The Matron sat atop the single, intact silk cushion left amidst the carnage.
“I thank you for exterminating the spider,” she said as the crew slowly gathered around her.
“Jorōgumo make for dreadfully bothersome neighbors.
They constantly ruin the roof tiles and actively drive away the clientele.”
Her gaze settled on Yerga.
The Matron took a slow drag from her pipe and exhaled the smoke, critically appraising the nearly naked, severely bruised, and mud-caked enchantress.
“A highly daring ensemble,” she evaluated dryly.”But in this climate, it invites severe pneumonia.
My servants will prepare a yukata for you.” Seeing Yerga’s questioning glare, she elaborated:
“It is a light, loose-fitting cotton robe secured at the waist with a sash.
Ideal for resting when your own garments have…
evaporated.
On the house, naturally.”
Yerga scoffed, yanking a tattered shred of silk up over her exposed shoulder, before glancing around the ruined hall with sudden, sharp unease.
“Where is Bregg?” she demanded sharply, unable to spot her colossal summon.
The Matron offered a slight shrug.
“He went woosh and vanished, melting seamlessly back into the shadows the exact second you stepped outside.
I gather he did not find the ambiance to his liking.”
The enchantress nodded slowly, mollified.
That was entirely natural.
The Matron casually tapped the ash from her pipe against a shattered roof tile.
“The rest of you should likewise vanish…
directly into a bed,” she decreed, pointing the stem of her pipe down a dark corridor.”You are exhausted, and you have successfully salvaged my establishment.
The guest rooms on the upper floor are completely ruined, but the rear wing miraculously survived.
Go and rest.”
“Chotto matte!
(Hold on a moment!)” Duria interjected brightly before anyone could even take a single step.
The vampire, despite being smeared with black gore, looked entirely, terrifyingly invigorated, her crimson eyes blazing in the gloom.
“Bed?
How dreadfully boring.
Beds are for corpses.
For a night exactly like this one, there is only one acceptable cure.
An Onsen.” Seeing their blank, questioning stares, she smiled broadly, proudly displaying her fangs.”Hot springs.
Boiling water, thick clouds of steam, restorative minerals, aaand…
sake!
It is absolutely golden after a brutal skirmish.
It burns the deep fatigue right out of your bones vastly better than sleep, and actively scrubs away this hideous stench.
Who’s with me?”
Zedora aggressively sniffed her own bicep, where the foul remnants of acid and spider gore were still actively smoking.
She scrunched her nose in disgust.
“I reek like a slaughterhouse,” she growled, slinging her twin axes onto her back.”And my skin is burning.
If this water is half as soothing as you claim, then count me in.”
“The body is a sacred temple, and my temple is in desperate need of a thorough scrubbing,” Perval chimed in eagerly, stretching his arms until his muscled joints popped audibly.
He bared his teeth in a blinding grin.
“Besides, performing one’s ablutions in agreeable company is merely another valid form of meditation.
Lead the way, pale lady.”
The rest of the crew did not share their enthusiasm.
Figlin reached for his golden skull and took a desperate swig of rum, actively trying to drown his relentless, land-based vertigo in high-proof alcohol.
“Water?” he scoffed, visibly cringing at the very word exactly as if he had just been offered hemlock.
“I vomit further than I can see when I’m on the water, and when I’m on land, the entire bloody world spins like I’m dancing a jig.
And you want me to willingly climb into a pool to combine the two?
Not a chance in hell!
I’m going to find a solid mattress.
I need to lie completely flat on my back and hold onto the edges of the bed just to keep from being thrown off this cursed, swaying floor.”
Yerga lacked the physical strength to even voice a protest.
She could barely stand on her own two feet, leaning against the shattered wooden doorframe.
To her, a trek to the bathhouse sounded exactly like attempting to summit a mountain peak.
She dreamed only of losing consciousness in something ridiculously soft.
Neira offered an enigmatic smile, gently stroking one of her violet braids.
“I shall remain here as well,” she said quietly, that specific, predatory light flaring brightly in her abyssal eyes.
“I must still…
offer my prayers to my Goddess.
The night is long, and I have a great many profound thanksgivings to convey.”
Lengos remained Lengos.
He simply took up a rigid post by the entrance to the corridor, his face carved of unyielding stone, crossing his armored arms across his broad chest.
His stoic posture clearly communicated one thing: someone had to stand the watch so the rest of them could sleep or play.
The Matron nodded slowly, perfectly accepting this chaotic division of forces.
“As you wish.
The public baths are located two streets over; they are likely still open for those actively washing away the blood.” She paused, exhaling a thick plume of smoke, and her dark eyes narrowed.”Just ensure you keep eyes in the back of your heads while navigating the alleys.
I strongly sense that similar ‘incidents’ occurred throughout the entire settlement tonight.
Someone has evidently begun to stir the pot on a significantly grander scale.”
She knocked the remaining ash from her pipe, her tone instantly reverting to its usual, frigid pragmatism:
“The Festival of Silent Ancestors officially begins in a few days.
That is more than enough time.
Tonight is for your leisure; tomorrow is for recuperation.
The day after, we shall sit down like civilized people and determine our next move.”
When the sliding doors of the rear wing finally clicked shut behind those who had wisely chosen sleep, and the trio of bathing enthusiasts stepped out into the dark, freezing street, a silence descended over the ruined ryotei.
However, the city outside was still panting.
This had not been an isolated incident.
It was not merely the bad luck of a single inn.
Had anyone possessed a bird’s-eye view of the settlement, they would have seen that on this night, the pristine snow in every single corner of Gray Water had been stained with scarlet and black.
From the reeking, frozen docks, through the affluent merchant district, all the way up to the wooden gates of the temple on the hill.
Everywhere, fresh paper lanterns were being frantically hung to replace the shredded old ones.
Everywhere, blood was being methodically scrubbed from the cobblestones.
The shadows had struck everywhere.
And while they had been successfully repelled at the Frost on Silk, the night was still dreadfully long, and the dark continued to lurk patiently in the alleys, eagerly awaiting its next opportunity.
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