---
It was a slaughter. Explosions splashed outward, terrible Cursed Energy roaming through the horde of spirits and detonating in blooms.
That dark Cursed Energy was a calligraphy brush dipped in ink—dragging black strokes, splashing wild arcs across the warehouse.
The killing went on and on.
Cursed Spirits piled against one another. The reeking flesh mounded together, forming a long, crimson river of meat.
Every time the black brush touched it, another limb flew.
The spirits wailed. Howled in agony. Were blasted full of holes.
All five extremities sheared off, skulls shattered to pieces, robbed of the ability to move—and yet their hearts had not stopped. Stubbornly, they clung to life.
None of them were dead.
This was deliberate. Nanami Kira would not kill a single one outright. That way, the price he owed Amber Mansion would stay lower.
Sorako watched the scene before her—an asura's hellscape:
Blood flowed in rivers. Severed limbs, broken arms, and head after head with bulging eyes littered the floor. The man in black waded through the crimson current like a reaper—one enormous Cursed Spirit after another falling at his feet.
Strangely, every spirit in the vicinity ignored her entirely, swerving around her as though driven by some invisible hand. They surged toward Nanami Kira and no one else.
And Nanami Kira cut them down. The dark fire rolled through the tide of flesh like a scythe through wheat—where it passed, nothing stood.
It seemed nothing could defeat him. Nothing could kill this terrifying man. His expression remained serene, as though he were the king of curses himself.
But in truth—
Nanami Kira's body was on the verge of collapse.
"Transaction initiated. Transaction initiated. Transaction initiated..."
"The arms of a former Amber Mansion master—price: one scar. Transaction complete... The four limbs and head of the Eldest Son of the Tachibana Clan of the Tenpo Era—price: half a bone. Transaction complete..."
The voice droned on without pause—cold, emotionless, like an obnoxious fly.
So noisy. He went on killing. Tirelessly killing. Strike after strike after strike.
His intestines ruptured. Blood vessels burst one after another. Three bones snapped. His arms were latticed with scars.
Not an ounce of strength remained in his body.
---
Each individual price was small, but they accumulated—crushing him bit by bit.
His mind was fogged. His senses drifted. His vision blurred until nothing was distinct anymore. Only a single breath held him upright. A single breath sustaining this man.
He had already reached his conclusion about who had wounded Hoshino Ei.
Her Innate Technique, Concealment, was virtually unbreakable. But something had, in fact, seen through it.
Two days earlier, when Hoshino Ei had gone to steal the Monk Manyo's travel journal from the third floor, it was Amber Mansion that caught her.
Amber Mansion had been targeting Hoshino Ei. It bore malice toward her. Eliminate every impossibility, and whatever remained—
Only Amber Mansion.
Why?
Why would it?
As an arbiter, Amber Mansion was impartial toward all candidates. So why harbor malice against Hoshino Ei?
Only one reason.
He smiled, and wiped away the crust of dried blood covering half his eye.
Dark Cursed Energy blazed in his hand. He smashed an oncoming wraith out of the air.
He did not use his Cursed Technique, let alone a killing blow—inside Amber Mansion's special domain, his body could not afford a single additional price.
Killer Queen and Sheer Heart Attack had both been recalled. Their destructive power was too extreme—impossible to calibrate.
He could not injure one more Cursed Spirit. Any further payment would strip him of his ability to fight entirely.
The situation turned dire.
Tch. He clicked his tongue.
He checked his watch. Nine o'clock.
Dawn yesterday had come around six in the morning. That meant he had to survive eight more hours.
His heavy coat was drenched in foul-smelling blood, weighing him down as if it would crush him.
The wraiths must have sensed his weakness. None of them ran anymore. The intimidation he had built in the initial onslaught was losing its edge.
More and more spirits converged from every direction. More and more. A carpet of them, wall to wall.
Ah. Of course.
He laughed at himself, suddenly remembering where he was.
Every night, these spirits wandered Amber Mansion's halls. So where did they hide during the day?
Right here.
This was the warehouse. A repository for old things. Everything from a bygone era was stored here.
And naturally, the ghosts of that bygone era resided here too.
Was this how my previous self was cornered, then?
Sorako watched him with worry—and then noticed the calm smile on his face.
The reason Amber Mansion targeted Hoshino Ei was simple. By the rules, the mansion had to treat every guest equally.
But Hoshino Ei was not a guest. She had no invitation.
To Amber Mansion, she was an intruder. And intruders were not protected by the rules of the game.
The mansion's malice was not truly aimed at Hoshino Ei. It was aimed at Nanami Kira—but the rules forbade direct action against him.
It could, however, act against Hoshino Ei.
It had understood everything from the start. Geto Suguru's schemes, the location of the barrier nodes, Nanami Kira's countermeasures—it knew he had left Hoshino Ei's soul body outside the Curtain to destroy the nodes.
So it struck at Hoshino Ei. That single move choked off every plan Nanami Kira had.
This was his error. Nanami Kira had always been a man who reflected honestly. He could acknowledge his own mistakes. He knew he had never been infallible; he approached everything with humility, and that humility was precisely why he could maintain a quiet life.
So this time, the truly useless one had not been Hoshino Ei at all.
It was Nanami Kira himself.
How could he blame that stupid hand? He had never been perfect.
Eleven o'clock. Five hours until dawn.
There was no undamaged spot left on his body. Nothing of value left to trade.
Half an arm gone. Half the bones in his body stolen. Only Reverse Cursed Technique, barely, kept his flesh together. The one mercy: his Cursed Energy reserves were still deep.
A whistle of displaced air.
He cocked his head, sidestepped. A bolt of compressed flesh screamed past.
The next instant—a creature covered head to toe in eyes bore down before him. It drooled, crimson pupils fixed on Kira, terrible Cursed Energy carrying the scent of death—
A Semi-Special Grade Cursed Spirit.
Cursed Energy surged in Kira's hand. Black fire blessed him—dark, brilliant—slicing toward the creature's throat, toward the precise 3:7 ratio point.
Rrrip. The sound of flesh parting. Collapse advanced with surgical, unstoppable precision toward the jugular. In the next instant, the spirit's head would launch skyward.
"Transaction initiated. 7th Generation Head of the Minamoto Clan of the Nara Period. 3rd Generation Amber Mansion Successor. Price—"
Nanami Kira closed his eyes. He had no choice but to pay. He calculated the cost in his head—if this Semi-Special Grade retained its mobility, the threat would be far worse.
"Price: one secret."
"One secret."