Through a sea of dense fog, she pressed on. Wordless. Relentless. Step after step in silence.
The mist ahead never lifted. It hung heavy and white, as if painted over the world itself. An endless depth of haze, the kind that would leave even a strong man utterly lost.
How long had she walked like that? At last she halted, breath escaping in a weary sigh. Her shoulders sagged. She let her weight fall from her body. And then—suddenly—shapes began to take form beyond the fog. Outlines coalesced into the figure of a man, a familiar villager, stepping into view.
"Why, Princess, isn't it? What in the world has happened to you? You look exhausted... and, ah, what a terrible face you're making!"
It was Inasuke, the man who worked the western fields. A little gaunt, quick-eared and fond of gossip, he stared at the bedraggled sight of his village's princess, clearly baffled.
"I'm fine. It's nothing serious. More importantly... why are you here, Inasuke?"
"Spare me, Princess! That's my line, isn't it? What mischief have you gotten into now? Come on, come on—let's get you back to the village. You'll be better off resting at the building!"
Though exasperated, Inasuke had no choice but to lead the way, sighing at her antics. Yes... she remembered. She had been idling about, wandering on her own at the village outskirts.
"...Then take me there."
"Aye. Right this way, Princess!"Smiling faintly, she followed.
The forest was familiar. The fields, the path, all the same as before. Past the woods that offered wild greens and fruits, the terraces opened to reveal the rich, beautiful mountain village. Her home. The place where she had grown.
"Come, to the estate. Knowing the master, he's surely already had a bath drawn for you. Our Princess always comes home caked in mud whenever she runs off playing."
"Haha. That much is true."
She could hardly deny it. She had always been a tomboy, reckless and bold. The easygoing ways of her family, the free-spirited air of her village—they had shaped her into such a girl. She had tilled fields, dug sweet potatoes, caught insects, gone fishing. She had run and hidden in games until her robes were caked in dirt, until she fell and scraped herself. And yet, though her father and brothers scolded her harshly for injuries, never once did they chide her for being "unbefitting of a princess."
"...I really did trouble them so much."
It had been a good home, a good family. Though she was not bound to them by blood, they had poured love into her all the same. They had fed her well, let her lean on them, taught her right from wrong. They had disciplined her when needed, yet never pressed her into a mold, allowing her to grow freely. With nothing held back, they had given her the affection of true kin.
And so—
"...Eh?"
The blade burst through Inasuke's chest. His face froze in disbelief before he crumpled to the ground. She drew the sword free and walked on, a ghost in the fog—beautiful, and utterly merciless.
"Princess?"
"Ah, Princess, over here..."
"The maid was looking for you."
Thrust after thrust, slash after slash. She cut them down—every familiar face, one by one—methodically, without hesitation, without exception.
She slew men and women. Elders and children. Farmers, craftsmen, merchants, maids.
"Princess-san? What is this... what's happening!?"
The hired guards rushed in, only to have their heads cleaved from their shoulders. She stepped over the headless bodies without pause.
"By the gods... Princess, have you gone mad!?"
The veteran who had once trained her met her blade, and in an instant it pierced his skull.
"..."
She crushed her teacher's face beyond recognition, then stooped over the corpse to stab it again and again, ensuring death before she finally moved on.
At the mansion she tore open the gate, strode through the familiar entrance hall with her shoes still on, and cut down the waiting maids. The servants were butchered where they stood.
"Princess! You've finally come home! We've searched everywhere for you! And that... that red upon your clothes—"
It was a maid, a delicate girl, her friend. Recognizing her, the princess offered no reply—only a blade across the throat.
"Ka—ghh!?"
Blood bubbled from her lips. She collapsed, tears in her eyes as she looked up at the princess, desperate to speak. But the sword fell again, cutting off words before they could be born.
"Hey! What the hell's going on!? Why... why are you—"
The reek of beast clung to the air. She turned to see another friend behind her, face twisted in accusation. In an instant she closed the distance with a surge of strength, blade swinging.
Steel rang as he blocked.
"Wait, just—listen—!"
She did not. The blade reversed in a swallow's return, and his head rolled free. She followed it with her gaze as it bounced across the floor.
The hall fell into silence. A small sigh escaped her, trembling at the edges of her composure. Then she walked on, deeper into the mansion.
Through hall after hall, cutting down every figure that barred her way. She did not even recognize faces anymore; they were all swept aside as though in routine.
At last she arrived.
There he was. Her beloved father. The man who had raised her.
"Oh? What's this, then? What's with that face? And all that filth... hahahaha, did you go out playing again? Truly, you are such a hopeless daughter of mine."
With a warm laugh, he came to her side, gripping her shoulders with gentle exasperation. He was not her blood, yet he had never treated her with the slightest distance.
And she smiled back. Darkly. Mockingly.
"Stop it. Don't pretend. A monster like you could never play at being my father."
Her words came like a birdsong—and then the wind roared. Blood sprayed. Both arms of Hotoya Yoshinori, her father, were severed and sent whirling into the air. But the blood that followed was far too much, far too unnatural for any human.
"...Well. Even a clam bleeds red, it seems."
She looked down coldly, disgust twisting her lips.
The scenery warped. Her father's form melted away. The grand mansion dissolved like mist. And the truth revealed itself.
It's a colossal clam. Larger than any ox-cart, its shell half-open. Severed tentacles writhed, spewing foul fluids. Along the edge of its shell, grotesque eyes rolled and bulged, shrieking in voices like tearing metal.
The shinkirō [T/N: a youkai clam that deceives with illusions of mist]—a monster that ensnared with hallucination—was thrashing in panic. Of course it was. Its power lay in illusions woven from its own toxic fluids, mist that dulled minds, corrupted thought, and even plucked at memories to strengthen the dreamscape. It had been a trap of the highest order.
But—
"Too bad for you. I'd decided from the start—I was going to cut down everything I saw."
Through medicine and mental training she had steeled herself. She had known from the beginning there would be no living humans here. No matter what faces appeared, no matter who was shown before her, it was all a lie. And so she cut.
The clam shrieked, dragging itself backward on its ruined tentacles. She advanced in silence—then suddenly spun, bracing herself.
"—gh!?"
The impact hurled her back despite her readied blade. She twisted midair, landed in a roll, and looked up to face the intruder.
No—an intruding beast.
"Hi—hihihiii!"
"Another one!?"
A mocking cry. A hairy beast loomed there, baring fangs in a grotesque grin, the look of a predator savoring its prey.
A monkey. No—an enormous ape, towering and wreathed in divine energy. A calamity-class youkai, far surpassing even her.
"How very presumptuous."
A monkey god. A false god. The divinity upon it was not innate, not true, but grafted—artificial, like perfume upon a beast. She saw through it instantly.
"In the end, you're just another pest to be exterminated."
She leveled her sword coldly. Gods were meant to be enshrined, to grant blessings as humans wished—never to live freely, never to act with malice. Those that did were no gods at all, but vermin to be culled.
A god existed only for the sake of humankind.
"Hi-hi-hi!"
The ape only laughed, mocking her judgment. Its arms—abnormally long, the length of two or three grown men—swung down in a storm of blows. Each fist, a mass of muscle, crashed through the cave like a living battering ram.
"—ghh!?"
She followed Madam's teachings, letting the blade turn the storm aside, trusting steel to guide her. Shock ran through her arms, her body twisting with the force, but not a scratch marked her.
"...Hard as stone, are you!?"
Then came her counterattack.
She struck the moment the ape's swing grew wide, aiming to sever its arm—only for her blade to glance off with a harsh metallic ring. The creature's fur was as sharp and unyielding as wire. And yet...
"Then the fault is with my arm, not the sword!?"
Tamaki's bitter cry echoed as she slipped back into defense. The ape's shed hairs fell to the ground, fractured from her blade's impact. No cracks marred the steel—her sword was sound. Which meant the weakness lay in her strength, or perhaps in the angle, or the speed of her cuts...
"I won't let you escape!!"
She sensed it—the clam's presence pulling away in retreat. Timing her movements, she lured the ape's claw into raking the cavern wall. It tore into stone with a shriek, lodging there and slowing. Seizing the moment, Tamaki darted like a cat and hurled a tanto at the fleeing clam.
A scream split the air.
The throwing blade—steeped three days and nights in purifying salt—spun true and wedged deep into the clam's flesh. It shrieked as the shell tried to clamp shut, only to drive the weapon deeper into its own body. The tanto became a brace, forcing the shell apart, and each attempt to close only carved further agony.
"I told you—you're not getting away!!"
Reinforcing her body, Tamaki sprinted, heedless of the ape pounding after her.
Tentacles lashed out in fury, the clam's many eyes weeping as it struck blindly. But its blurred rage could never catch her. She slipped through the storm, slicing only what tendrils barred her path, drawing ever closer.
Then, before her, a siphon jutted forth. Where a normal clam might spit sand, this monster spewed its mist. But that was not all it could unleash.
Her instincts screamed. She dove flat—reflex honed from endless training—and a line of death ripped past.
A jet of liquid, under crushing pressure. Acid strong enough to melt iron. The clam had refined its steaming mist into a weapon of dissolution.
Had it struck her directly, nothing below her knees would have remained.
Instead, the jet engulfed the ape that had lunged close behind.
"—ghhh!!"
The monster reeled, half its fur burned away in an instant. Flesh sloughed from bone; its ruined face sagged in silence.
The clam shrieked anew—only to be silenced itself as the ape, bellowing in rage, brought both fists down upon it. The cavern shook. The shell cracked, fluids burst forth, and still the ape struck again and again, heedless of the gore.
Tamaki rolled aside just in time to avoid a savage kick that smashed into where she had been. The blow caught the clam instead, flinging it up into the ceiling before crashing it back to earth in a shower of shell and meat.
And still the ape pounded it. Roaring. Kicking. Stomping. No ally would be treated so.
"Youkai... so that's what you truly are."
They had been paired only for convenience, once bound together beneath a divine power long since lost. Now, with opportunity, one turned upon the other without hesitation. To consume, to rise higher—such was their nature.
(What a vile beast.)
Disgust churned in Tamaki as she slipped back, steps soundless, hoping to retreat unseen while the ape vented its frenzy.
But then—its head twisted unnaturally.
"Don't... run."
The ape’s lips shaped words: a human tongue dragged from a beast’s throat, halting and broken. More mimicry than speech, yet the kotodama within it carried weight. Tamaki’s body froze, bound in a crude paralysis.
It was one of its gifts: to steal fragments of others' powers and use them, clumsy though the imitation might be. It had learned a handful well enough to wield—and kotodama binding was one.
Even as its neck remained twisted toward her, the ape's body finished crushing the clam into paste. Then it turned fully, looming toward her frozen form.
"Hii... hii."
With a hiccuping chirr, it came close, peering into her eyes as though examining prey. Its hand shot out, tearing away her garb.
"—gh!!"
Even the iron plates of her light breastplate were torn away with ease, discarded like scraps. The white cloth bindings beneath were exposed, her skin shivering not from cold but from revulsion.
"Woman! Woman! Female, female!! Sow!! Female!!"
The beast howled with glee, laughter twisted and hollow. Its words were broken, almost meaningless, yet its intent was foully clear. Its stench filled the cavern, and Tamaki's face twisted at the rancid odor.
"Submit."
The laughter stopped. The word came flat, deliberate. A vast black eye fixed on hers, so close she could see her own reflection. A command spoken like the decree of a false god.
"Bear me children. Miko. My shrine maiden. Serve me. Devote yourself to me."
The ape's intent was unmistakable. It sought divinity through possession. Tamaki could not move—the paralysis still held, and her body writhed with the onset of another force, a youkai's charm that sought to warp her very perception.
Her breath hitched. Muscles quivered. For an instant, her gaze turned vacant.
The ape grinned, tilting her chin in triumph. This was its blessing, its ascension. Soon she would be nothing but its vessel.
“…Your breath stinks.”
Whoosh. Steel flashed.
This time, her blade struck true—both the ape’s arms cleaved away in a single stroke. The acid that had scoured its fur had left it exposed at last.
Its scream split the cavern.
The monster convulsed, shrieking in agony. Mind, power, pride—everything was drowned beneath the raw torment of mutilation.
"Surprisingly fragile. How disappointing."
Tamaki had braced for a counter, but none came. The ape could do nothing but thrash.
"Look here."
She let her half-loosened trousers fall, baring her legs, her groin... and the false organ strapped there.
The ape stared. Dumbfounded.
"A... false phallus. Surprised?"
The sword slid through its throat before it could even process what it saw. Its head tilted in disbelief as the truth dawned too late.
Tamaki exhaled, shaking blood from her blade.
"What a useful little trick that turned out to be."
For this mission she had been granted Hangengō, a spirit sword of the Hotoya house. It bestowed upon its wielder traits of the opposite sex, balancing strength and agility, nullifying curses that preyed upon gender. Male and female both, and neither—sexless. Thus the ape's powers had no effect.
It had never stood a chance.
"Fuu..."
Looking down on the dying beast, Tamaki’s gaze was cold, merciless.
“…Ugh. Revolting.”
Even in death, the ape’s grotesque lust stood rigid, twitching in defiance. For a heartbeat she faltered, memories flickering, a scowl ghosting across her face. Then she sneered.
“Pathetic.”
With contempt, she stepped onto the collapsing body and drove her blade through its heart.
The false god convulsed once, then fell silent.
The monster's last roar echoed strangely—thunderous yet fading, a sound that seemed almost mournful. The towering head sagged slowly, withering like a flower robbed of life.
"..."
Tamaki stabbed the corpse two, three more times, ensuring the illusion held no further trap. She checked her body briskly for any hidden changes, then at last released a long, low breath.
"...So... I survived?"
Her gaze swept the cavern again, wary. Only once she was certain no threat remained did she allow her shoulders to ease. No—this was not yet over.
Dragging her weary body and heavier heart, she pressed on, deeper into the cave. The passage opened into a broad chamber, and she froze at the sight.
Corpses. No, it was countless corpses, discarded in heaps. From the skeletal frames, they had been women. Some still bore scraps of flesh, clinging to ragged cloth. The air reeked of rot, of beasts, of foul lust.
Small monkeys picked at the remains, gnawing the bones with wet crunches.
"Ki-ki!"
They noticed her, tossing aside gnawed bones and bounding forward, drool dripping, unguarded, unafraid. Too accustomed, too familiar with this grisly feast. She could already guess the fate of those brought here—"used goods," cast aside after that great ape's defilement.
"...Don't hold it against me."
She raised her blade. For a moment, guilt flickered. But then she remembered the countless victims whose remains fouled this den, and the doubt hardened into resolve.
Her sword fell without mercy, without hesitation.
* * *
She scattered purifying salt over the corpses—human and youkai alike. A stopgap, to keep scavengers from desecrating the flesh, to keep the dead from festering into vengeful spirits. Alone, it was all she could do.
"...Well struck, Hotoya-sama."
Tamaki emerged from the cavern to find masked figures waiting. Members of the Hidden Group, servants of the imperial court—or perhaps merely imitators, exorcist families who had copied the court's ways. Shinobi, she recalled they were called.
"The task is complete. See to the rest."
"As you command."
They slipped past her into the depths, silent as shadows. As Tamaki passed them by, she paused, calling back over her shoulder.
"Give the bones a proper burial. They deserve at least that much. Dying in such a place must have left them in deep regret."
"...As you wish."
The response came flat, unreadable. Tamaki said nothing more. She knew they too were trying to keep their hearts shuttered.
She climbed into the ox-cart waiting outside—a rare Mayoiga carriage, gifted for her mission by a noble patron. Unlike the grand constructions once crafted in the Northern region, this one was smaller, less finely expanded, but still far beyond an ordinary wagon in comfort.
Sword in hand, she slid open partition after partition, moving deeper into the interior. At last she stopped in a plain room with tatami flooring. Here she drew breath, steeling herself.
"...Fuu—ghhh!"
She sheathed her sword—and the recoil struck. The backlash surged through her, forcing her knees to buckle as the weapon slipped from her grasp.
"Haa... ahh—ahhh!!"
A gasp, almost voluptuous, spilled from her lips. Her legs rubbed together, her arms wrapped around herself, breath turning ragged as heat flooded her cheeks.
Hangengō's blessing always came with a price. To grant the opposite sex's traits was to overturn nature itself. The recoil pulled her back.
The strength of a man gave way to the softness of a woman. The fighting will ebbed into a yearning for protection. Male desire twisted into female hunger.
"Kuuhn..."
A whimper escaped, like that of a puppy. She pressed her belly, rubbing at the ache. Her body burned, craving, shamed by the knowledge of what she had narrowly escaped.
Then came the fear. The terror.
"...!!"
She hugged herself tighter, trembling—not from the heat now, but from the memories. The ape's gaze, the weight of its intent. What could have happened. What almost had. The piles of corpses said enough. She could so easily have been among them.
"—guhh!!"
Her stomach heaved, bile spilling onto the tatami. Whether from the backlash, or the remembered horror, she could not say. She cursed her weakness even as she vomited. Cursed herself for the shameful thought that she had been "lucky."
Pathetic. Cowardly. Unworthy.
"Haah... haah... uuhh..."
She sobbed, shoulders shaking, collapsing into tears. She had sworn to grow stronger, to protect everyone, to lose no one ever again. Yet here she was, alive only by fortune.
A broken whisper escaped her lips, even she unsure to whom it was meant. Fear of loneliness clawed at her. She longed for warmth, for an embrace, for someone to hold her tight enough to banish the cold.
But she was alone. By choice. She had refused to draw her two friends into danger, to burden them, to risk their hatred. She had chosen this path. Better loneliness than repeating mistakes that could not be undone.
"..."
Thus the girl, raised up as a private exorcist of the Hotoya house, taken into the service of the Minister of the Left himself, endured the return journey to the capital alone. Trembling in the cold of her solitude, she endured.
Endured. And endured again.
* * *
"...?"
"...What is it?"
Elsewhere, another girl halted mid-step, lost in thought, until her companion's gruff voice pulled her back. The country samurai's tone was rough, blunt, her kasa hat shading her eyes. The other, carrying their luggage beneath her ichimegasa, turned to catch up.
"I was thinking... about the Princess."
"Eh? Oh... well, she'll be all right, I reckon."
Iruka scratched her chin, reluctant. A month and a half had passed since the tragedy at Juuyaku, and ever since, their friend had buried herself in duty with a grim, consuming zeal. Even Iruka could see the toll. And if her fears were right—if she could not even speak of them aloud—then all the worse.
"...Honestly, it pains me to watch."
Suzune, too, understood. She herself had been crushed by loss. But still—
"..."
"...Don't carry that guilt. Joy is meant to be shared. Isn't that right? That's why Tamaki made me your guard, isn't it?"
"...Yes. I suppose you're right."
Suzune sighed. Their princess was a kind person. The distance she kept from them was not rejection—it was to spare them the weight she bore, to protect them from danger.
"Don't wear such a yin face. Enjoy what joy you can. That's the truest sincerity."
"...So simple. I envy you that."
With a resigned shrug, Suzune strode past her, her gaze back over her shoulder: Keep up, guard.
"Heh."
Iruka grinned, matching her pace, walking at her side. Yet beneath her kasa hat, her eyes were grave.
(If only I could simply celebrate with you...)
She knew too much. She knew the truth of the man at the heart of their woes. And so, though her words rang light, Iruka's thoughts grew heavy. She could not leave her side.
Tamaki would endure. She had strength, station, protection. She would not fall so easily.
But Suzune was different. She had neither strength nor standing. And she was already entangled.
"Spare me, gods..."
By the time the words left her lips, they had reached their destination: the gates of a grand mansion. A branch residence of the Hotoya family. A temporary lodging for exorcist clans visiting the capital.
"Fufufu... welcome, my dears♪"
"—!?"
"Kyaa!?"
Without a hint of presence, the intruder's voice came from behind. Suzune stiffened as soft arms suddenly wrapped around her, clutching her from the back. Instinct screamed at her to draw her weapon—yet she restrained herself. A mistake here, a blade drawn too hastily, would only dig their grave deeper.
(Hold it in. Don't show weakness. Don't miss a single movement...<)
"Fufufu♪"
Iruka's eyes narrowed, daring the interloper to try any hex or curse. She was ready to strike if she did. But the beautiful woman only laughed, mocking her, pressing closer against Suzune's slender frame as if to flaunt her hold. Her hands roved lightly, teasing, her smile one of triumph.
"How frightening. You stare so intently at your lady's helplessness... perhaps we should assign her a different guard?"
"P-please, stop... I beg you, no more games!"
Suzune's resistance was faint, but unmistakable. It was enough to make her refusal clear. The intruder only pouted theatrically, as if disappointed, before letting go. Her smile, however, brimmed with unabashed youkai seduction.
"Welcome, guests of Onitsuki. Now, do come in—time is more precious than gold."
Especially for you. With that cryptic lilt, Princess Miyataka Shinobu, mistress of the estate they were borrowing, glided ahead, beckoning Suzune and Iruka toward the grand manor.
"Ahem... forgive me."
Suzune adjusted her disheveled robes with practiced composure, forcing her expression calm. Rank separated them, but more than that, gratitude bound her—twice over. She could endure. She must endure.
They followed Shinobu across polished corridors and long connecting halls, further and further into the house. Suzune caught the princess glancing back with a teasing laugh, and she bit back her irritation. Iruka made no such effort; her scowl was plain for all to see. Shinobu only seemed amused, and at last stopped before a shōji screen.
"—!? At the very least, could you announce yourself before entering?"
"Oh? Something you don't wish me to see? Brother-and-sister self-indulgence, perhaps?"
"Absurd!"
The sharp plea, the careless jest, the exasperated reply—all mingled into the easy familiarity of long acquaintance.
Suzune felt a pang—jealousy, worry, unease. But when the figure inside stirred and rose, wounds hidden beneath bandages, all else seemed trivial.
"...Yukine? You came to see me?"
Even with half his face swathed, his voice was the same as in her distant memories. Her chest ached, torn between hope and fear, and she trembled.
"I brought things to tend to you. May I... come in?"
Her voice was timid, but his smile—even through the bandages—was warm.
"For me? There's no door I would ever keep closed."
He held out a hand. Suzune—no, Yukine—rushed to him like a child, though it was already their eighth meeting. Tears welled despite her efforts, washing away her light makeup, and he wiped them gently, tenderly.
"...Such a lovely sibling bond," Shinobu murmured, eyes gleaming. "But tell me—do you truly think it's pure love?"
"Who knows," Iruka muttered, tone flat.
Ah... if only she could rejoice openly. But Iruka carried knowledge her friend did not, truths she could not bring herself to speak. Not yet. Not now.
"Please... someone... do something..."
The words slipped from her lips, a plea whispered to no one in particular, vanishing into the silence.
* Monkey Youkai (nicknamed "Masaru-kun"): His appearance and crude speech parody a certain famous work. The name itself, by unfortunate coincidence, recalls a beloved national anime character. In truth he was once human—a failed product of divine modification experiments. Though he possessed the ability to mimic others' powers at up to sixty percent, his intelligence declined, leaving him to rely on only a few favorites. His enthrallment ability, forcing women into submission, worked mostly on unprepared or weaker exorcists; against barriers, curse-tools, or reinforced memory, it failed. During the Age of Great Chaos, he was paired with Yamanba-sama, creating a notorious "unwinnable boss" combination. After Yamanba was sealed, the cost of maintaining him outweighed his usefulness, and the Minister of the Left cast him aside.
* The Clam Youkai ("Shin"): A sibling to the clam from Chapter 1, bred in the same tank. In the original timeline, he would serve as an early mid-boss, a cultivated but promising specimen. His illusions rivaled calamity-class, laced with hallucinatory mist distilled from his own bodily fluids. Yet once Yamanba was sealed, he was forcibly paired with Masaru, an ill fit. At his disciple's request, the breeders discarded them both.
* Lore of the Shin (Clam Youkai): Their clam-like form is but a larval stage. Should they ascend to true divinity, the closed shell becomes cocoon or egg, hatching into a dragon-class being. As larvae, they are considered a delicacy; in fact, wild stocks were hunted to near-extinction overseas, leaving only farmed specimens in Fusō. Smuggled through the black market like precious exports, they are prized. Recommended preparation: grilled with butter, soy, and a splash of sake—the flesh combines clam richness with scallop sweetness and oyster depth, producing a refined and unforgettable flavor (or so the breeders claimed).