiar picture.

Merea, on formula-deployments, often used the gesture.

Elma remembered too.

"This — also — one of them."

"On 〈White Lightning of the Lightning God〉, you do that gesture often."

"Yes. I have keys that trigger formula-deployment baked into several motions. The method-design isn't mine, mind."

Flander, surely — that was the source.

Merea recalled the days.

In a span of a decade-plus, to lay every Heroic Spirit's formulae into Merea's body, Flander and the rest had adjunct-designed this kind of method.

Designed may be too grand. A small self-suggestion, a routine.

"Without that — unfeasible."

"You already do unfeasible on raw push, by the look."

"Mind — pushed."

Merea, on a small laugh.

Of course, the method alone was not cheap; on top of it sat insane training.

"Often-used formulae — Celesta's, Van's — are deployable without motion now. Got used to it, by the look. Mind, fine-grained middle-range still struggles."

"Hm."

"And — the Four Gates open / Violent-God Mode state mostly takes care of itself without keys. Hard to put into words, but the head goes suuh clear."

"Truly don't follow…"

Merea, on hand-gestures, tried to re-explain, but couldn't pin words; gave up halfway.

"Cough. — At any rate, the earlier 〈Sword Demon's single strike〉 follows the same shape. Trigger-motions — upper-stance, plus heart-stance."

"Mn."

"And — vibe."

"E-eh? V-vibe?"

To Merea's tilted-head answer, Elma tilted her head deeper.

A beat later, Merea now head-in-hands.

"The 〈Sword Demon〉 wouldn't teach in words…! D-don't I know what that is!"

"M-mn-…"

"A few times he did say something — but only cut what's in front of you — idiotically simple…!"

"A-ah… swordsmen sometimes — that type…"

Elma had her own recalls.

So Merea's mood was, partly, understandable.

Elma, on a cheek-twitch smile, arms folded, slumped forward.

"Martial-side Heroic Spirits ran bipolar. The carefully theory-explaining type, and the I'll demonstrate, steal-it-from-watching type. — The latter, almost certainly, themselves didn't know what they were doing in theory."

"Martial arts have that register sometimes — but splitting-a-sword-with-a-wood-stick by steal-it-from-watching is —"

"The prime perpetrator of that was 〈Sword Demon〉. Things have, by the look, both cut-with-this-spot and easy-to-cut lines. — Sword-line and cut-line? Shin Mu's sister Lin Mu tried to translate it for me, but she herself was don't follow my brother's craft, tilted-head."

"Reading the strengths and weaknesses of objects, perhaps?"

"Not, by the look, that refined…. Roughly here, cut roughly there, will split — that register, on his end. The motion-chain runs very smoothly. No time to size up speeds."

"Frightening… some kind of magic-eye, perhaps?"

"No — none, I think. Mind — Magic Eyes can also surface from internal bio-changes per Flander; but Shin showed nothing of that kind either. If it had been like Flander — a capacity refined to the limit producing body-changes — that'd be readable, but…"

The Sword Demon was, in a sense, simple.

Just — simply — a monster.

"The art that experience alone makes possible, then. If anything — mind's eye."

"Experience doing that is, for the learner-side, a problem too."

Merea, on another sigh, continued.

"At any rate — the upper-stance single strike I've, at that time-cost, made workable. Mind — limits. And — can't be used while moving; compatibility with 〈White Lightning〉 etc. is bad. Eventually, would like to handle it cleanly."

"Right."

Elma, finally, on a settled nod.

She unfolded her arms, slumped slightly forward, propped a chin on a raised hand, and let a Hoh sigh out, brow-low.

"Phew… The forerunners' achievements sit frighteningly high. — Mind, understood. I, also, will hunt the essence on my own. I'm not against straight learning from a teacher, but I also know, by experience, that some things land only when won by your own hand."

"Elma is serious."

Merea, on a small smile, looked at Elma.

Elma, on the straight-line gaze, on a small jaw-pull-back. Even with the desk between them, on jaw-on-hand lean-forward, the face was nearer than expected.

"At-, anyway — 〈Sword Demon〉 is swordsmen's longing. As a title rank, dead bottom — but I, even now, think Sword Demon should have been the God-class. The opposite of our line — exhibiting that level of swordwork without picking the sword must be because his swordsman-strength was, beyond all, refined."

"Hah — Shin didn't, as much, mind the title — but as a spirit, the feeling of those who pick the sword he came round to, he muttered."

"Hm?"

"In life, not picking the sword was for refining the swordwork itself, surely; but if pursuing the road of the sword, he should have cared more for his companion-sword. Possibly, Shin's lingering regret lay there."

"Hah — to have that Sword Demon say that, my ancestors, surely, are glad. We 〈Sword Emperor〉s' line is what it is precisely because we cared unreasonably for the companion-sword."

Elma, on a complex expression, finally on a smile, said it.

"— Right — got it. Up-spirit sprouted, fresh. If I, with this demonic sword, master swordwork on Shin Mu's level — I might surpass both sides."

"Then you'd be 〈Sword God〉."

"As Demon Lord, the threat-rating spikes. But if becoming stronger connects to defending everyone — I'll gladly aim for 〈Sword God〉."

Elma, on a sharp voice, on the clean-cut face, surfaced a radiant smile.

A no-back-shadow, clear-bright smile.

Merea, on it, surfaced a smile too.

"Right — sorry to interrupt. I'll go back to the room. — From tomorrow, then?"

"Yes. Shaw's already moving, mind."

"Quick on the foot, he. Money attached, perhaps."

"Who knows."

Possibly, on a not-money register entirely.

For the Demon Lords, in fact.

Recalling Shaw's parting smile, Merea, internally.

"Fine. I, on my end, trust him. Body-safety — with Salman, fine."

"And — Shaw can fight in his way."

"If money is on hand, can also fight — that doubles the money-fiend smell."

"On the page, significant."

A final laugh shared, Merea saw Elma off.