The moment Kōbe Hikaru charged into the yōkai horde, he regretted it.
He didn’t regret stepping in; he regretted not counting their numbers first.
Three or four hundred?
Damn it, there had to be at least five hundred of them!
A sea of grayish-green figures instantly swallowed him.
The cacophony of shrieks, roars, and hisses nearly shattered his eardrums.
The foul stench of demonic aura washed over him, so thick it was almost tangible, making even an undead Ghost Samurai like him feel nauseous.
A Bird-Head Monster lunged first, its sharp claws aiming straight for his face with astonishing speed.
Hikaru dodged sideways, letting Muramasa slice horizontally in a fluid motion.
The blade swept through the Bird-Head Monster’s neck without the slightest resistance.
With a sickening squelch, the bird head flew off, spinning in midair as blood sprayed in a crimson arc.
The headless body stumbled forward two more steps before crashing heavily to the ground.
There was no time to check the system panel.
Three Snake-Body Demons surged from the left.
Their lower halves were a tangled mess of serpentine tails, while their upper halves were scale-covered humanoid torsos.
They lunged at him with their bloody maws wide open.
On the right, two Green-Skin Demons brought down their bone clubs, which were still stained with the flesh and blood of unknown victims.
Pushing off the ground with one foot, Hikaru leaped high into the air, evading the coiling snake bodies.
His blade carved a deadly arc through the air.
Diagonal Slash.
The heads of the two Green-Skin Demons hit the ground simultaneously, landing in the grass with a dull thud.
Before he even landed, another demonic aura closed in from behind.
Hikaru twisted his body in midair.
It was a maneuver nearly impossible for a living human, but a Ghost Samurai’s body was not bound by common sense.
Contorting his waist and abdomen, he thrust the tip of his sword backward.
A Centipede Spirit attempting a sneak attack was pierced right through the throat.
Its multi-legged body thrashed and convulsed against the blade, emitting ear-piercing shrieks.
Hikaru flicked his sword, sending the Centipede Spirit flying and knocking down several other small fry that were blindly following the charge.
‘Four.’
He counted silently, using the tip of his foot to push off a yōkai corpse and launch himself toward the old man once more.
Muramasa’s hamon had begun to turn from red to a deep purple, dyed by the smeared blood.
It was excited.
Extremely excited.
With every kill, the blade devoured fresh blood, and with every drop swallowed, its sharpness increased just a fraction.
The sensation was akin to feeding a starving beast; with every bite, it grew even more ferocious.
Hikaru, however, did not drag out the fight.
His goal was clear: rescue the old man first, and worry about the rest later.
“Get out of the way!”
He cleaved through three lesser yōkai blocking his path.
With a flash of the blade, three severed arms flew into the sky amidst a chorus of agonized wails.
Finally, he reached the old man’s side.
Up close, the old man’s condition was even worse than he had imagined.
He was an elder in his seventies, dressed in a grayish-white robe.
His hair was white, and his wrinkled face was covered in grime and blood.
His left arm was completely ruined, severed by some sharp weapon.
Only a short stump remained below the shoulder, hastily bandaged with cloth strips.
Blood had already soaked through the fabric, dripping relentlessly.
His right hand formed a Ritual Seal commonly used by human monks, while his left side—using the remaining third of his arm—clutched a cloth bundle tightly against his chest.
The old man clearly hadn’t expected reinforcements.
Let alone that the reinforcement would be a Ghost Samurai.
His cloudy eyes were filled with vigilance as his remaining spiritual power instantly surged to the surface of his body, forming a faint membrane of light.
Though the light membrane was weak, it still posed a threat to Hikaru, causing a slight burning sensation on his skin.
This was a Barrier, a defensive technique commonly deployed by human monks using spiritual power.
Hikaru had seen it from afar earlier.
“Calm down, old man!”
Hikaru shouted while parrying the yōkai lunging from all sides.
“I’m here to save you!”
“You are a yōkai!”
The old man’s voice was hoarse, laced with heavy caution and distrust.
“Why would a yōkai save a human?”
“I know I’m a yōkai!”
Hikaru slashed down a Scorpion Spirit that had leaped too close.
The creature was the size of a human head, and the venomous stinger on its tail nearly pierced his eye.
Without looking back, he said,
“But I’m a yōkai with principles, and I used to be human!
Believe it or not, it’s up to you.
If you don’t trust me, I’ll just leave!”
He was here to scavenge some loot and save a life in passing.
If he couldn’t save the man, he couldn’t be blamed.
Hikaru had a slight moral bottom line, but he was just an ordinary person, not a saint.
He would only do what was within his capabilities and would never throw his own life away for it.
“…”
The old man fell silent for a moment.
He looked at the gathering yōkai horde around them, their grayish-green figures nearly blotting out the sky.
Then he looked at his own nearly depleted spiritual power.
Finally, he glanced down at the cloth bundle in his arms.
Then he let out a heavy sigh.
“So be it.”
He retracted the membrane of light.
“This old man has no other choice!”
“That’s more like it.”
Hikaru grabbed the old man’s arm, channeling demonic power into his feet.
“Hold on tight.
It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
The next moment, he charged out of the yōkai encirclement, dragging the old man along.
The instantaneous burst of speed from [Ghost Step] was pushed to its absolute limit.
The two figures phased through the dense swarm of yōkai like phantoms, moving so fast they were nearly invisible to the naked eye.
They left behind only severed limbs, broken bodies, and deafening screams.
Hikaru ignored the wounded yōkai writhing on the ground; he just kept sprinting forward.
Utilizing the short-range teleportation of [Ghost Step], he constantly changed directions through the woods, shaking off their pursuers.
Whenever he encountered a stray lesser yōkai, he dispatched it effortlessly—one strike, one kill, clean and efficient.
When he ran into large groups, he detoured around them.
There was no need to clash head-on.
While the sheer density of the yōkai was certainly terrifying, they were, after all, just monsters.
They didn’t know how to form tactical formations like humans, leaving plenty of gaps for Hikaru to exploit freely.
The old man seemed to have passed out, hanging limply against Hikaru’s back.
Only his remaining stump still clung tightly to the cloth bundle, as if the item were more important than his own life—which only deepened Hikaru’s curiosity about the treasure.
Half an hour later.
Inside a hidden mountain cave.
Hikaru laid the old man on the ground and leaned against the cave wall, panting.
Although a Ghost Samurai didn’t need to breathe, the intense battle and high-output demonic power had drained a massive amount of his stamina.
He felt his body growing somewhat stiff, a sign of insufficient demonic power.
This was a rare occurrence for him.
“Cough…
cough, cough…”
The old man woke up.
He coughed violently, each spasm bringing up copious amounts of blood.
Hikaru watched him without speaking.
He could tell the old man wouldn’t last much longer.
Severe injuries, massive blood loss, depleted spiritual power, and advanced age.
With these four fatal factors combined, even a god couldn’t save him now.
It seemed his rescue effort had been in vain.
Then again, not entirely.
At the very least, the weapon Affinity he had gained was real.
“Why…
did you…
save me?”
The old man’s voice was so weak it sounded like it came from another world.
“I saw an injustice and drew my sword to help.
Is that reason enough?”
Hikaru replied.
The old man glanced at him, his cloudy eyes lifting slightly as an emotion flickered within them.
It seemed to be surprise.
Or perhaps relief.
More than anything, it was a helpless, desperate resolve.
“I am…
the Elder Village Chief of the Demon Slayer Clan…
in the mountains ten miles from here…”
He spoke with great difficulty, every word seemingly draining the last of his strength.
“Those yōkai were hunting me…
for…
this…”
Trembling, he used his remaining arm to offer the cloth bundle to Hikaru.
“This item…
must absolutely not…
fall into the hands of yōkai…”
Hearing this, Hikaru paused, slightly taken aback by the old man’s deathbed-confession demeanor, but he understood after a moment’s thought.
Although he was a yōkai, he was at least one capable of rational communication.
The old man truly had no other choice.
Hikaru took the bundle.
It was very light, only the size of a fist, wrapped in coarse linen.
He opened it to reveal a single jewel inside.
It was the size of a thumb, pale purple, perfectly round and translucent, emitting a soft glow.
The light was peculiar—neither blinding like spiritual power nor chilling like demonic aura, but carrying an indescribable, mysterious presence.
It looked a bit…
Familiar?
As Hikaru stared at the jewel, the system panel automatically popped up.
Hikaru stared at the text on the panel.
Then he looked back at the jewel in his hand.
Then back at the panel.
“…”
His expression froze.
“Wait.”
His voice trembled slightly, laced with disbelief.
“What the hell is this thing?!”
The old man didn’t seem to hear him clearly, nor did he answer Hikaru’s question.
He simply continued to struggle through his dying wishes.
“Please take this…
to a village…
a few mountains away…”
“Give it to…
a shrine maiden named Kikyō…”
“She is…
the only one who can suppress the Jewel of Four Souls…”
“I beg…
of you…”
Hikaru was no longer listening.
Only one thought echoed endlessly in his mind.
The Jewel of Four Souls.
The Jewel of Four Souls from *InuYasha*.
The Jewel of Four Souls that could grant any wish.
The Jewel of Four Souls that could exponentially multiply a yōkai’s power.
The Jewel of Four Souls that drove every faction in the entire series into absolute madness.
The old man’s voice grew fainter, his breath hanging by a thread.
“My…
grandchild…
is still waiting in the village…”
“Tell them…
their grandfather…”
“Is very sorry…”
The voice abruptly stopped.
The old man’s head slumped forward.
He was no longer breathing.
The cave fell silent.
Only Hikaru remained, staring down at the Jewel of Four Souls in his hand.
The pale purple light pulsed in his palm, soft and mysterious.
“The world of *InuYasha*, huh…”
he muttered.
Fate really is too damn wonderful for words!