Chapter 243: The Form of the Demon Blade Princess
On the very same night that the Night Parade of One Hundred Demons shook the Kanto Region to its core, another entirely different parade was unfolding a thousand miles away in Kansai.
In the charred, scorched earth at the dead center of Shikoku, a torrential downpour hammered the ruined landscape.
BOOM—!
A colossal yokai collapsed into the mud with a thunderous crash, sending a tidal wave of filthy water and dismembered limbs flying in all directions. Its impossibly massive body spanned several miles, resembling a fallen mountain range covered in grotesque, pulsating fleshy tumors and jagged bone spikes.
An unprecedentedly vast demonic aura—Yoki—erupted from the carcass, soaring into the weeping sky. The sheer density of the malice nearly enveloped two entire provinces. The aura was so thick it condensed into tangible crystals, transforming the downpour into a phenomenon of razor-sharp crystalline rain that shattered against the earth.
This beast was undoubtedly a Great Yokai. Yet, its mutated, tumor-ridden condition made it glaringly obvious that it had been corrupted by something far more sinister.
"...Tough hide. I almost died here."
Nura Rihan stood casually on the bridge of the Great Yokai's severed nose, his clothes soaked in a mixture of rain and thick, black blood. He twirled his tachi with a relaxed flick of his wrist, though his golden eyes narrowed with a hint of heartache as he inspected the numerous nicks and dents along the blade's edge. With a sharp downward swing, he flung the filthy blood from the steel and sheathed it in a smooth, reverse motion.
The young Second Head of the Nura Clan looked thoroughly disheveled. His striped haori was tattered from the brutal battle, clinging to his frame, though his signature shock of golden-black hair still stood up defiantly against the torrential rain.
He placed a kiseru pipe between his lips, taking a deep drag before exhaling a ring of ash-gray smoke into the storm. His posture was nonchalant, exuding a quiet, unshakeable composure that the raging weather couldn't hope to extinguish.
Yet, as he looked down at the massive corpse, a touch of genuine regret flickered in his gaze.
"The Great Yokai Yamasabito... a mountain spirit who slept peacefully for two hundred years. Dragged into some grand conspiracy and wiped out just like that, for absolutely no good reason."
Right at that moment, the earth trembled beneath him.
"Stop showing off, Rihan!" a gruff, annoyed voice rumbled from below.
A massive yokai wearing a woven straw hat pulled its giant claws free from the sucking mud. Standing a full ten zhang tall like a small, furry hill, the beast shook the water from its coat. Countless tanuki yokai of all shapes and sizes swarmed beneath its massive legs, chattering and shaking off the rain.
This was Inugamigyoubu-danuki, the great tanuki and supreme commander of Shikoku's 808 Tanuki and the 88 Night Parade. He held deep, complex ties with the now-declining leopard cat clan of the eastern lands.
Rubbing his sore, heavily muscled shoulder, the giant tanuki grumbled, "If it weren't for me and my army holding the line down here, fighting tooth and nail, do you really think your Hyakki and that suddenly-enlightened technique of yours—that Meikyo Shisui you picked up from Tono—would have worked so smoothly? And what kind of madness has gripped those sneaky bastards in Kyoto, corrupting a guy who's been asleep for centuries?"
"Who knows?" Rihan grinned, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "But thanks to this oversized monster, I finally managed to sort through the techniques I learned in Tono. Now I'm just a hair's breadth away from crossing that threshold. Plus, those formerly disobedient, troublesome yokai in my parade are now acting as docile as kittens."
Being able to single-handedly shake a phenomenon-manifesting Great Yokai meant Rihan himself wasn't far from claiming that title.
"Besides, I also obtained a rather nice treasure. It perfectly conceals Yoki—so well that even a Great Yokai would have a hard time detecting my presence."
The Nurarihyon bloodline was already inherently skilled at slipping away, hiding like a reflection in a mirror or the moon on the water. With this new treasure, it was like giving wings to a tiger. He could completely mask his movements right in front of a true Great Yokai, only exposing his killing intent the exact instant his blade pierced their throat.
Before Rihan could finish his thought, the atmosphere shifted.
High in the firmament, deep within the churning vortex of thunderclouds, a faint, enormous phantom materialized. It wore deep black hunting attire—a kariginu—its illusory form so vast it blotted out the sky and the moon.
Just like in the Kanto Region, the will of 'Nue' had descended upon Kansai.
In Kanto, Nue had awakened the slumbering soul of the living Buddha, Hakushin. Here in Kansai, he had forcibly corrupted the mountain Great Yokai, Yamasabito. Though Yamasabito was relatively weak among his peers and entirely unsuited for combat, a Great Yokai was still a Great Yokai. Nue had attempted to use these ancient entities to stir up chaos and harvest the resulting resentment on both fronts simultaneously.
However, the results in both regions had clearly deviated from his grand design.
"Not only has a fascinating anomaly arisen in Kanto... but even here in Kansai, an interesting new star of the era has been born."
Nue's voice churned silently, echoing like distant thunder directly within their minds. "You wish to become the Lord of a Hundred Demons, hmm? Heh. Then grow to your heart's content. Grow into the most bountiful, succulent nourishment, sufficient to bear the weight of my return..."
Accompanied by a bone-chilling sigh that froze the raindrops in mid-air, the thunderclouds slowly dispersed. The oppressively intense evil aura faded away, leaving the night quiet once more.
Rihan looked up, his narrow eyes locked onto the clearing sky. Only after that creeping sense of dread had completely vanished did he let out a cold, dismissive snort.
"Playing at being a ghost or a god. How tedious."
He bit down on his pipe, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a reckless, predatory grin. "But speaking of which... I just saw the sky over in Kanto split wide open, didn't I? I wonder what level that Kobe Hikaru has reached by now."
He leapt gracefully down from the Great Yokai's mountainous corpse, landing lightly in the mud.
"Hey, old tanuki! Find me some paper and a brush! I suddenly feel like writing a letter to Kanto. I want to make a bet with him!"
As for why the Nurarihyon, who should have been wandering the Kanto Region, had suddenly appeared in Kansai, the reason was simple. Or rather, it required no reason at all.
A Nurarihyon was a yokai who wandered the world by nature. Only by traveling freely could he gather sufficiently powerful subordinates to walk behind him.
"What do you all think?" Rihan asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Amidst the drifting black miasma, where Yoki and Osore—Fear—mingled into a thick fog, the silhouettes of several dozen yokai stood tall. Some were towering and monstrous, others small and strange, yet their auras had already solidified into a single, unbreakable entity.
This was the Nura Clan. The true Night Parade of One Hundred Demons.
From that night on, wild rumors ran rampant throughout the Kansai region. And simultaneously, a terrifying new strange tale began to spread like wildfire across Kanto.
The fishermen of Shimizu Port in Suruga were the first to tell the tale.
"That night, the sky just... split open."
An old fisherman squatted on a wooden mooring post by the docks. The embers in his bamboo pipe glowed and faded with his breaths, his turbid eyes gazing out into the dark, rolling ocean.
"From the direction of Mino, a massive gash tore right through the heavens. Moonlight leaked out from it, brighter and colder than a full moon."
The young fishermen sitting in a circle around him shrank their necks, pulling their woven coats tighter against the sea breeze.
"And then?" one whispered.
"And then—" The old fisherman tapped the ash from his pipe against the post. "That demon. He walked right out from under the split sky."
"Which demon?"
"Are you stupid? Who else could it be? The Thunder-Slaying Demon God! The one who overpowered the Dragon of Echigo in Musashi Province, and now carries three demon blades on his back!"
The old fisherman leaned in, lowering his voice to a raspy whisper. "According to the freight runners coming down from Suruga, the white blade on his back is as tall as a full-grown man. He's got a black one on his left waist, a red one on his right. Three demon blades, shining with three different lights. Wherever he walks, the sky tears open to make way for him."
"Some folks are calling him the Master of Demon Blades," another voice chimed in. It was a burly porter, resting against a stack of wooden crates.
"My cousin was chopping firewood up in the mountains northwest of Sagami. Said he saw it with his own two eyes. On the night of the new moon, hundreds of yokai were flying through the sky, and that demon... he was leading them right at the very front!"
The porter shivered. "There were at least several hundred of them! Big ones, small ones, tall ones, short ones. They came sweeping from the west, heading east. It was like a moving storm of monsters. No one in the village dared to even peek out their windows that night."
This was the strange tale. And strange tales spread fast.
From Suruga to Sagami, from Sagami to Musashi, from Musashi to Kozuke, and all the way to Echigo. In less than three days, the exact same story was being whispered in every tea stall, tavern, crossroad, and dock across the five provinces of Kanto.
The Demon of the Split Sky.
The Master of Demon Blades.
The King of the Night Parade of One Hundred Demons—Kishin Hikaru.
And every single time these stories were told in hushed, fearful tones, Kobe Hikaru himself was standing silently in the freezing night wind, high above the forests of Musashi Province.
To be precise, he was standing inside the massive, floating skull of the Asura Transformation.
After the unification of the Twelfth Transformation, the Asura form could be released and withdrawn at his mere thought. He could even adjust its size arbitrarily. At its smallest, the demonic armor could cling tightly to his human flesh. At its largest, it towered to a height of twenty zhang.
Currently, Hikaru had only unfolded the skeletal upper half of the construct. Yet, it was already a full ten zhang tall, a colossal cage of purple-blue spectral bone that allowed him to look down upon the earth like a dark god.
Beneath him marched the sprawling formation of his yokai.
The Great Kappa walked at the very front of the vanguard, his three-meter-tall frame clad in dark green scaled armor that shimmered with an indigo-blue watery light under the moon. Kamaitachi skimmed the treetops on either flank, their silvery-white forms moving faster than the howling wind. A Yuki-onna floated gracefully at the rear of the column, her ice-blue pupils constantly scanning the shadows to ensure they weren't being followed.
The yokai under his command had finally reached the true scale of a Hyakki Yagyo. It wasn't just the ones he had personally beaten into submission anymore. Under Hikaru's deliberate orders, his stronger subordinates had begun forming their own small factions, pulling in lesser spirits. The sheer weight of his Osore automatically caused wandering, masterless yokai to flock to his banner, seeking protection and glory.
The current total was already pushing close to a thousand.
Nearly a thousand monsters, divided into three disciplined columns, marched eastward along the jagged mountain ridges of Musashi.
A Tanuki Spirit lay curled obediently at Hikaru's feet inside the spectral skull. Its body, having undergone four or five transformations, was shrunk into a compact ball of fur. Its striped tail was carefully wrapped around a stack of stolen intelligence slips.
"My Lord, the intelligence from the various regions has been compiled," the tanuki squeaked, its voice low but trembling with unconcealed excitement. "There are at least several dozen new strange tales circulating in Suruga, and just as many in Sagami. There are slightly fewer in Musashi, but they are spreading there as well."
Hikaru closed his eyes, his expression utterly deadpan.
He didn't need the slips to know. He could feel it.
From every corner of Musashi, Sagami, Suruga, Totomi, Mikawa, Owari, and even Mino and Shinano, the raw power of human fear and awe converged upon him along invisible, metaphysical pathways. It had increased by at least tenfold compared to the day he first left Musashi.
The anomaly of the split sky, the sudden disappearance of Mount Hakurei, the frequent, terrifying appearances of his Night Parade—each event spawned new rumors, and each rumor accumulated more weight of Osore for him to wield.
The sensation of this power flowing into his body was vastly different from before.
After unifying the Twelfth Transformation, his five viscera and three souls had formed a flawless, complete vessel. Having become Mara—an entity both fully demon and fully human—Osore was no longer just a temporary catalyst or a burst of adrenaline. It began to settle deep within his marrow, transforming into a permanent, stable armor.
It felt as if the collective Fear of his entire Hyakki was physically winding itself around his flesh and soul.
Matoi—Demon Tangle.
Then, he sensed another distinct change. Down at his waist.
Onikiri vibrated violently within its scabbard. It wasn't the short, angry warning buzz from before, but a long, continuous, eager tremor. The temperature of the dark wood scabbard was rising rapidly, warming his hip.
The translucent blue interface flickered to life in his vision.
[Demon Blade Muramasa: Onikiri: Favorability 100 (Maintained). Awakening progress: 91% → 94%.]
[Under the heavy infusion of Fear, the inner sword soul is accelerating its growth. The Tsukumogami form is becoming complete and is about to enter the next stage—Phantom Form.]
Phantom Form.
The final stage of an inanimate object becoming a true demon. It meant achieving an independent, humanoid body, just like Yura of the Hair.
This was the first of the Six Transformations belonging to a Tsukumogami, and it was merely an illusory projection. To reach Yura's level of physical permanence, at least five more transformations were required—progressing from a Phantom Form that could only be seen, to Phantom Hearing, Phantom Voice, and eventually, the ability to touch and be touched.
Returning from a phantom state to reality, gradually constructing a flesh-and-blood body, was the ultimate qualitative evolution for an artifact spirit. That was a realm even Yura had not fully perfected yet.
But for a sword, this was already more than enough.
Along the dark metal of Muramasa's tsuba, deep red, vein-like patterns flashed and pulsed near the gap of the scabbard, as if a living heart was beating inside the steel.
Hikaru lowered his head, his deadpan gaze watching the hilt.
From the narrow opening of the scabbard, a wisp of extremely faint, dark red mist drifted out. It curled upward into the freezing night wind, slowly condensing into a blurred, glowing outline.
The silhouette of a young girl.
She was slender and graceful, with long, flowing hair that reached her waist. Her facial features were not yet clear, obscured by the hazy red mist, but the delicate outline of her jaw and the curve of her figure had already taken distinct shape.
The Demon Blade Princess.
This was the true form of Muramasa. Or perhaps, for now, she should simply be called Oboro—the Phantom.
But the awakening progress was stalled at 94%. She was still just a little bit short. A complete awakening meant a fully stabilized Phantom Form, one that wouldn't disperse in the wind.
"It is almost time," Hikaru noted quietly, his voice dry and calm.
Muramasa trembled happily in the scabbard, the red mist pulsing as if in eager response to his voice.
Meanwhile, behind him.
Yura of the Hair—who had long since achieved the Six Transformations of form, voice, hearing, touch, and sense—was marching near the front of the Hyakki. Seeing the red mist, she suddenly used her crimson hair to levitate straight up into the spectral skull, pressing her soft front flush against Hikaru's back, her arms wrapping possessively around his waist.
Down below, the Yuki-onna widened her ice-blue eyes, her jaw dropping slightly at the sheer audacity.
Hikaru chose to completely ignore the demoness clinging to him like a jealous koala.
With a mental command, he retracted the massive skeleton of the Asura Transformation. The purple flames vanished, and he dropped smoothly back down to the earth, landing without a sound. The Hyakki adjusted their formation around him, continuing their relentless march east.
Kikyo was still waiting for him to return.
Mino Province. The northern mountainous region.
On the vast, desolate plain left behind after the complete physical erasure of Mount Hakurei, the thick clouds of rubble and choking dust had not yet been blown away by the mountain winds.
Tsuchimikado Kokoro clawed her way out from beneath a pile of shattered stone at the edge of the ruins.
She looked entirely pathetic. The left shoulder of her pristine white haori, marked with the proud pentagram of her clan, was torn clean in half. Her dark chestnut hair was a tangled, disheveled bird's nest, her pale face was smeared with soot and dirt, and her large amber eyes were hollow with absolute exhaustion.
All seven of her elite shikigami puppets had been annihilated. Her entire supply of Onmyodo paper talismans was completely burned out.
This is terrible, she thought, her legs trembling as she tried to stand. What kind of horrific karma did I accumulate in my past life to deserve this? How am I supposed to explain a missing mountain when I return to Kyoto?
Kokoro sank back down into the rubble, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. She rested her dirty forehead against her knees, sitting in deafening silence for a long time.
Finally, she forced herself to stand. She weakly brushed the thick layer of dust off her ruined clothes and began to limp southward. No matter what happened, she needed to get out of Mino first.
However...
Just at that moment. At this exact, vulnerable moment.
A figure stepped out from the dense tree line ahead.
It was a thin, aging man with half-squinted, triangular eyes that gleamed with cunning. He wore a dark gray kimono beneath a dark green haori, and a nondescript, unadorned short sword was tucked casually into his sash.
Kokoro's footsteps ground to a halt. Her breath hitched.
This guy... he means trouble.
"Little girl," the old man greeted her, his wrinkled face breaking into a warm, seemingly kind smile. "You have really stirred up a monumental amount of trouble."
Kokoro's amber eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. As an elite Onmyoji, it was impossible for her not to recognize the man standing in front of her. The massive, spectral white viper hovering menacingly behind his shoulders—a guardian spirit visible only to those with spiritual sight—was ironclad proof of his identity.
The Viper of Mino. Saito Dosan.
But looking at the direction this old snake had just walked from...
"You were inside Mount Hakurei too?" Kokoro demanded, her voice hoarse.
Dosan sighed, his smile never wavering. "Hiding inside the mountain of that living Bodhisattva is not an easy feat, I assure you."
"However, I succeeded."
The so-called Viper was, by his very nature, a master of concealment and patience. In other words, this man had witnessed the entire apocalyptic battle inside the mountain from the shadows, yet he only chose to reveal himself now, when she was completely drained.
What is his goal? Kokoro's pupils contracted sharply.
Then, she heard the soft crunch of footsteps directly behind her.
She whipped her head around.
A young girl stepped out from the tall bushes. She looked no older than thirteen or fourteen, with long, dark blue hair tied neatly behind her head. Her face was incredibly delicate, almost doll-like in its exquisiteness, but her narrow eyes held a chilling, dead calm that completely betrayed her young age.
She wore a dark blue light robe and a long skirt, moving with terrifying silence. At her waist hung a tachi, its hilt wrapped tightly in strips of old, worn cloth.
Akechi Mitsuhide.
Saito Dosan's direct disciple, and the future martial pillar of Mino Province.
Kokoro didn't even have time to twitch a finger. Mitsuhide's sword was already out of its scabbard in a blur of silver light, the cold back of the blade pressing flush against the bare skin of Kokoro's neck.
The sheer, suffocating Sword Intent radiating from the blade brought a chilling sensation that froze Kokoro's blood.
This girl... she's this young, and she's already a master swordsman?!
"Sorry about this," Dosan said, his smile remaining as warm and kind as a grandfather's. "That little girl from the Imagawa Clan doesn't trust me, and neither does that terrifying demon god who just left. Plus, my stupid son is currently itching to sever my head and replace me. So, right now, I am in desperate need of a valuable gift to secure my position."
The Viper's triangular eyes glinted in the moonlight. "And you, little Onmyoji... you are just right."
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