Three days passed in relative peace.
I spent the time recovering, eating massive amounts of food, and drilling my abilities in the forest outside the checkpoint. The soldiers gave me a wide berth—respectful but wary. Captain Oda kept his word, providing supplies and information without demanding anything in return beyond my presence as a deterrent against Specter attacks.
But the hunger never truly left.
Even with regular meals—three times what a normal man would eat—the Ghost Stomach maintained a constant, gnawing presence. Not painful, exactly. More like a background hum of dissatisfaction, a reminder that food alone couldn't truly satisfy it anymore.
It wanted Specter flesh. Craved it with an intensity that was starting to worry me.
I was practicing in a small clearing, working on reducing the energy cost of ability fusion, when I felt it intensify. The hunger spiked suddenly, sharp and demanding, making me double over with a gasp.
Not normal hunger. This was specific. Directional. Like a compass needle pointing toward something the Ghost Stomach wanted—needed—to consume.
I straightened slowly, turning in place. My enhanced vision picked out nothing unusual in the immediate area. Just trees, undergrowth, the distant sounds of the checkpoint behind me. But the hunger pulled insistently toward the north, deeper into the forest.
Something was out there. Something strong enough to trigger this reaction from across what felt like kilometers of distance.
I started walking, following the pull. The rational part of my brain screamed that this was stupid—wandering alone into demon-infested forests chasing a supernatural craving. But the Ghost Stomach's influence was stronger now, harder to resist. Three days of inactivity had made it restless.
It wanted to hunt.
The forest grew denser as I moved north. Ancient trees blocked out most of the sunlight, turning day into perpetual twilight. Perfect conditions for my [Night Vision], at least. I could see clearly despite the gloom, tracking the subtle signs of Specter activity—scratches on bark that were too regular to be natural, patches of ground where nothing grew, the occasional bone fragment bleached white by spiritual corruption.
The hunger intensified with every step. Getting closer.
I'd traveled maybe two kilometers when I heard voices ahead. Human voices, speaking in low, urgent tones. I dropped into a crouch instinctively, using the undergrowth for cover, and crept closer.
Three men stood in a small clearing. Well-dressed by local standards—silk robes under traveling cloaks, swords of obvious quality at their hips. Retainers or bodyguards for someone important. And they were talking to a fourth figure I couldn't see clearly through the trees.
"—master is most interested in the foreign scholar," one of them was saying. "The one who consumed the Wind Blade Specter at the Kuroda checkpoint."
My blood went cold. They were talking about me.
"Lord Takeda believes such a valuable asset shouldn't be wasted on border patrol duty," another continued. "He's prepared to offer significant incentives for the scholar's cooperation. Money, land, status. Whatever it takes."
"And if the scholar refuses?" The fourth voice was female, cool and calculating. I shifted position slightly, trying to get a better view.
"Then Lord Takeda will be... disappointed. And when our lord is disappointed, problems tend to resolve themselves permanently."
The woman laughed—a sound like wind chimes made of ice. "How very crude. Your lord lacks subtlety." She stepped into a shaft of filtered sunlight, and I finally got a clear look at her.
Beautiful, in the way a statue was beautiful. Perfect features, porcelain skin, wearing robes that seemed to shift and flow like liquid shadow. But her eyes were wrong—too dark, reflecting no light at all. And when she moved, her feet didn't quite touch the ground.
Not human. Specter.
The Ghost Stomach roared inside me, the hunger surging to overwhelming levels. Whatever this woman was, she was powerful. Far more powerful than the Wild Ghost or even the Wind Blade. The system was screaming at me to consume her, to claim whatever abilities she possessed.
"Lord Takeda's methods are effective," one of the retainers said stiffly. "Which is why he's trusted us to deliver his message to this checkpoint."
"Mm. And you'll fail." The woman—the Specter—turned her head slightly, as if sensing something. "Because the foreign scholar isn't at the checkpoint anymore. He's here. Listening to you discuss his future like he's a piece of property to be traded."
The retainers spun, hands going to their swords. Their eyes scanned the forest, but my position was well-concealed. They couldn't see me in the gloom.
But the Specter could. Her dark eyes fixed on my hiding spot with perfect accuracy.
"Hello, little eater," she said, her voice carrying effortlessly across the clearing. "I can feel the hunger in you. Taste it on the air. You want to consume me, don't you? Add my power to your collection?"
I stood slowly, no point in hiding now. The three retainers shifted nervously as I emerged from the undergrowth, their hands still on their weapons but not drawing. They'd heard the stories, then. Knew what I could do.
"Who are you?" I asked the Specter.
"Names have power, little eater. I won't give you mine so easily." She glided closer—definitely not walking, her feet remained several centimeters above the ground. "But you can call me Shadow. I serve interests that... intersect with Lord Takeda's ambitions."
"You're working with humans? Against your own kind?"
"Against my kind?" She laughed again. "How charmingly naive. We Specters aren't a unified force, little eater. We have factions, hierarchies, conflicts. Just like you humans. And some of us see opportunity in alliances with ambitious lords."
One of the retainers stepped forward. "The foreign scholar, I presume? I bring word from Lord Takeda. He requests your presence at his manor to discuss—"
"I'm not interested," I said flatly.
"You should hear the offer before refusing—"
"I'm. Not. Interested." I kept my eyes on Shadow, watching for any sign of hostile intent. "Tell your lord I don't serve anyone. And I don't respond well to being 'requested' to do anything."
The retainer's face reddened. "Lord Takeda doesn't take refusal lightly. If you won't come willingly—"
"Then what? He'll send assassins? Threats?" I smiled, letting some of the Ghost Stomach's hunger bleed into my expression. "Go ahead. Send them. I could use the meal."
Shadow tilted her head, studying me with those lightless eyes. "Interesting. The hunger has changed you already. Made you more predator than prey." She drifted closer, and I felt the temperature drop several degrees. "But you don't understand what you're becoming, do you? The Ghost Stomach isn't just giving you power. It's changing you. Rewriting your nature one consumption at a time."
"I know what I am."
"Do you?" She was close now, close enough that I could see the way shadows pooled in the folds of her robes, deeper than they should be. "You know what you can do. But do you know what you'll become if you keep feeding it? Keep consuming Specter after Specter, absorbing their essence into yourself?"
The Ghost Stomach cramped hard, demanding I attack her. Take her power. But something in her words made me hesitate.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that every Specter you consume leaves a mark, little eater. A piece of their nature woven into yours. Keep collecting enough pieces, and eventually..." She smiled, showing teeth that were just slightly too sharp. "Well. You might want to ask yourself where the line is between hunting monsters and becoming one."
One of the retainers cleared his throat nervously. "Shadow-sama, perhaps we should—"
"Return to your lord," Shadow said without taking her eyes off me. "Tell him the foreign scholar has refused his generous offer. And tell him that I recommend... alternative approaches. This one won't respond to carrots. He'll need sticks."
"But—"
"Go."
The command carried weight beyond mere words. The three retainers bowed hastily and retreated into the forest, practically fleeing. Smart men. They recognized when a situation had exceeded their authority to handle.
Leaving me alone with the Specter.
Shadow circled me slowly, her movements fluid and hypnotic. "So. You refuse Lord Takeda's service. Admirable, in a suicidal sort of way. What will you do when he sends his elite guards? His Oni Hunters? His tame Specters?"
"Survive. Like I have been."
"Mm. Confidence born from two victories against weak opponents." She stopped circling, facing me directly. "The Wild Ghost was barely sentient. The Wind Blade was powerful but mindless. You haven't faced a thinking Specter yet, little eater. One who can plan. Adapt. Counter your abilities."
The Ghost Stomach's hunger was reaching painful levels now. My hands were shaking slightly, my enhanced vision starting to sharpen involuntarily. The system was preparing for combat whether I consciously willed it or not.
"Is that a threat?" I managed.
"A warning." Shadow began backing away, dissolving into the actual shadows between the trees. "Lord Takeda will send someone to test you. Soon. And when you defeat them—if you defeat them—he'll escalate. Keep escalating until you're either dead or broken enough to accept his leash."
"Then I'll kill him first."
"Will you?" Her voice echoed from multiple directions now, impossible to pinpoint. "Kill a Daimyo lord? Start a war with the Shogunate? For someone who claims not to want attention, little eater, you're very good at painting targets on yourself."
She was gone. Completely vanished into the darkness, leaving only the lingering cold and the echo of her laughter.
I stood alone in the clearing, my heart hammering, the Ghost Stomach still screaming for the meal it had been denied. The hunger was worse now—having sensed such powerful prey and been denied had made it almost unbearable.
I needed to feed it. Soon. Before it started affecting my judgment more than it already had.
But Shadow's words lingered. Every Specter you consume leaves a mark. You might want to ask yourself where the line is between hunting monsters and becoming one.
I looked down at my hands. Still human. Still normal, despite everything I'd absorbed. But for how long? How many more Specters could I consume before the accumulated changes pushed me past some irreversible threshold?
The Ghost Stomach cramped again, dismissing such concerns as irrelevant. It wanted power. Wanted to grow. And it didn't care about philosophical questions of humanity or monstrosity.
It just wanted to feed.
I started walking back toward the checkpoint, my mind churning. Lord Takeda would send assassins. That was inevitable now. And I'd have to fight them, consume them if they were Specters. Continue the cycle of consumption and growth whether I wanted to or not.
Because the alternative was death. And survival trumped philosophy every time.
The hunger agreed wholeheartedly.