"Hahaha... you don't say," Yorimitsu replied, pushing himself up into a sitting position. As he watched the moon's silver reflection ripple across the water, the small wooden skiff carrying Shion and Tsushimamaru grazed the reeds, coming gently into shore.
"You know... at first, I fully intended to use you," Watanabe spoke, dusting the river-silt from his ruined clothes as they watched the boat slice through the mirrored surface. "I thought I would let you rid me of my curse, and then I would abandon you."
"Mmmph. That is bold of you to admit," Yorimitsu said, his tone carrying a dry, scolding edge, though his eyes held no malice.
"Hehehe, yes, I know. But things have changed," Watanabe said, his gaze fixed on the approaching boat rather than his master. "The more I witness your stride, the more my heart wavers. Everything you have shown me up until this moment... I cannot deny it. If my fate is going to change, it will be because you are here."
Yorimitsu let out a soft, thoughtful breath. "Then I am glad. There is one truth I have come to learn about men: it is only through the act of surviving that they find their true nature. Had you sworn your loyalty to me from the very start, I would never have trusted you. But now that you have walked through death... You have earned the right to speak those words."
Yorimitsu turned, facing Watanabe fully, and extended his hand.
Watanabe was startled for a fraction of a second, but he quickly regained his composure and gripped his master's hand, their fingers locking beneath the light of the silver moon.
Within a few breaths, the wooden skiff ground softly against the dark sand of the far bank. Shion and Tsushimamaru stepped ashore, their movements lagging slightly in the heavy chill. Tsushimamaru took a few paces toward a matching, weathered wooden frame and struck the bronze bell on this side of the bank. With a low, resonant chime, the boat began to drift backwards across the current entirely on its own, pulled by an unseen tide.
'Mmmm... this boy. I have never witnessed the likes of it, he ran on water,' Tsushimamaru mused, his milky eyes cutting sideways to study Yorimitsu. 'Is it truly possible for a person to command such a presence that they can practically summon a soul back from death?'
The old man watched intensely as a sudden, sharp gust of wind swept over the bank, flaring Yorimitsu's hair across his face. 'And what is more... there is a terrifying aura bleeding from him. The way he called out from the water's edge... It was a sovereign calling out for his vassal. Just who is this boy?' The question echoed relentlessly in his mind.
"Ah, Shion. You have made it safely," Yorimitsu spoke, breaking the silence as he moved to clear a path on the bank for her. "Let us press onward."
"I must offer a warning," Tsushimamaru interrupted, his voice carrying a distinct, frail tremor for the first time since they had met. "I have not set foot on this side of the river since I was a mere boy. I do not remember the paths through this district well."
"Mmmm. It matters little," Yorimitsu replied smoothly, gesturing for the old man to lead the way. "We only require the general direction for now. We can unravel the finer details as we encounter them."
Tsushimamaru nodded slowly and strid forward, one withered hand instinctively pressing against the small of his aching back.
'It seems this trip took a heavier toll on his old bones than he cares to admit,' Yorimitsu thought, falling into step behind him.
Like the far shore, this unfamiliar district was initially choked by a heavy, featureless grey fog. But as they took their first steps into the interior, the mist suddenly parted, unravelling within mere moments to reveal what lay ahead.
"Ha?!" Watanabe and Shion frowned in unison, their bodies tensing.
"Ohhh... so both of you sensed it too, did you?" Yorimitsu murmured.
He stepped forward, pushing past the final, trailing gossamer of the grey fog. The sight that unravelled before them was breathtaking. They stood at the edge of a colossal pavilion city. Looming out of the twilight were giant, sprawling palaces built in the majestic Shinden-zukuri style, embracing them with an immediate sense of elegance and absolute cosmic order.
The main hall, the Shinden, faced due south, its inner core the Moya quietly commanding the spiritual axis of the space while the surrounding Hisashi corridors stretched out in flawless, gentle symmetry.
On either flank, the Tai-no-ya subsidiary halls stood like loyal, silent companions. They were intricately connected by covered walkways, the Wataridono and Sukiwatadono guiding the eyes through the estate's massive, U-shaped embrace.
Beyond the towering wooden pillars, a magnificent courtyard unfolded: serene, glassy ponds, trickling artificial streams, and carefully curated gardens designed to evoke the pure, unblemished splendour of Amida Buddha's Western Paradise.
Yet, it was not the architecture alone that made their blood run cold. It was the material. Gold.
The precious metal was used everywhere, gilded across the roof ridges, inlaid into the sliding screens, and wrapped around the massive pillars, reflecting a pale, golden light.
"This place possesses the most suffocating density of Reiryoku I have ever encountered," Yorimitsu pointed out, his voice dropping to a sharp whisper.
Behind him, the rest of the group froze, momentarily paralysed in the overwhelming, terrifying awe of the golden palace.
"Look!" Watanabe shouted, pointing a trembling finger at Tsushimamaru.
The old man had dropped to his knees, his hands clawing at his own face. His withered, leather-like skin was fracturing, fine lines of silver light splitting across his knuckles and cheeks.
"What is happening to him?" Watanabe stammered, taking a defensive step back. A thick, ethereal blue mist had begun to haemorrhage from the pores of the old man's skin, swirling violently around him like a miniature typhoon.
Shhhhhhh—
A low, violent hiss erupted from the vapour, the dense energy sizzling against the golden floorboards of the pavilion. Then, an abrupt, suffocating silence fell over the courtyard.
"Ahhhh... I see," Yorimitsu murmured, his eyes widening with genuine fascination. "The Reiryoku in this place is so fiercely potent that it has forcibly restored the life he had lost to the curse."
And restored it had. The wretched, broken figure on the ground vanished. Rising from the receding blue mist was a man transformed. His bald, scarred head was now crowned with long, raven hair that flowed wildly over his shoulders. His severely crooked spine snapped straight, his stature stretching until he stood taller than anyone else in the group. The frailty was entirely gone, replaced by the dense, coiled muscles of a warrior in his absolute prime.
"Congratulations, Brother," Yorimitsu spoke, stepping forward and bringing his fist to his palm in a formal, respectful martial salute. "You are exactly as you once were."
But their astonishment was cut short. Before the newly reborn Tsushimamaru could even test the weight of his restored limbs, a chorus of sharp, melodic female giggles echoed from the gilded rafters above.
"You are not supposed to be here..."
Hovering directly above them in the twilight air was a half-clothed woman. She drifted with supernatural grace, supported by nothing but a long, flowing Hagoromo ribbon of silk that writhed around her body like a living serpent. Her eyes gleamed with a predatory amusement as she looked down at the intruders.