White light flooded the entire hall.
Every onmyōji was frozen in place — not merely from fear, but because their spiritual power had been utterly suppressed. Kikyō's power surged like a tidal wave, grinding the abilities of these lesser practitioners to dust.
"This… this is impossible…"
The oldest among them murmured to himself, his clouded eyes wide with disbelief. He had devoted thirty years to his craft, and considered himself a figure of some renown among the onmyōji of this region.
Yet now he could not move a single finger.
The crushing weight of that spiritual pressure was immense — so immense it brought back a memory from his youth: the day he had stood far outside the gates of the Onmyōji Bureau in Kyoto, stealing a glimpse of the great masters within. Setting aside technique and spellcraft entirely, in terms of raw spiritual power — its quality and sheer volume — the woman before him surpassed even those.
What kind of monster was this woman in white robes and red hakama?
By the door, Nurarihyon's pipe dropped from his lips.
He stared blankly at the white-robed figure at the center of the hall, his golden slit-pupils filled with shock.
"This…"
He swallowed.
As a Nurarihyon, he prided himself on having seen it all. He knew most of the yōkai in the Kantō region by name, and had dealt with plenty of human onmyōji over the years — thanks to his kind's gift for vanishing without a trace, no one had ever managed to hold him down.
But he had never seen spiritual power like this.
This was suppression. Domain-level suppression. Within the reach of that white light, every trace of spiritual energy bowed to her will.
Nurarihyon could feel his own demon-qi being crushed flat inside his body. He tried to move and found that his limbs would not obey him either.
That power was sending him a message — do not move.
"So this is her… Kikyō of Kaede Village — the one many say may be the greatest shrine maiden of the age…"
He murmured, his voice carrying awe.
And something else he could not suppress: excitement.
Kikyō's name did not circulate only among humans. Among yōkai, it was known just as well. The demons of this chaotic age, bloodthirsty by nature, did not quite fear the guardian shrine maiden of a single village — but with whatever sliver of reason they possessed, even they understood: only in numbers would they dare to approach her.
One-on-one, there was only death.
To yōkai, that alone was proof enough of her power.
And yet, until now, Nurarihyon had not particularly taken notice.
The sight of her arrow piercing the Kamaitachi and lighting up the night sky, the shot that pinned the false god toad-demon — both had been impressive, yes. But as far as he was concerned, neither posed a genuine threat to him. He couldn't pick a fight with her, but he could certainly run.
Now, it seemed, he had underestimated her.
Before that arrow had skewered the Kamaitachi, Kikyō had already spent tremendous reserves. The shot that nailed the toad-demon had not even been her full strength.
"Mightiest shrine maiden of the age — I used to think that was just talk…"
"Turns out it's the plain truth."
Spiritual power of this magnitude was beyond anything an ordinary human practitioner could achieve. This was talent — the kind heaven itself handed down.
No wonder that Ghost Warrior had walked straight in without hesitation. He would have done the same. With someone like this covering your back, who wouldn't swagger in sideways?
At the center of the hall, Kōbe Hikaru's blade tip still rested at Suda Shigenobu's throat.
The squat castle lord had been frightened beyond coherent thought. A spreading dark stain soaked through the front of his hakama, and the smell of urine drifted through the air.
"M-mercy… mercy…"
His teeth were chattering too hard for the words to come out straight. "I'll give everything back… and money… gold…"
"Whatever you want, I'll give it…"
Kōbe Hikaru looked at him.
Firelight played across his pale, sharp-featured face. His crimson eyes glowed like two smoldering wisps of ghost-fire.
"What I want," he said.
"You can't give."
The blade fell.
No flourish. No ceremony. Just the simplest, cleanest stroke.
But it moved so fast that Suda Shigenobu never even saw it.
He only felt a coolness at his neck.
Then his vision began to spin.
He saw his own body — that squat, fleshy frame in its ill-fitted formal robes, spraying blood in a dark fountain.
He saw the young Ghost Warrior.
That figure, beneath whose blade his body now lay.
Then the darkness took him completely.
…
Blood spattered across the floor.
Kōbe Hikaru lifted Suda Shigenobu's head and turned around.
His manner was unhurried — the manner of a man finishing an ordinary task.
Killing.
For a yōkai. For a Ghost Warrior. That was, in fact, perfectly ordinary.
The hall was dead silent.
Every attendant, every onmyōji stood there staring. Their lord — Suda Shigenobu, who had been issuing orders from the dais only moments ago — was dead. Gone cleanly, without even the chance to struggle.
Kōbe Hikaru walked toward the entrance of the hall.
Kikyō put away her longbow, and the white light blanketing the hall faded with it. The suppressed onmyōji sagged to the floor as though pardoned from execution — but not one of them dared to move. Not one dared to block his way.
Kōbe Hikaru reached the doorway and stopped.
He raised his arm.
He held Suda Shigenobu's head high.
"Listen well."
His voice was not loud, but it carried with perfect clarity through every room of the castle keep.
"My name is Kōbe Hikaru —"
"I am a Ghost Warrior."
"I cut down the toad-demon of Ishimura who dared usurp the name of a god. And I have cut down this man, who ground the people beneath his heel."
"If anyone, from this day forward, dares to abuse the common people under their rule — let this man's end be your proof of what awaits."
"I will come to your door. And I will kill again."
He gave his name.
From today, that name would spread through this whole region. As the one who killed Suda Shigenobu. As a yōkai who dared to raise a hand against the human ruling class. As a presence that played by no one's rules.
This was a warning shot.
There would certainly be those who disbelieved it in time — but for now, every person in this castle who had witnessed it would not dare make a move. Not for a good long while.
And apart from Suda Shigenobu, the others here were all officials responsible for managing the surrounding areas.
This bought the people time to breathe.
But breathing room was enough.
Because if it came to it, he would 'come back' again.
Nurarihyon leaned against the doorframe, watching.
He had picked his pipe back up, but forgotten to light it.
"Kōbe Hikaru…"
He turned the name over in his mouth, a gleam dancing in his golden eyes. "Interesting."
"Interesting. Extremely interesting."
He glanced toward Kikyō, still standing where she had been. White robes, red hakama, longbow in hand. That overwhelming tide of spiritual power from moments ago had been drawn back entirely — she looked, for all the world, like an ordinary shrine maiden.
But Nurarihyon knew that was just the surface.
This woman was a monster.
And the Ghost Warrior called Kōbe Hikaru, who could stand at her side as an equal — he was no simple matter either.
"This trip," Nurarihyon said, breaking into a slow grin.
"Was worth it."
[Shikon Jewel — Naohi: Affection +1]
[Current Affection: 49 (Trust)]
Just one point away from unlocking the second 'Talent.'
Kōbe Hikaru glanced at the notification on his panel.
The right thing to do.
Yes.
It really was the right thing to do.
He turned and walked back into the hall.
He crossed to the wall where Hiraikotsu hung.
He reached up and lifted the great weapon down.
Its weight settled into his hands — dense and solid, with that unmistakable texture of demon bone warm against his palms.
This thing had spent ten days as a decoration on someone's wall.
Its true owner had died on the road to Kaede Village.
"It's time to return it to where it belongs."
Kōbe Hikaru slung Hiraikotsu across his back.
Then he walked out of the castle keep without looking back.
Kikyō followed behind him.
Nurarihyon clamped the pipe back between his teeth and ambled along at the rear.
The three of them walked out of the castle grounds without any ceremony whatsoever.
No one dared to stop them. No one dared to pursue. The people inside the castle walls could only watch from a distance as those three figures disappeared beyond the gate.
They watched Suda Shigenobu's severed head get hung from the flagpole above the castle gate — and not one soul dared to take it down.
Because the expression on that head still wore the terror of its final moment.
Like a warning to every last person who passed beneath it — this is what becomes of those who grind the people into the dirt.
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