Exorcism. That's what they claimed to be doing in this ritual.
But really, they just wanted a show. An entertaining one—where after all was said and done, they could pat themselves on the back and say, "This is for the good of the clan," or something equally hollow.
If that's the case, Touko thought, her eyes drifting across the arena, sure. Fine.
She wouldn't mind giving them a show.
She'd entertain them until they were sick of it to the bone.
Sweeping her gaze over the weapons rack near the edge of the Purification Ground, she found them all unsatisfactory. Swords, spears, naginata—all imbued with cursed energy. Standard issue for sorcerers.
That won't do.
Touko turned away from the rack.
Raising her hand to her mouth, she opened her mouth wide and shoved it to the back of her throat. It convulsed. Something black and writhing pushed up from her chest, past her vocal cords, past her teeth.
She gagged.
A small, black, writhing thing dropped into her palm. It was no larger than a walnut, glistening with saliva, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. It looked like a lump of congealed shadow—and yet, it moved.
Then, it unfurled.
Legs. Too many legs with a bulbous body. And the freaky thing’s eyes were milky white.
It looked like a newborn. A premature one at that, twisted and wrong. And yet, there was something undeniably phallic about its shape, no doubt one of the cruel jokes the heaven thought would be fitting for her.
The thing squirmed in her palm.
Then it opened a mouth that wasn't there a moment ago, and spat.
The katana emerged hilt-first, slick with a clear, viscous fluid. Touko caught it.
The worm-thing curled up, shrinking back into a walnut-sized lump, and she swallowed it back.
Now, she thought, testing the katana's balance. We can begin.
The largest cage sat at the northern edge of the arena, shrouded in shadow. The attendants had long since retreated. The crowd had gone quiet, sensing something different about this final exorcism.
Touko walked toward the cage.
The bars were thick, reinforced with paper talismans that glowed faintly in the darkness. Inside, the shape was barely visible.
Just a few steps from the cage, she stopped.
"Come out," she said. "I don't have all night."
The talismans flickered. The cage door groaned—and swung open on its own.
The curse emerged.
It was tall and would easily reach seven feet, a humanoid upper body and a lower body that dissolved into writhing shadows. Its skin was the color of bruised flesh, stretched tight over bones that looked a little exaggerated in it’s angularity. With a long nose, high cheekbones, and thin lips, it looks almost beautiful. And yet something was clearly wrong with it.
Probably because of its eyes. Truly wrong and unlike ordinary humans, too large with eerie shades of gold and slit pupils that dilated and contracted like a cat's.
And a third eye, smaller, set vertically in the center of its forehead, weeping black tears.
It looked at Touko.
"You," it said. Its voice was low, smooth, almost musical. "I was told you would be my opponent."
Touko said nothing.
The curse tilted its head. The third eye blinked independently of the other two.
"I know what this is." It gestured vaguely at the arena, the crowd, the braziers. "A show. A performance. They put me in a cage, brought me here, and now they will watch us fight." Its smile widened. "If I win, I die anyway—they will kill me afterward. If I lose, I die now."
It rolled its shoulders, mimicking the actions of cracking a joint that didn’t exist.
"So I have no future. No escape. No hope." Its golden eyes fixed on hers. "But at the very least…"
The shadows around its lower body thickened.
"…I will take you down with me."
Touko raised her katana.
The blade caught the firelight—once, briefly—and then went dark again.
"Try," she said.
The curse laughed.
Then it charged at her.
With almost no warning or no tell, it suddenly appeared before her with its golden eyes fixed on hers and it’s shadowy body trailing behind. Thin arms that were too long and ending in claws were lifted and then slammed down.
Touko moved.
One step to the right.
The claw struck the earth where she had been standing. The impact was a little surprising as a shockwave that rippled outward kicked up a cloud of dust and debris. Spiderweb cracks spread across the ground, and the entire arena shuddered for a heartbeat.
All happened less than a second.
Stronger than I expected, Touko thought, already repositioning. But not fast enough.
The curse straightened, its third eye blinking and watching her through the settling dust.
"I did not expect you to dodge that."
Touko's grinned and the grip on her katana loosened a little.
"And you're awfully chatty for a… what was it again? Semi-grade 1?" She tilted her head. "Maybe you actually deserve a lower ranking."
The curse's smile dashed away.
Then it came again.
This time, Touko didn't dodge.
She met the claw head-on—her blade tracing a shallow arc across its forearm. The cut was clean and precise, perfectly parting the bruised flesh as dark purple ichor spewed out.
But the wound closed before the droplets hit the ground.
The curse laughed. "You cannot kill me with that. A curse can only be killed by cursed energy."
Touko said nothing.
She struck again. A diagonal slash across its chest. The flesh parted, black blood welled up, and then—seamless, instant—the wound knitted itself shut.
"It will take more than a sharp stick to—"
She cut its throat.
The curse staggered back, one hand clutching the gash. Its golden eyes widened. The wound closed.
"You're… just prolonging it."
Touko stepped forward. Her katana swept low, opening a gash across its thigh. Then high, carving a line across its cheek. Then a thrust to the stomach, twisting the blade before pulling it free.
Each wound she inflicted closed the instant she made them.
"You're right," She said with a bored voice. "I can't kill you with this.”
She kicked its knee and the joint buckled.
"But I can make you wish you were dead."
The curse's golden eyes narrowed. The third eye, weeping black tears, pulsed once—twice—and then seemed to brighten.
“Don’t get arrogant. I haven’t even showed you anything.”
Its technique activated.
Touko felt something shift—not in the air, but in her own perception. The curse's arm, the one it had just raised, seemed to… fade. Not disappear. But become unimportant. Her eyes slid past it, her focus drifting toward the shadow on her left, the crowd beyond, the stars above.
Inattention, she realized. Anything marked by that third eye becomes… forgettable.
She forced her gaze back. The curse's arm was already swinging.
She raised her katana—barely in time as her feet were pushed deep down into the earth.
Quite the clever one, but frankly really annoying.
The curse pressed its advantage. Its third eye pulsed, and suddenly the debris at her feet—the stones, the clods of dirt—seemed to lose her attention.
With her superior senses, she managed to bat away the thrown debris with her katana.
Even though she knew those stones were getting deflected, the feeling that she’s parrying air wouldn’t subside.
It clawed at her side. She twisted and evaded without any problems.
She exhaled and immediately centered herself.
And stopped trying to track what the curse made invisible.
Instead, she tracked where it wasn't.
The curse's technique created blind spots—holes in perception. But holes had edges.
Touko closed her eyes.
The crowd gasped, many even shouted.
She didn't care.
The curse didn’t need to breathe, and yet it does so anyway. It’s an untrained fighter and thus kept on shifting its weight. And its shadow-like body produced sounds akin to endless whispers if someone were to listen closely. And the sound of it’s wet eyes pulsating were the most obvious as even being so faint, the wet sounds are similar to what sex might sounds like.
When it moved, she moved with it.
Her katana found its shoulder—a deep cut, parting muscle and tendon. The curse screamed as its technique flickered.
Her eyes opened.
"You talk too much," she said, and drove her blade into its stomach.
Like a butcher dismantling a carcass, she cut the thing dozens of times in one second.
Soon, a thousand wounds each enough to kill had her weapon been imbued with curse energy were launched.
The curse thrashed. It clawed. It used its technique again and again, trying to make her forget its limbs, its claws, the stones at her feet.
But Touko had stopped relying on her eyes years ago.
She cut its fingers off. They magically flew back and attached themselves.
She carved her name into its chest, letter by letter, watching the skin struggle to reform over the wounds.
The curse stopped laughing.
It stopped talking.
It stopped fighting.
After an hour, its movements grew sluggish. After two, it stopped attacking entirely—just stood there, trembling, its golden eyes fixed on her with that very familiar gaze of terror.
After three hours, it collapsed to its knees.
"Please," it whispered. Its voice was raw, broken. "Please… no more."
Touko lowered her katana and looked at what most thought would be really close to the pinnacle of the strongest before the rebirth of the Six Eyes.
It was curled on the ground, its shadow-body dissolved, its third eye closed. It looked smaller now. Frail. Like a wounded animal waiting for the killing blow.
She glanced toward the crowd.
The reactions were… mixed.
Some clan members were cheering. They had seen a prolonged, brutal exorcism—a demonstration of the Sorcerer Killer's methodical cruelty. They loved it.
Others were pale, silent. A few had turned away, unable to watch. The Kamo guests exchanged uneasy glances. Even the elders seemed unsettled, their faces carefully blank.
And Naobi…
Naobi was smiling.
Touko turned back to the curse.
"Get up," she said.
The curse didn't move.
"Get up," she repeated, "or I'll start again."
Slowly, trembling, the curse pushed itself to its feet. Its golden eyes were empty now—the fight, the pride gone, everything is gone.
Touko sheathed her katana.
"Take it back to its cage," she said to the attendants. No one moved. "NOW."
The attendants scrambled.
The curse shuffled toward its cage, its head bowed. Not once did it ever look back towards her.
The crowd was silent.
She did not bow. She did not wave.
She simply walked off the stage.
.
.
.
The truth couldn't be denied.
He was scared.
The sight of someone so eerily similar to Maki—a woman with no cursed energy, moving with almost unparalleled athleticism—had sent shivers down his spine. For those first few minutes, pressed against the wall, he had been helplessly frozen. But that's only the beginning, he told himself, watching from the edge of the crowd as the exorcism dragged on.
As time passed, he finally regained full control of himself.
When his breathing steadied, his hands stopped trembling and sweats stop pouring out of his back.
That's right, he thought, forcing his gaze to remain on the arena. This is the inverse of Toji, not Maki. She doesn't have any grudge against me. There's no reason to worry.
And moreover… she's not Toji.
Those fluid movements and precise and efficient strikes she delivered against the curses was proof of her razor-sharp instinct.
He could admit her strength dwarfed his by a large magnitude.
But that's only now.
As he grew up and mastered the Ten Shadows—as he regained his domain—he would surpass her. And it should be easier this time around, too.
After all, he thought, his lip curling slightly, she's a woman.
The old feeling of confidence wrapped around him like a large coat and he embraced that feeling. It was warm and comfortable.
No, the reason I lost to Maki in the first place was because I didn't know she wouldn't be registered in the domain's sure-hit effect! His jaw tightened. If I had known, I would never have relied on it. I would have targeted her manually. And I’d win!
So her victory against me was just a fluke!
Well, at least now I know what to do against those two impostors in the future.
They'll pose no problem soon enough.
Then, the curse stopped fighting.
Naoya blinked.
This is… actually something I don't remember happening.
In his first life, Toji hadn't participated in this farce of a ritual. He had hidden somewhere in the compound, and… Natsuko's male counterpart—he didn't know his name—had been executed.
And so it begins, Naoya thought, a slow thrill running down his spine. History has begun to change. Even if it's something as minor as this.
He glanced toward the Kamo delegation.
The Kamo elders were whispering among themselves, their faces pale beneath the lantern light. Their heir—a young woman in formal robes—looked a little green as she casually spoke to Raika, who had already exchanged her ritual clothes for something more befitting the clan heir: a dark kimono with the Zenin crest, her sword at her hip.
The one who exorcised the grade two curse, Naoya recalled. That was Raika.
He watched his oldest sister speak to the Kamo heir, her expression flat and unreadable as always. The Kamo heir laughed at something—nervous, too high-pitched—and Raika nodded once.
They must be confused, Naoya thought. Wondering why they didn't kill the last curse. Watching that impostor play with it for so long.
That’s when Naobi confidently strutted into the arena, remarkably looking more sober than usual. The sea of bodies parted away as she walked to the center, where the cursed ichor still stained the packed earth, and raised her arms.
Cursed energy pulsed out of her body with no threat. A sign of a command.
"My loyal clan members! Honored guests from the Kamo family!" Her voice carried across the field, warm and practiced. "You have witnessed the Grand Purification Ritual. You have seen our sorcerers display their strength, their technique, their dedication to the protection of our clan and our society."
She paused, her gaze sweeping across the crowd.
"But you may be wondering—why did the final exorcism end not in death, but in… submission?"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Naobi smiled.
"This is the process of taming curses. A technique refined over generations by the Zenin clan. Why destroy a curse when it can be bent? Why waste valuable resources when we can instead break its will and turn it into a tool for future rituals?"
She spread her arms wide.
"The curse you saw today will not be killed. It will be returned to its cage, starved, weakened, and brought out again next year—where it will once again face other chosen fighters. And each year, it will break further. Each year, it will serve as a reminder."
As if she was telling a secret, her voice dropped.
"A reminder that the Zenin clan does not simply destroy its enemies. We dominate them."
The crowd erupted.
Applause. Cheers. Shouts of approval. The Kamo elders exchanged glances—uncertain, but nodding along. The heir's pale face had regained some color.
Applause for Naobi, Naoya thought as he watched that wretched old woman basking in the adulation. Instead of the one who actually made it submits, huh?
Somehow, the scene of people not recognizing true strength being repeated right before his very eyes brought a slew of complicated feelings. But he shoved them away.
The sin of the insignificant is ignorance of strength.
Does that mean…I acknowledge her? A woman?