Chapter 198: Aya-gozen of the Uesugi Clan
The morning sun spilled across the rugged trails of Kozuke Province, casting long, golden shadows through the dense canopy. Hikaru traveled alone, his steady footsteps carrying him south toward Musashi Province and the familiar borders of Kaede Village.
The recent emergence of Onigumo had planted a rare seed of urgency in his undead chest. Yet, thanks to his unique connection, he could 'see' Kaede Village at will, keeping a watchful eye on Kikyo's situation from afar. This remote vigilance kept his pragmatic mind cool and calculated, allowing him to multitask as he walked the winding dirt roads.
He wore his usual traveler's attire—a faded gray robe that fluttered in the autumn breeze, a wide conical hat pulled low to obscure the upper half of his face, and his long, stark-white hair cascading freely down his back. However, a distinct change marked his waistline. A second blade now rested against his hip.
On his left hung Onikiri, the demonic blade possessing a fully formed sword soul. Its dark red scabbard seemed to breathe, occasionally leaking a faint, sinister crimson glow from the guarded edge. On his right rested his newest acquisition: the Nichirin Blade, Yomikiri.
[Current favorability: 34]
Ever since the Breath of the Demon had fully coalesced within his demonic physiology, Yomikiri's favorability had spiked, jumping directly from 18 to 32. But after that initial surge, progress had flatlined. No matter how much pure Yao Qi he infused into the steel, no matter how deeply he permeated it with his Blood-Fire Transformation, or how gently he 'chatted' with the weapon, the number refused to budge past 32.
It felt like a heavy wooden door pushed open just a crack, stubbornly wedged shut from the inside by an unyielding force.
Hikaru understood the blockage perfectly. The fundamental vow forged into every Nichirin Blade at its birth was absolute: to slay demons.
Yomikiri did not crave sweet nothings whispered in the dark, nor did it desire the artificial nourishment of Yao Qi. It demanded action. It wanted to be drawn, to taste blood, and to genuinely sever the neck of a demon.
His actions at the camp the previous night had proven this theory. Amidst the chaos, he had drawn Yomikiri and unleashed a Demonstrike fueled by his newly formed Breathing Style. That single, decisive arc of steel had successfully eradicated a demon, and in response, the blade's favorability had ticked upward from 32 to 34.
Yet, two points were a mere drop in the bucket. It was far from enough. A single kill would not satisfy the blade's ingrained purpose; he needed to hunt down more prey.
As he walked the sun-dappled path, Hikaru rested his pale hand against Yomikiri's hilt. Through the metal, he could feel a layer of deep, oppressive energy—a black light tinged with the purple essence of the Underworld, dormant within the steel.
It felt incredibly heavy.
It stood in stark contrast to Onikiri's ravenous greed. Yomikiri lay perfectly still within its sheath, silent and unmoving, like a heavy stone sunk to the very bottom of the Underworld River—a stone that would refuse to float even if ten thousand years passed.
A translucent blue panel flickered into his vision.
[Onikiri: It has objections to the fact that you have been holding Yomikiri more than you have been holding it lately.]
Hikaru's lips twitched in a faint, deadpan smile. He casually shifted his left hand to pat Onikiri's scabbard, offering a silent pulse of reassuring energy. With its favorability permanently maxed out, the demon blade would never betray him. It remained one hundred percent loyal, absolutely obedient to his will, regardless of its minor jealousies.
Instead, the real headache came from another item secured to his belt.
Yura of the Hair.
Ever since the poison jiao scale had reached its maximum threshold, the demonic red comb had been stubbornly stuck at 90. But the sudden arrival of Yomikiri had severely provoked the comb's competitive instincts. Its favorability had finally begun to inch upward from that stagnant 90.
Clatter. Clatter.
The red comb rattled aggressively against his leather belt, vibrating with a frantic, buzzing frequency. It wasn't expressing joy; it was throwing an anxious tantrum.
Hikaru sighed, lightly tapping the vibrating comb as he maintained his steady pace. "Don't be anxious. Just wait your turn."
He found the inanimate object's desperation highly amusing.
In response, the comb vibrated violently, nearly shaking itself loose from its bindings.
"Seriously, calm down," he muttered, his tone dry.
Clatter, clatter, clatter!
He pinched the bridge of his nose beneath the conical hat. "...Fine. I'll spend more time talking to you tonight. Don't worry, I treat all my tools equally."
[Yura of the Hair: Hmph!]
With that phantom huff of indignation, the comb finally ceased its rattling, settling into a sullen silence against his hip.
[Favorability: 94]
Maximum favorability was within arm's reach now. Wind and thunder gathered to form wood, and wood corresponded to the 'liver' in the elemental cycle. He was incredibly close to finalizing that stage of his internal development.
Continuing his journey, Hikaru fell back into his bizarre, deeply ingrained routine. As he walked, he casually greeted the mossy stones, the withered trees, and the patches of wild grass lining the dirt road. He infused a point or two of favorability into the inanimate flora and terrain, politely asking them for directions and local rumors.
It was an old, highly effective habit.
Meanwhile, miles away at the hidden headquarters of the Demon Slayer Corps.
The Pillars had gathered once again beneath the shaded engawa of the master's estate. The atmosphere hung heavy, entirely distinct from their previous meeting. Where their last assembly had been defined by chaotic shock and vocal skepticism regarding the undead samurai, today's gathering was suffocated by a tense, absolute solemnity.
Juro Rengoku knelt respectfully at the end of the line. Though he did not officially hold the title of a Pillar, his raw strength easily matched theirs, earning him a place at this crucial summit. He bowed his head, having just concluded his detailed report.
The contents of his briefing centered on a single, terrifying confirmation. The Corps had recently dispatched three elite scout teams toward the ancient capital of Kyoto. Two of those squads had just sent back their surviving messenger crows. At the very edge of the yokai-infested territory beneath Kyoto, the scouts had detected it—the unmistakable, sickening traces of Kibutsuji Muzan's aura.
The lingering scent was extremely faint, masked beneath layers of powerful yokai miasma. But it was definitely there.
That demon... no, that Mr. Hikaru had been telling the absolute truth.
Muzan was hiding in Kyoto, taking cowardly refuge within the heavily guarded territory of a Great Yokai known as Hagoromo Gitsune.
Rikiya Ubuyashiki sat at the head of the formation, his cloudy, curse-scarred eyes half-closed as the morning breeze rustled his robes. His pale hands rested calmly on his knees.
"The rumors regarding the Blue Spider Lily have already been disseminated," the master spoke, his voice as calm and resonant as a pebble dropping into a deep, tranquil pool.
This grand deception was the exact strategy Hikaru had outlined before his departure. The Blue Spider Lily—the mythical flower Kibutsuji Muzan had obsessively hunted for over five hundred years. Legend dictated it was the singular, miraculous botanical ingredient required to formulate a medicine that would allow demons to conquer the sun.
Hikaru's instructions had been brutally pragmatic: spread the rumor. Flood the underworld of Kyoto with whispers of its blooming. Ensure the echoes reached Muzan's paranoid ears. The flower didn't actually need to exist. The mere idea of its discovery was enough.
Muzan was a creature defined by his endless suspicion. But highly suspicious beings were also the most terrified of missing a fleeting opportunity. The Progenitor of Demons might suspect a trap, but his desperation for the sun meant he absolutely could not afford to ignore the rumor. The moment he moved to investigate, he would expose a fatal flaw in his defenses.
"From this moment forward, we simply need to wait," Rikiya concluded softly.
A heavy, expectant silence settled over the courtyard.
A bald, burly Pillar rubbed his rough, scarred chin, his brow furrowing. "And what about that demon... I mean, that Mr. Demon?"
"Lord Hikaru has already departed," Juro replied, keeping his posture rigid. "He stated he was returning to Musashi Province to attend to his own personal matters. When the time to strike approaches, we only need to dispatch a Kasugai Crow to his location."
"And what of the red-haired swordsman he left in our care?" another Pillar asked.
"Mr. Tsugikuni is currently in the training yard. He..." Juro paused. A distinctly stiff, incredibly awkward expression crossed his usually stoic face. "He is currently researching methods to help me maintain my Breathing Style for longer durations."
It was impossible for the Flame swordsman not to feel deeply embarrassed. Despite grueling days of direct instruction from Yoriichi, Juro could still only maintain the Total Concentration Breathing for a few fleeting moments before his lungs burned out. The sheer gap in skill was making the young warrior—a prodigy highly revered within the Corps—severely doubt his own innate talent.
The gathered Pillars exchanged knowing, deeply pained glances. None of them pressed the issue. They had all met Yoriichi Tsugikuni. They had all attempted to learn the foundational Breathing Styles the man taught so effortlessly. And every single one of them was struggling just as miserably as Juro.
Not a single person sitting on that porch had the right to laugh at his inadequacy.
"Speaking of progress, Kanae," the oldest Pillar—a grizzled veteran who commanded immense respect—shifted his gaze toward a young woman with neatly braided hair. "Your younger sister appears to be on the verge of fully mastering the Breathing Style, does she not?"
"Hmm..." Kanae smiled softly, though a hint of maternal worry touched her eyes. "That child only shadowed Mr. Hikaru for a few days before rushing off to assist Rengoku on that vanguard mission. She exhausted herself so thoroughly that she still hasn't woken up in the butterfly estate... It is quite worrying."
Despite her words, the pride radiating from the braided girl was unmistakable.
Juro cleared his throat, his awkwardness compounding. "I fear that once she awakens, she will easily catch up to our ranks. She might even surpass us entirely!"
The bald, burly Pillar let out a booming, hearty laugh, genuinely thrilled at the prospect of a powerful new generation rising through the ranks.
"Strength aside, I imagine the poor girl will be far more distressed over missing her chance to say goodbye to Mr. Demon," another Pillar teased, a smirk playing on his lips. "If my memory serves me right, she stubbornly considered herself that demon's unofficial disciple."
A rare, harmonious warmth settled over the group. Rikiya smiled gently, patiently allowing his children to share their lighthearted banter before he finally raised a hand.
"Alright, my children," the master said softly. The smiles vanished, replaced instantly by hardened resolve. "The fated hour approaches. From this moment on, you must act with the utmost speed and absolute discretion."
He leaned forward slightly, his blind eyes seeming to pierce through the very fabric of the era. "If the heavens allow it... this time, we must do everything in our power to fulfill our clan's long-cherished wish. We will end him."
"Yes, Master!" the Pillars roared in unison, bowing until their foreheads touched the tatami mats.
Far to the north.
Still traversing the southern reaches of Kozuke Province, Hikaru maintained his unhurried, rhythmic pace. He had walked continuously for a full day and night, his undead stamina rendering sleep obsolete.
On that very same dirt highway, a completely different procession approached from the rear.
The thundering of hooves heralded the arrival of more than twenty skilled riders. Their formation was tight, their banners distinct against the autumn sky. Though they rode heavily muscled warhorses, they did not carry the blood-stained war flags of a military campaign. Instead, they bore elegant, plain travel banners embroidered with a striking white goose.
The flying goose crest. The undisputed symbol of the Echigo Uesugi Clan.
The samurai guards rode in a flawless, disciplined vanguard, their lacquered armor polished to a mirror shine. Protected in the absolute center of the formation trotted a magnificent, date-red stallion. Atop the beast sat a woman of striking composure.
She appeared to be in her early twenties. Her figure was slender yet carried an air of obvious authority. She wore a dark, practical riding kimono, secured tightly by a narrow obi sash, with loose hakama trousers allowing her to straddle the saddle with expert ease.
Her hair was a deep, lustrous black, gathered into a simple, elegant bun at the nape of her neck. The brisk wind had teased a few stray strands loose, framing her pale face and brushing against her ears.
Her facial features were sharp and aristocratic, bearing a striking resemblance to the legendary 'Dragon of Echigo'—Uesugi Kenshin, the warlord who currently ruled over both Kozuke and Echigo provinces. Yet, where Kenshin's visage was defined by a chilling, divine indifference, this woman's face held a subtle trace of maternal gentleness.
The collar of her kimono pulled taut against her chest due to her rigid riding posture, subtly outlining a modest but graceful silhouette. Her waist was exceptionally narrow, accentuated by the sway of the horse beneath her, projecting an image of both fragility and iron-backed discipline.
She was Aya of the Uesugi Clan. To her retainers, she was addressed with the utmost reverence as Aya-gozen.
She was the older sister of Uesugi Kenshin. In the annals of future history, she would be remembered as Sentō-in.
Several years Kenshin's senior, Aya-gozen bore the immense responsibility of managing the affairs of the Kanto Kanrei within Kozuke Province. The title of Kanrei—the Kanto Deputy—was a core pillar of the Muromachi Shogunate. Originally designated as 'Steward,' the prestigious title had been formalized generations ago during the reign of the third Shogun, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu.
Historically, the Kanrei's duty was to assist the Shogun in governing vast territories, acting as the absolute chief steward of the eastern regions. In this blood-soaked Sengoku era, the authority of the Shogunate had crumbled, leaving the title of Kanto Kanrei as little more than an empty honorific. Yet, through sheer political acumen and the military might of her brother, Aya-gozen maintained the dignity and operational order of the Kanrei's office across Kozuke Province.
Her current journey was a diplomatic return from the provincial borders back to the Uesugi Clan's impregnable stronghold, Kasugayama Castle. The geographical distance was not vast, but the recent demonic turmoil and bandit uprisings plaguing the Kanto region necessitated a heavy, elite escort.
"My Lady," the captain of the vanguard slowed his mount, falling back to ride parallel to her. "We have approximately thirty ri remaining until we reach the castle town's perimeter. At this pace, we shall arrive safely before nightfall."
Aya-gozen offered a curt, graceful nod. However, before she could issue a command to maintain their speed, her dark eyes caught a bizarre sight on the periphery of the official road.
A solitary figure draped in gray had paused by the ditch.
The traveler wore a wide conical hat and a weathered straw raincoat. Beneath the woven brim, she caught a fleeting glimpse of unnervingly pale skin. A cascade of stark-white hair, possessing an almost ethereal, silken quality, spilled freely down his back.
The gray-clad figure suddenly crouched beside a gnarled dwarf pine tree. He reached out, resting his pale palm flat against the rough bark. His lips moved in a subtle, rhythmic motion, as if he were engaged in a deep, serious conversation with the wood.
A moment later, he stood up, took exactly two steps forward, and crouched again. This time, he pressed his hand against a mossy blue stone jutting from the dirt.
"...Feels nice," a low, deadpan voice drifted from beneath the conical hat. It sounded entirely conversational, yet he was completely alone.
Satisfied with the rock, the eccentric traveler stood and resumed his trek. Three steps later, he abruptly squatted down to face a mundane clump of foxtail grass swaying by the roadside.
"You've grown quite spirited," he complimented the weeds with absolute sincerity.
Aya-gozen's elegant brows furrowed in sheer bewilderment.
The thunderous clatter of twenty armored warhorses swept past the crouched traveler, kicking up a cloud of dry dust. Yet, the gray-clad youth didn't even bother to lift his head to acknowledge the imposing military procession. He remained entirely focused on the grass.
The two parties passed each other like ships in the mist.
Twisting slightly in her saddle, Aya-gozen cast a lingering glance over her shoulder. The strange youth had already stood up and continued his southern trek. His gray silhouette gradually faded into the hazy distance of the official road, the rim of his conical hat bobbing rhythmically beneath the afternoon sun.
She slowly withdrew her gaze, facing forward once more. She couldn't articulate the exact reason, but every instinct honed by years of political survival screamed that the traveler was not an ordinary peasant.
In fact, her intuition whispered that he might not be human at all.
A yokai? she mused silently. No... the aura felt entirely different. Too calm. Too grounded.
"Let us proceed," she commanded softly. She gently squeezed her horse's flanks, and the magnificent red steed accelerated, smoothly merging back into the protective center of the vanguard.
A sudden gust of autumn wind swept down the highway, brushing past the dense vegetation lining the dirt path.
The specific cluster of foxtail grass that had just been praised for 'looking quite spirited' swayed violently in the breeze. Bathed in the lingering traces of Hikaru's infused favorability, it stood noticeably taller, greener, and undeniably more spirited than any of its mundane neighbors.
[Inorin's Note:
Enjoying the story? Dropping a quick review, comment, or Power Stone means the world to me and keeps these daily updates flowing!
Want to read 50 chapters ahead or just want to help keep a shameless translator alive? (My livelihood actually depends on this, haha 😭). You can support me directly here:
(P.S. Just remove the brackets and replace the [.] with a regular dot . to use the links!)
✨ Patreon (50 Advanced Chapters): patreon[.]com/InorinTL
☕ Ko-fi (Support / Sponsor): ko-fi[.]com/InorinTL
Thank you so much for reading and keeping this project alive!]