Chaos erupted in the castle.
Suda Shigenobu's head hung from the flagpole at the gate, blood still dripping, staining the wooden shaft a dark crimson.
The castle's samurai were lost, leaderless.
Their lord was dead. Killed without warning.
He hadn't even had a chance to fight back. A single stroke from that self-proclaimed demon warrior had taken his head.
And worse, that same demon warrior had simply strolled out.
No one dared pursue.
That shrine maiden in white and red had stood at his side. Just her presence had made the onmyōji struggle to breathe.
Chasing after someone of that caliber was suicide.
So
The opportunists came.
"Quick! While no one's in charge, grab what we can from the storehouse!"
A few ashigaru in crude armor crouched low, scurrying toward the storehouse behind the tenshu.
They'd been Suda's private soldiers. Their job had been collecting taxes, roughing people up. All dirty work.
Now their master was dead, and their first thought wasn't revenge, it was grabbing a score and running.
The storehouse door was kicked in.
Inside were chests of coins, sacks of rice, all sorts of goods squeezed from the peasants.
"Jackpot! We've hit the jackpot!" The lead ashigaru's eyes went wide as he lunged for a chest of coins.
Then his neck was seized.
Not by a hand.
By hair.
Black, slender, snake-like hair.
It coiled around him from behind, tighter and tighter, until his face turned purple, his eyes bulging.
"What—"
The other ashigaru barely had time to react.
More shadows flashed.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Those black strands, sharp as blades, sliced through three throats.
Blood sprayed, spattering across the piled coins.
"So noisy." A lazy voice came from the storehouse entrance.
"Chattering away like rats."
The remaining ashigaru were frozen stiff, too terrified to even turn their heads.
All they could tell was that the voice belonged to a woman.
And right now.
Behind them, in the doorway, a woman did indeed stand.
She had an excellent figure, curves in all the right places. She wore dark red ninja attire, the neckline plunged deep, exposing the generous swell of pale, heaving tits, while the hem barely skimmed her thighs, flashing long, toned legs .
Her waist was slender, the curve of her hips rounded. The thin fabric, silhouetted in the moonlight, outlined a form that would make any man's blood race, if only they dared to look.
Her face was delicate, pretty almost cute, like a young girl, with short black hair framing a pouty mouth.
But what made your skin crawl was what surrounded her.
Thick, writhing strands of black hair.
Like a writhing black flame, dancing in still air. Each strand a living, venomous snake.
"D-dem… demon!" one of the ashigaru finally screamed, turning to bolt.
He didn't make it two steps.
A strand of hair shot from behind, piercing his heart.
The strand twisted viciously inside his chest, shredding organs, then yanked free, dripping gore and thick, yellowish slime.
"Disgusting." The woman wrinkled her nose, flicking the blood from the strand with distaste. "Blood like that, foul and bitter."
Her gaze swept over the bodies in the storehouse, over the piles of plundered wealth, and finally settled on the empty hook on the wall.
Something had hung there.
Not anymore.
"The demon slayer village's Hiraikotsu… and the scent of the legendary Shikon Jewel…" the woman murmured, her eyes narrowing.
Those eyes were pinkish red. The pupils, vertical slits. Like a cat's. Or a snake's.
"Too late, then?"
This woman had undoubtedly come for the Shikon Jewel.
Just as Shinji had thought that night when Kikyō's arrow lit up the sky, it would have attracted no small number of demons.
She turned and walked toward the door.
Her hair, standing on end, writhed in the air like a living shadow.
"Shinji… and that strongest shrine maiden who guards her village, Kikyō…" She muttered the two names, information gleaned from the dying screams of those ashigaru.
"Interesting."
"They shouldn't have gotten far, should they?"
She licked her lips.
"Before that 'lord' arrives, I'll go have a look."
The demon woman walked out of the castle.
Behind her lay the ransacked storehouse and several drained corpses.
Shinji.
From today, that name would spread through the region.
As the lord-killer.
As the demon who dared raise his hand against human authority.
And as...
Some yokai woman's prey.
…
Outside the castle.
On a northbound mountain path.
Shinji sneezed.
"Catch a cold?" Nurarihyon, walking ahead, glanced back with a puzzled look. "yokai can catch colds?"
"No idea." Shinji rubbed his nose, expression unchanged. "Maybe someone's talking about me."
"Probably not saying anything good." Nurarihyon shrugged. "You left your name back there. Trouble's coming."
"Good." Shinji patted the Hiraikotsu on his back.
This thing was heavy.
No wonder, forged from demon bones. Just carrying it, you could feel the vicious demonic aura inside.
But the affection system had already reacted.
[Hiraikotsu]
[Quality: Demonic Artifact]
[Current Affection: 0 (Stranger)]
[It was sleeping. You woke it up. It's annoyed. And it thinks your demonic stench is too strong.]
Seemed like a hothead.
Shinji wasn't worried.
He'd already unlocked the affection.
Long road ahead. He'd wear it down.
Kikyō walked at the front, silent.
But her steps were light.
Like a weight had lifted from her heart.
"Oh, by the way," Shinji suddenly spoke. "How do you maintain Hiraikotsu?"
Kikyō turned to look at him.
"Why do you ask?"
"Have to return it to the demon slayer village. Might as well clean it up first." Shinji said it like it was obvious.
"…..Just wipe it with clean water." Kikyō said. "It's forged from demon bones. Doesn't need oiling. Actually, human oil is bad for it."
"What about demon oil?"
"…..Probably not, either." Kikyō's voice was hesitant.
Shinji nodded.
Wipe it with clean water.
Simple enough.
He glanced at the massive boomerang on his back, already scheming about how to raise its affection.
Talk to it?
Did this thing even understand human speech?
Spend time with it?
That was doable. They still had days of travel ahead.
Feed it?
Feed it what?
Water?
"What are you thinking about?" Kikyō's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"How to take care of this big guy," Shinji answered honestly.
Kikyō looked at the Hiraikotsu on his back, then at his expression.
"…..You always care this much about your weapons?"
"Habit." Shinji made it sound simple. "A weapon is a samurai's second life. Treat it well, and when it counts, it'll treat you well too."
Kikyō fell silent.
She thought about Muramasa, the blade Shinji always used, still hanging at his waist.
In his hands, that demonic sword performed far beyond its actual quality.
Maybe…
That was why?