Several days later, the Miko's Celestial Coronation Ceremony officially began.
As February approached, the sunlight no longer carried the bleak chill of deep winter. Within the picturesque grounds of Katori Shrine, rays filtered through the gaps between cherry blossom trees and fell upon the stone pathways. The snow that had once blanketed the earth was gradually melting, no longer crunching beneath one's steps with that crisp crunch, crunch.
Yet at this very moment, all such changes seemed to halt beside a forest pool, as though separated by an invisible barrier. The atmosphere abruptly grew still.
It was a pool formed where a cliffside waterfall gathered into a stream. It was not large, but the spring water was crystal clear, and lotus blossoms bloomed around its edges, each radiating astonishing spiritual power.
At the center of the pool stood a shrine maiden dressed in white, her long black hair cascading like silk to her waist. There was nothing beneath her feet to support her, yet she stood lightly upon the water's surface.
It was the Miko.
From afar, the reflection beneath her created the illusion that she stood upon a flawless mirror.
A cross-shaped spiritual mark shone upon her forehead. Her eyes were closed, and though her expression was usually stern and resolute, at this moment it held an unprecedented serenity, as if she had never once feared slipping into the water. She stood as though floating, her posture perfectly natural.
Slowly, she opened her right hand. A slender sword flew up from the shore and settled into her grasp. The blade spun lightly in her hand, passing from her right to her left. She rose smoothly and began to dance with the sword, cold light reflecting upon the water, crisp and stirring to the blood.
She lifted her head high, her body stretching like a white crane about to take flight. Then, as though responding to the unseen chime of sacred bells, she stepped forward in rhythm and began to move.
This was no slow, elegant dance refined for performance.
It was bold and fierce—a sword dance filled with solemn resolve and killing intent.
The Miko did not move at random. Each single step, each twisting turn and soaring motion, every instant the sword tip touched down—everything followed an unseen order. The silent, solemn sword dance revealed an ancient and sacred rhythm.
Turning sideways, flipping, leaping, shaking the blade, arching back into a diagonal thrust...
Sword pressure and spiritual power wove together around her, forming a silver-white curtain of light. Wherever it swept, the mirror-like surface of the pool split apart, carving intersecting paths through the water.
Yet this was merely the prelude.
What followed was the true soul of the sword dance.
Her speed suddenly increased. Her figure blurred into afterimages in midair, and the slender sword in her hand transformed from an instrument of ceremony into a weapon of slaughter.
A raging torrent of sword energy surged outward, lifting the entire pool into waves that soared dozens of meters high.
As the towering water surged skyward, the Miko—once only a blur—rose higher still, driven upward by the force of her spiritual power and sword pressure rebounding against the waves. For a moment, it even seemed as though the water beneath the waterfall was reversing its course, rushing upward to meet her.
Two massive currents collided in midair. The spray scattered in all directions, refracting into vivid rainbows suspended in the sky.
At the very instant this breathtaking spectacle was born, the Miko herself hovered in midair. Using the rebounding force of spiritual power and sword pressure against the water, she ascended briefly into the air.
With a flick of her hand, the divine blade that had long accompanied her—the [Ceremonial Blade]—let out a low hum from the top of the waterfall before plunging downward to her side.
Then came the dazzling ultimate technique.
Twisting her waist, the Miko spun rapidly in midair. Her graceful form and close-fitting white robes dissolved into streaks of white light, merging with the spinning arcs of blade light to become a high-speed vortex.
—Tenshin Shōden Katori Shintō-ryū · Dual Blade Technique · Rainbow-Cleaving Great Blade.
Under the extraordinary storm of sword pressure, even the waterfall could no longer rely upon gravity's law that water flows downward. Instead, it was blasted upward by the vortex, torrents shooting skyward as though charging the heavens.
Within the blazing brilliance of the blade light, the rainbows seemed to be severed by luminous edges. No sooner did one appear than it was cut apart, only to reappear higher in the sky—then cut again.
Only when the seventh rainbow emerged and was cleaved did the sword dance finally slow. The Miko descended gradually from the air and stepped lightly back onto the water's surface.
Even the waterfall, as though split by a blade, fell into an unprecedented silence.
Within the entire space, the only sound was the steady breathing of the shrine maiden.
...
She slowly calmed her breath. Even for her, such a display of swordsmanship was no small burden.
The surface of the water gradually returned to perfect stillness, like a polished mirror reflecting her figure clearly.
The Miko opened her eyes. Her resolute gaze fell precisely upon a face that had quietly appeared by the edge of the pool. A faint smile curved her lips.
"Lady Ihime, how did you know I was here?"
"No need for formality. Just call me Satsuki, as before," replied Satsuki, who had appeared there without a sound. She returned the smile. "One sword dance moves the four directions; heaven and earth bow low in awe. Such a breathtaking spectacle would be a pity if no one witnessed it."
A trace of shyness flickered across the Miko's face at the praise, but she quickly regained her composure.
"This was meant to be my performance at the Celestial Coronation Ceremony. Now it has been revealed in advance."
Satsuki nodded, the curve of her lips lingering. Her clear golden eyes swept across the lotus blossoms, which remained completely unharmed despite the ferocious sword pressure.
"Then my timing could not have been better. To personally witness the solo dance of the Saiin—now bearing the name Kagura Mitama—makes this journey worthwhile."
Without even lifting her gaze, Satsuki casually extended one hand toward the sky.
The waterfall, which had just resumed its downward flow after the Miko's sword pressure subsided, suddenly seemed repelled by an invisible force. In midair, the torrent reversed and surged upward with a hundredfold greater intensity.
Even after Satsuki lowered her hand, the water that should have fallen continued to stream steadfastly toward the heavens, forming a horizon where sea and sky seemed to merge.
A magnificent rainbow hung inverted across the sky, spanning the entire shrine like a divine miracle.
"This...?!"
The Miko could not help but widen her eyes.
Though Satsuki's gesture had been casual, the power it displayed surpassed the imagination of ordinary shrine maidens.
Even one raised within the shrine had never witnessed another shrine maiden command nature so effortlessly.
This was no longer within the realm of human capability.
When the Miko lowered her gaze from the sky, she discovered that Satsuki's figure had already vanished.
Only a faint voice lingered in her ears.
—"I have no suitable gift to offer you. Let this peerless spectacle serve as my congratulatory present for your Celestial Coronation Ceremony."
...
In a village along a certain stretch of coastline...
A man caught sight of an island emerging amidst thick mist and, panic-stricken, struck the large bell beside him.
"The island—! The island has appeared—!"
Accompanied by the resounding bell, his cry echoed through every corner of the village.
Anxiety spread instantly. Villagers rushed out of their homes, their faces pale as they stared toward the distant sea.
Cold sweat beaded on an elderly man's forehead as he fixed his gaze upon the newly appeared island and muttered, "So that is the island those demons spoke of... Are they finally coming?"
"What are we going to do? We're all going to die!" a middle-aged man cried in despair, clutching his head. "They've already destroyed several nearby villages. We're next!"
At those words, fear overtook the crowd. One by one, they turned their eyes toward the village chief, the oldest among them.
"Village Chief, what should we do?"
"There is no other way," the chief replied helplessly. "The power of demons is not something we ordinary people can resist... The only possibility is to go to the shrine by the sea and pray for the protection of the gods."
"...It's our only option."
Driven by despair, the villagers had no other choice. Their lives were like drifting duckweed without roots, swayed by the wind, dependent entirely upon the mercy of the strong.
Before long, they gathered in groups, carrying offerings, and made their way to an abandoned shrine atop the sea cliff.
Though it was still midday, dark clouds blanketed the sky above the shrine. Green, purple, and crimson demonic energy churned through the air, agitating the atmosphere and giving rise to roaring thunder and crackling lightning.
"Please save us... Have mercy and subdue those demons!"
The villagers knelt in unison before the shrine's thatched hall, bowing their heads in desperate prayer.
Yet in response, there was nothing but rumbling thunder and the crash of waves against the cliffs.
...
"Sesshōmaru-sama, why are we listening to that shrine maiden and coming to a place like this..."
Not far away, beneath the canopy of dark clouds, Jaken stood holding his Staff of Heads, muttering to himself.
He had never witnessed Satsuki's true strength and could not comprehend why his proud master would heed the command of a mere human shrine maiden.
The elegant and cold noble youth walked silently toward the shore.
"Sesshōmaru-sama, are we just going to keep walking like this?" the kappa yōkai ventured cautiously.
...
He was met only with silence.
Sesshōmaru did not even slow his pace.
Such indifference was entirely expected. Questions like that never elicited much of a response from him.
Sesshōmaru-sama is as aloof as ever...
Jaken grumbled inwardly. But why would Sesshōmaru-sama obey a shrine maiden? Could it be that he... likes—?
The moment that thought surfaced, Jaken shuddered violently.
A killing intent brushed past the small cap atop his head.
Sesshōmaru had cast him a razor-sharp glance.
Though Jaken had not voiced his suspicion, there seemed to be an unspoken connection between master and servant. His thoughts were never hidden from Sesshōmaru.
The kappa immediately dropped to his knees, drenched in sweat. "Forgive me! Forgive me! Sesshōmaru-sama, I wasn't thinking anything at all! Please spare me!"
"So they've appeared...?"
Sesshōmaru had no intention of truly arguing with Jaken. He lifted his gaze toward the thunderclouds gathering in the distance.
As a member of the dog-demon clan, his sense of smell was unrivaled across the demon realm.
From the scent carried by the wind alone, he could obtain nearly all the information he required.
Four demonic auras, each close to that of a quasi–Great Yōkai.
In the past, such opponents might have posed some difficulty. Now, however, they were beneath his concern.
What truly made him wary was another power accompanying the island's emergence.
That force—even he would have to treat seriously.
...
"Where did that fool Kyōra run off to? Making me wait this long!"
The speaker was a blue-haired yōkai in the form of a young man, his long ponytail swaying behind him. A shoulder guard shaped like the claw of an azure dragon rested upon him, and twin curved blades were strapped across his back.
He was Ryūra, leader of the Four War Gods, bearing the title of Azure Dragon.
"Ryūra-brother, you know what he's like," another yōkai said with a laugh. This one had short hair split black and white. "That guy loves slaughtering humans. I don't see what's so fun about killing weaklings. Fighting powerful opponents head-on—that's the real thrill! Hahahahaha!"
This was Jūra of the Four War Gods, known as White Tiger. Hot-tempered and simple-minded, he lacked subtlety.
Despite such an obvious flaw in temperament, both he and Ryūra possessed exceptional demonic power, each approaching the level of a quasi–Great Yōkai.
Aside from their bloodline, much of that power came from the Demon Battle Jewel embedded in their foreheads.
Clang...
Clang...
Clang...
From the shrine atop the distant cliff came the urgent ringing of an alarm bell, mingled with the dying screams of humans and the roar of rising flames.
"Ah, Kyōra always overdoes it," Jūra remarked, though his lips curved into a bloodthirsty grin.
Ryūra folded his arms and sneered at the burning shrine. "Let him draw the island's attention. We'll see if that shrine maiden shows herself to protect the humans."
Following his gaze, the abandoned shrine that had once gathered countless villagers was now engulfed in flames.
"Oh ho ho ho~"
A figure with green lipstick and an effeminate air watched the chaos below with delight.
This was Kyōra of the Four War Gods, bearing the title of Vermilion Bird. Among the four, he acted as something of a strategist—cold and cruel by nature.
"This is sacred ground destined to become a battlefield. There is no place here for vermin like you."
Crimson demonic energy condensed into lightning that struck downward. Scorching power ignited the surrounding ancient trees, and in an instant, half the mountainside became an inferno.
From the Demon Battle Jewel upon his forehead, blazing red energy poured forth. Kyōra swept his hand toward the crowd.
"Blazing Birds!"
The raging fire seemed to awaken with independent will. From within it burst countless flame birds formed of demonic power, each shrieking as it hurtled toward the fleeing villagers.
The scene became a living hell.
Suddenly, a razor-sharp blade cut through the air.
Wherever it passed, the flame birds formed from Kyōra's power were cleaved apart and extinguished mid-flight.
The sword pressure did not diminish. It drove straight toward Kyōra.
Startled, he leapt backward, narrowly avoiding the slash that would have severed his head on the spot.
Shock and fury surged within him.
"Who dares?!"
In answer, a second, even fiercer streak of sword light descended upon him.