The days that followed were peaceful to the point of extravagance.
Imagawa Yoshimoto had long since taken those twenty-three little yōkai back to Suruga, and as agreed, he had begun erecting ancestral shrines and Shrines throughout his domain.
According to word the tanuki spirit relayed back through the blood mist, the expressions on the faces of the Imagawa clan's artisans—when they were ordered to build a divine altar for a one-eyed little monk—had been quite something to behold.
But no one dared refuse.
An order from the lord of Suruga Province, no matter how absurd it sounded, was still an order.
On the Hōjō side, there was no movement for the time being.
After Ujiyasu had been snatched away by the Takeda Red Guard, she had reportedly spent two days in Kai before being politely escorted back to Odawara Castle—Takeda Shingen had never intended to detain her. He had merely used the opportunity to pass along intelligence about Echigo's southern invasion, and to flex his own muscle in passing.
For now, the various powers had entered a delicate period of balance.
And Kōbe Hikaru put this rare window of quiet to work on the blade's edge.
After the battle at the Tahōtō, the Nekomata's Claw's favourability had surged to ninety. The death aura released when that centuries-old vengeful demon perished had been greedily absorbed by it—like a beast starved for hundreds of years finally getting a full meal.
The remaining ten points, by contrast, came easily.
No battlefield required. No death required.
Once it had eaten its fill, the Nekomata's Claw finally developed a true dependence on Kōbe Hikaru himself.
Each day, when he channeled yōkai power into it, that withered black claw was no longer silent like a dead thing.
It would tremble faintly.
When Kōbe Hikaru's palm drew near, it would curl toward him of its own accord—like a pet nuzzling a hand.
Day three.
[Nekomata's Claw: Favourability +4]
[Current Favourability: 94 (Attached)]
Day five.
[Nekomata's Claw: Favourability +3]
[Current Favourability: 97 (United)]
On the evening of the seventh day, Kōbe Hikaru sat beneath the old pine in the Shrine's back courtyard, cradling the Nekomata's Claw in his palm.
The surface of that claw was no longer withered.
A dark green phosphorescence seeped from the claw's tip, spreading along his fingers like the growing veins of a living thing.
[Nekomata's Claw: Favourability +3]
[Current Favourability: 100 (United)]
[Evaluation: It belongs to you completely now. The death aura accumulated over centuries, the lingering consciousness of thousands of departed souls, and that ancient nekomata's living understanding of death—all of it is laid open to you.]
[All talents unlocked.]
[First Talent: Spirit Affinity—every lowly, self-unaware departed soul will show you goodwill.]
[Second Talent: Soul Summoning—for a brief window after a departed soul dissipates, you may temporarily coalesce its lingering fragments of consciousness, allowing it to briefly return.]
[Third Talent: Soul-Seeking · Unerring Hand—lock onto a target's soul, and the attack you loose will ignore physical distance and obstacles, striking the soul itself directly. Once loosed, it cannot miss.]
Kōbe Hikaru stared at that final line on the panel.
Soul-Seeking.
Unerring Hand.
Lock onto the soul, and it cannot miss.
Taken literally, so long as he could sense his opponent's soul—even across mountains, across city walls, across a barrier—the attack he loosed would inevitably strike home.
It was not that it moved too fast to dodge.
It was a pursuit that would not stop until death.
Because the target of the attack was not the body—it was the soul.
Wherever the soul was, the attack would be there.
"An ability like this, paired with the Bowman's Mutation..."
Kōbe Hikaru clenched the Nekomata's Claw tight.
The dark green phosphorescence spread from the claw's tip up his arm, seeping into bone.
The fusion began.
There was none of the violence of the Thunder Horn that time, no agonized struggle. The Nekomata's Claw's fusion was quiet—like a drop of ink falling into clear water, spreading soundlessly.
The death aura seeped into his [Bowman's Mutation].
That change, which had originally only granted him extraordinary arm strength and precise control over his arm, was now undergoing an essential metamorphosis.
The core of the Bowman's Mutation was strength and precision—and it was the true reason he had always leaned toward fighting with the blade. It was why, though he had never studied a single sword or blade technique, he could still cut down demonic fiends and enemies of every stripe with a single sword.
And the core of the Nekomata's Claw was death and the soul.
What the fusion of the two would become—Kōbe Hikaru could already foresee.
In the next instant, Kōbe Hikaru raised his arm—pitch-black and flickering—and amid a low hum, with nothing more than a flick of his finger, a speck of dust flew out and sliced clean through a leaf a hundred meters away.
Even dust, which could bear no force whatsoever, could not miss.
This was—
the Spirit-Chasing Bowman's Mutation.
Kōbe Hikaru settled on that name.
Two mutations stacked into one, possessing arm strength and control beyond the ordinary, able to summon departed souls in aid, and further able to lock onto an enemy's soul—a change that, once loosed, could not miss.
From this point on.
Of the Six Mutations, three had now been stacked together.
The Spirit-Chasing Bowman's Mutation, the Thunder-Sinew Razor-Body, the Bone Soul Transformation—plus the Spear-Waist Mutation, the Sharp-Eye Mutation, and the Blood Mutation.
Six pockets, of which three had already swelled to their limit, stuffed to overflowing.
Kōbe Hikaru closed his eyes, feeling the power surging within him.
His Corporeal Transformation had reached its true limit; it could no longer keep stacking and bearing more.
The membrane of Qualitative Transformation still remained, but it had grown thin as a cicada's wing.
He could feel it clearly—so long as he was willing, so long as he actively pushed against it, that membrane would shatter.
In that moment, the limit of the Corporeal Transformation's Six Mutations would be utterly broken through.
And it would not be a simple advance, one more mutation to make seven.
The three mutations strained to their absolute extreme would, in that moment, collapse and reorganize all at once. The Qualitative Transformation triggered by quantitative change would be a chain reaction—Seven Mutations, Eight Mutations, or even a direct leap into Nine Mutations, all were possible.
But he did not rush.
It was not that he did not want to—it was that the timing had not yet come.
Qualitative Transformation required a catalyst, a stimulus intense enough to serve as that final straw.
Not something he forced through by his own will.
The result of forcing it might only be Seven Mutations.
Wait.
Wait for that catalyst to appear on its own.
He opened his eyes and put away the Nekomata's Claw—the object still remained, but the power within it had already been fused into his body.
In passing, he glanced at the other panels.
[Dokukō's Reverse Scale: Favourability 44]
[First Talent Unlocked: Detoxification—while gripping the reverse scale, you may neutralize toxins within contact range.]
This talent had unlocked back at thirty favourability, but to Kōbe Hikaru himself it was all but useless.
He was a corpse, an oni warrior. Though he now bordered on being revived, his essence remained—he was a corpse brought back to life.
Poison had no effect on the dead—which meant it truly was of no use at all.
"It could be used to cure poison in others, at least."
He thought about it, then decided that didn't quite work either.
How was it supposed to work? Just touch them? Or did he have to shove the reverse scale into their mouth?
That question would have to be shelved for now.
He could hardly poison someone just to test it out, could he?
Hm... actually, maybe that wasn't entirely out of the question?
[Sakagami Ketsura: Favourability 30]
[First Talent Unlocked: Hair Control—while gripping Sakagami Ketsura, you may manipulate your own hair.]
"...Manipulate my hair?"
Kōbe Hikaru lowered his head and looked at his own head of pale white long hair.
He tried moving it a little; the tips curled up, then swayed slowly through the air like a snake.
"A little disgusting."
The comb in his robes shuddered.
[Sakagami Ketsura registers a strong protest.]
Fine, fine, fine—not disgusting, very handsome.
The comb shuddered again, this time a satisfied shudder—though, quite tsundere, it didn't deign to actually speak.
Kōbe Hikaru set aside his stray thoughts and glanced at the two remaining key targets.
[Shikon Jewel: Favourability 75]
This number had been climbing steadily ever since he and Kikyō had formalized their relationship.
The Shikon Jewel's favourability seemed closely tied to Kikyō's state of mind—the more settled Kikyō was, the stronger her Naohi, and the faster the favourability rose.
By now, he and Kikyō had come to share weal and woe in a substantive way. Though they had not yet taken the final step, it was only a matter of time.
For the moment, though, there were still twenty-five points to full.
It couldn't be rushed.
[Goshinboku: Favourability 5]
This millennia-old tree remained as tepid as ever.
It had taken a whole month for its favourability to climb from zero to five.
It hadn't even unlocked its first talent.
But Kōbe Hikaru knew that once this thing was fully won over, the payoff would be the most terrifying of all his yōkai weapons—the power to connect past, present, and future, along with that still-unactivated Bone-Eater's Well.
Take it slow.
...
That day, come night.
The moon hung at its zenith, and Kaede Village sank into slumber. The barrier's spiritual glow shrouded the village, a pale blue light flickering faintly in the dark.
From behind the Shrine came the sound of even breathing.
Momiji and Botan lived in the side hall; even through the paper door he could hear the soft creak Botan pressed out of the leaf-mat as she turned over in her sleep.
Kaede's room was the quietest—the little girl always slept deeply.
And Kōbe Hikaru sat atop the ridge of the Shrine's main hall.
This was something he did every night before sleep.
Kikyō didn't know—at least, he hadn't told her.
By day she had to maintain the barrier, to cultivate, to look after Kaede, and lately to add lessons in the arts for Momiji and Botan on top of it all. She was tired enough already.
The night watch, he would take.
The gray-robed, pale-haired oni warrior sat cross-legged at the highest point of the ridge, blood mist seeping soundlessly from beneath his skin, spreading out thin as a cicada's wing, covering the whole of Kaede Village and the surrounding area for several miles.
This was his web of perception.
Any living thing, any yōkai aura, any anomalous presence that entered this range—he would sense it the instant it did.
The night wind this moment was cold.
The moonlight was bright.
In that moment he sat erect atop his high perch, eyes closed, like a stone statue.
Until—
at the northern edge of the mist, something strange stirred.
It was not yōkai aura.
It was human presence.
But within it lay something he had seen twice before.
Clean, lofty, and—a purity that did not belong to the mortal world.
Like water falling from the heavens, torrential and heavy.
That was...
the power of a divine artifact?
No—that wasn't right.
This power was denser than what he had felt from Kakizaki Kageie and Yamagata Masakage before.
Denser by more than a single tier.
It was more like the source of a divine artifact.
Kōbe Hikaru's eyes opened, his crimson oni pupils gleaming with an eerie light in the moonlight.
He looked north.
Beyond the torii at the village entrance, moonlight blanketed the mountain path.
A figure was walking along that winding trail, coming toward Kaede Village.
The steps were unhurried.
Slow, even.
As if strolling.
As if keeping an appointment.
The moonlight fell upon that figure.
White monk's robes, light white armor, a monk's veil draped over the head. Beneath the veil hung smooth, silver-white long hair, drifting faintly in the night wind, laced with strands of jet black, as if dyed in highlights.
The features were exquisite, carrying a touch of gallantry—not soft or delicate, yet unmistakable. Between the brows lay a depth and detachment like an ancient well.
Young.
She looked no more than seventeen or eighteen.
But the aura that radiated naturally from her was pure to the utmost extreme.
Even purer than Kikyō.
At least Kikyō still felt human, merely somewhat cold and aloof.
But this newcomer was nearly inhuman.
Not yōkai, not human.
But... a god.
Kōbe Hikaru rose to his feet upon the ridge.
The blood mist churned beneath his feet as he watched that ever-nearing figure.
"So you've come."
Kōbe Hikaru murmured under his breath.
A little surprised—yet also as if he had long expected it.
As the maiden stepped before the village, she too raised her eyes slightly, looking up at the oni warrior keeping the night watch.
Gray robes, pale hair, a crimson oni mask.
The moonlight stretched the two figures' shadows long.
One high, one low.
One long, one short.
One facing south, one facing north.
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