The night wind carried the stench of blood and charred flesh, spreading from the village at the foot of the mountain into the woods.
Five figures shoved and jostled their way along the forest path.
They stood less than three feet tall, with filthy blue-gray skin and sparse hair sprouting around the tumors bulging from their scalps.
They were a common type of lesser yokai in this era, known as blue-skinned oni, and they often lived under greater demons, surviving by raiding human villages.
The one at the front had a severed arm tucked in its embrace.
Bits of flesh still clung to the corners of its mouth, and its expression was one of deep satisfaction.
“The road ahead is blocked.”
The leading blue-skinned oni stopped, a low growl rumbling from its throat like a beast guarding its food.
On the path they had to take back to their nest, someone was standing there.
He wore a battered set of crimson armor.
The plates had been crudely re-laced with rough hemp rope, and his helmet was long gone, revealing a head of loose, pale-white hair and the red oni mask beneath it.
He did not breathe.
His chest did not rise or fall, and a gray, deathly-cold mist coiled around him.
An oni samurai.
In this age, where humans and yokai lived side by side, they were a peculiar kind of undead.
In life, they had been human warriors of exceptional skill.
In death, because of lingering obsession or too much bloodshed, they failed to enter the cycle of reincarnation.
Their souls forcibly absorbed the demonic energy of heaven and earth, rebuilding their bodies into new vessels.
They retained the battle techniques of humans while gaining the physical strength of yokai.
Usually, oni samurai were silent killing machines.
This one, however, seemed to have something wrong with his head.
The oni samurai blocking the road had his head lowered.
His left thumb rubbed the guard of the black tachi at his waist, and he was muttering nonstop.
“I know you’re picky.
The blood of that boar yokai last time was too greasy, and it made you sick.
But didn’t I give you a full rust-removal and maintenance session afterward?”
The blue-skinned oni looked at one another.
The oni samurai was not even looking at them.
He continued speaking to the blade in his hand.
“These ones tonight are only small fry, sure, but at least they’re fresh.
Besides, blue-skinned oni meat may be sour and astringent, but the resentment in their marrow is quite rich.
You should like that crisp texture.”
“You want a higher-grade offering?
Something like the famous Shuten Doji?”
The oni samurai sighed and tapped the hilt lightly twice.
“We need to take things step by step.
With your current sharpness, you still can’t cut through the hide of a great yokai.
Once you finish this meal and your affection—no, our compatibility improves, we can challenge stronger prey.
Be good.
Don’t sulk.”
The leading blue-skinned oni felt deeply insulted.
As creatures at the very bottom of the Hyakki Yagyo bestiary, they were indeed often treated as cannon fodder by great yokai.
But that did not mean some madman who talked to his sword could casually evaluate them like ingredients.
“Kill him!”
The leading oni shrieked, throwing aside the severed arm in its embrace.
It pulled a leg-bone club stained with black blood from behind its waist, its hind-leg muscles tensing before it shot forward.
The other four blue-skinned oni followed close behind, spreading out to both sides.
This was their usual formation for hunting lone samurai.
Kobe Hikaru ended his one-sided conversation with his weapon.
“Looks like I don’t need to give a motivational speech.
Dinner just served itself.”
He raised his head.
There was no expression on his pale face.
Only his eyes, with black sclera and crimson pupils, locked onto the foul wind rushing toward him.
His perspective shifted in an instant.
Hikaru looked at the translucent panel only he could see.
[Demon Blade Muramasa (Fake): Hungry.
Current mood: Irritated.]
“What a troublesome young lady.”
Hikaru murmured and lowered his center of gravity.
Facing the leg-bone club smashing down from midair, he did not retreat.
The body of an oni samurai did not need to breathe, so naturally, there was no need to “adjust his flow of energy.”
His left thumb abruptly pushed the sword guard out by an inch.
Clang—!
A clear, ringing cry exploded like a dragon’s roar.
Sword Draw: Headwind.
Black blade-light drew an uncanny upward arc beneath the moon.
The leading blue-skinned oni was still in midair when its vision went dark.
The sturdy leg-bone club in its hand, along with the tough hide it was so proud of, proved as fragile as paper before that single black line.
The blade cut into muscle and slid through the gaps in its bones without the slightest resistance.
Two halves of a ruined body fell to the ground amid a rain of blood.
Hikaru turned his wrist.
The blade did not return to its sheath.
Instead, it followed the motion and swept sideways.
“That’s the first.
How’s the taste?”
He asked.
The tachi named Muramasa trembled in his hand.
A faint, eerie purple glow rose along the previously dull temper line, and the blue oni blood staining the edge instantly seeped into the steel before vanishing.
[Demon Blade Muramasa: Mood changed to “slightly comforted.” Sharpness increased by 5%.]
The remaining four blue-skinned oni saw their leader die on the spot, and their charge faltered.
But fear quickly stirred their ferocity.
The two on the left opened their mouths and spat out two masses of green acid.
The two on the right dropped low and rushed across the ground, trying to attack Hikaru’s legs.
That was [Corrosive Venom Spittle], the blue-skinned oni’s only ranged method.
It could easily melt ordinary iron armor.
Hikaru advanced instead of retreating.
His straw sandals stomped against the ground.
Dirt exploded beneath him, and his entire body turned into an afterimage as he cut into the left side.
[Ghost Step].
It was a technique he had figured out himself.
By bursting his demonic energy in an instant, he could achieve a near-teleporting dash across a short distance.
The two globs of acid landed on empty ground, hissing violently.
Hikaru had already closed in on the two acid-spitting blue-skinned oni.
The Muramasa in his hand did not use any flashy sword technique.
Instead, he delivered the simplest kind of diagonal cut: a kesagiri.
The blade fell.
The head of the left blue-skinned oni flew into the air.
Immediately after, Hikaru used the momentum of the strike to spin like a top.
The blade drew a circle behind him, precisely knocking away a claw that had come from his blind spot.
Clang!
Metal rang against metal.
The ambushing oni’s claw shattered from the impact.
It screamed and tried to retreat, only to find that the black tachi clung to it like a curse.
Hikaru held the sword in one hand, its tip trembling slightly as he unleashed the self-taught sword technique he had grasped in battle.
A thrust.
Pfft.
The blade pierced through the blue-skinned oni’s throat and pinned it to an old locust tree behind it.
“It’s still warm.
Eat while it’s fresh.”
Hikaru spoke to the blade, then yanked it free.
The corpse slid to the ground.
The last blue-skinned oni finally broke.
It dropped its weapon, turned, and plunged into the bushes, fleeing up the mountain on all fours.
“Don’t let it get away.
That’s dessert.”
Hikaru formed a hand seal with his left hand, and a cluster of ghostly blue flame gathered at his pale fingertips.
Yokai Art: Will-o’-Wisp Firefly.
Although it was only a basic technique used for lighting and tracking, empowered by an oni samurai’s demonic energy, the ghost flame shot forward like a maggot burrowing into bone.
In an instant, it latched onto the fleeing blue-skinned oni’s back.
The flame burst apart, and the blue-skinned oni screamed as it collapsed.
Hikaru walked over at an unhurried pace.
The oni flipped onto its back, trembling as it stared at the approaching oni samurai.
Pitiful whimpers of surrender leaked from its mouth.
Hikaru raised his sword and inspected the blade under the moonlight.
“You’re saying you’re still not full?”
He looked at the yokai on the ground.
“Sorry.
My kid is still growing.”
His hand rose.
The blade fell.
The head rolled into the grass.
The woods returned to dead silence.
Only the reek of blood grew thicker.
Hikaru shook off the last trace of blood remaining on the blade.
In truth, there was not much left.
Most of it had already been devoured by the sword.
He opened the system panel.
[Demon Blade Muramasa (Mass-Produced Model) has absorbed the blood essence of five blue-skinned oni.]
[Sharpness: 52 → 53]
[Affection: +5]
[Current Affection: 15 (Friendly)]
[Bond Dialogue Unlocked (1): It thinks the blood of such low-grade creatures tastes mediocre, but the quantity makes up for it.
Next time, it hopes to try the blood of a human exorcist with spiritual power.]
Hikaru looked at the panel, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
“Exorcist blood is too hot to swallow.
It might chip your teeth.
Let’s stick to the buffet for now.”
He slowly sheathed the long blade.
Click.
The sound of the guard locking against the mouth of the sheath rang especially clear in the night.
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