Chapter 214

Chapter 214

For Hotoya Tamaki, the world had once been warm and gentle.

Her peaceful homeland had nurtured that naive worldview. Hotoya Village lay atop a prime Spiritual Vein, protected by the layered Barrier Curses once spun by the Seven Demon-Sealing Warriors. The neighboring Exorcist Clans tirelessly patrolled the borders, while the Hotoya Family ruled with fairness and compassion.

From infancy, she never knew hunger, never saw monsters, never met hate. The seclusion of that idyllic countryside made her believe the world was safe.

She'd heard the old tales. She'd listened to travelers. Yet none of it ever felt real.

Could the world outside truly be that cruel? That ugly? That brutal?

So the village princess grew up half-disbelieving, cheerful, tomboyish—digging in the dirt, fishing, climbing hills, chasing beetles and butterflies. For all her energy, she was still a sheltered daughter of the Hotoya line.

Looking back, she thought, I really was a foolish girl.

Then, one day, that gentle life ended.

Her friend was taken away for a crime. A monster stepped into the village. She learned her power, her birthright, her duty—and left home to fulfill it.

Regret came too late.

She lost her ideal. Loathed herself.

She'd been powerless, ashamed, unable even to run from her duty.

But that, she decided, ended today.

"Yeah. This is it. No more running..."

She exhaled and gazed at the light-blue haori draped over her arm. The Hyakuyain crest shimmered faintly in the fabric—a token of her new beginning, the first step toward her ideal, and perhaps the only path to find out whether he still lived.

"Wearing power like a hat doesn't suit me," she muttered. "But..."

Her conscience winced. Still, she'd already learned—idealism alone couldn't protect anyone. If righteousness failed, then she'd wield the nearest thing to it.

That was why Tamaki joined hands with the Minister of Benevolence. Because she still believed in him.

"You really did go ahead on your own," a voice remarked.

"Eh!?"

Tamaki spun around. Standing just behind her was a small girl with a neat bob cut, looking up with a faint smirk—the youngest daughter of the Ako Family.

The Ako Clan, the pride of the Western Region, was known for its strict sense of justice. Ask anyone which clan embodied honor, and their name always came up. Their ancestors had roamed the land righting wrongs—slaying demons, bandits, corrupt officials—and their deeds had become folk tales and kabuki plays.

Even among such a righteous lineage, the Hyakuyain Family held respect. Their People's Exorcism Guard was regarded as a noble extension of justice itself. In the past, even Ako members had briefly served among their ranks.

So of course, to Ako's youngest daughter, Tamaki's early enlistment felt like... betrayal.

Murasaki had come to the capital as her family's stand-in after the others were detained at home. She had to maintain the family's residence, represent the clan, and visit allied houses—all while handling duties far beyond her age. Seeing her senior gazing fondly at a new haori, it was only natural she'd grumble.

And perhaps there was more beneath that.

"Um..." Tamaki began.

"Well," Murasaki sighed, "you look less gloomy now. I suppose that's something."

"...!"

Tamaki froze. Murasaki's bluntness hit where it hurt. She smiled weakly.

"You were worried about me?"

"You were listless during training," Murasaki said flatly. "You focus in battle, but outside of it? You can't afford to let your guard down. You'll get yourself killed."

Tamaki knew what she meant. The Juuyaku Family incident had left scars no one would name. The imperial court and the Onmyouji Bureau had buried it under silence. The Onitsuki head's negotiations had ended it behind closed doors, but everyone who returned came back changed—dark eyes, quiet mouths. And one of them never returned at all.

No one mentioned his name. The silence was absolute.

Murasaki wasn't stupid. She knew what that meant. The missing weren't coming back—at least not whole.

"This work lives beside death," Murasaki said coldly. "Even when the one beside you dies horribly, you must stay calm. Step over corpses if you must. Use them as shields. Otherwise, you'll end up the same. So at least, if you must die, don't do it for something pointless."

"Murasaki-san..."

It sounded harsh—but it was advice. Tamaki knew this younger senior well enough to recognize kindness buried under pride. Among everyone she'd met outside her village, Murasaki was one of the few she genuinely liked.

"You're strong," Tamaki murmured. "As expected from the Ako Family."

She meant it. Even before the Juuyaku case, Murasaki had outmatched her in discipline. Maybe it was training, or simply experience. Tamaki could only admire her.

"Hmph. Throwing compliments back at me?" Murasaki sniffed and held out a rectangular box wrapped in paper. "Here. Take this."

"...A manju?"

"Ako Manju. Our clan's specialty. A gift for your induction into the Exorcism Guard. It's a leftover from the ones we distributed, but since you went ahead of everyone, I doubt you got one."

She handed it over, proud despite herself.

Tamaki smiled faintly. "Thank you, Murasaki."

For the first time in a while, the world felt a little less cold.

Murasaki folded her arms with a proud sniff and began explaining the origin of the Ako Manju. The small, pale buns were only mildly sweet, with a trace of salt. Long ago, the estate's cooks had created them as a snack for swordsmanship training sessions.

In time, the clan added a tangerine-filled version. The two kinds—sweet and citrus—came to symbolize the sun and the moon. They weren't an official specialty, but visitors loved them, and they became customary gifts for guests.

"Thank you," Tamaki said warmly. "Really, I'm happy."

Her gratitude was pure, not polite or performative. The younger senior disciple, however, puffed her cheeks and looked away, unwilling to admit she was pleased by the reaction.

"Don't overdo it," Murasaki said finally, crossing her arms again. "I've had enough bad mornings after hearing another acquaintance met misfortune. Live well. That's an order."

The tone was half lecture, half concern. Her little ahoge swayed like a dog's tail as she turned on her heel. Before Tamaki could answer, the Ako princess strode off. Only then did Tamaki notice two attendants behind her—a maid and a male servant.

The maid whispered, "Princess, you went to such trouble to have that brought for your friend—" only to be silenced by Murasaki's sharp, flustered shout. The girl's name, Tamaki recalled, was Yona. Tamaki frowned slightly, realizing she hadn't sensed the maid or servant's presence at all. Too lost in thought. Too careless.

Then another voice drew her back.

"...You're Magoroku, right?"

The man bowed low. "Ah, Lady Hotoya. I'm honored you remember my name."

He'd once served Tamaki's benefactor as a personal assistant. Now, he worked under Murasaki.

"How are things? And Mari—how is she doing?"

"She's treated very kindly," he said with a faint smile. "Though... she's still down."

Tamaki could tell he was putting on a brave face. The man had lost someone too.

Their benefactor—Household Coordinator of the Minister's family—was presumed dead. Even if his body remained unfound, his property, duties, and subordinates all needed reorganization. Magoroku and his blind younger sister, Mari, were among them.

Once their master vanished, their positions became uncertain. They might have been dismissed from service or reassigned elsewhere. Tamaki had wanted to take them in herself, but as a household member, she had no authority. When Murasaki volunteered to adopt them, Tamaki had been quietly relieved.

"I had ties to the Princess before," Magoroku explained. "Never thought she'd take both me and my sister in."

Apparently, he'd first met Murasaki while escorting their late master and Tamaki on an assignment in the capital.

"The Princess is very kind," he added. "A bit... bad at showing it, but please overlook that."

Tamaki laughed softly. "I know. Don't worry."

She admired her senior's sincerity beneath the pride.

"If anything happens, tell me," she said. "And... please watch over Mari. Suzune worried about her too."

"I'm grateful, my lady."

Tamaki knew his sister and her friend Suzune had been close. She mentioned it so the words would reach him—because words left unspoken never did.

"Mari still blames herself," he admitted.

"I thought so..."

Even Tamaki still did. For someone like Mari—frail, gentle, and blind—the grief must cut deeper. Tamaki only hoped it didn't harm her health.

"She's shut herself in," Magoroku said quietly. "All she does is pray. She's strong, though. She'll recover soon, I think."

His forced smile betrayed exhaustion. For Mari, prayer was how she processed loss. Unlike her brother or Tamaki, she couldn't drown herself in work.

"MAGOROKU! What are you doing!? Hurry up!"

"Y-yes, ma'am! Well then, Lady Hotoya, if you'll excuse me—"

He bowed clumsily and scurried off. From the veranda, Murasaki's scolding echoed sharply. Tamaki waved after him, half-guilty for causing it.

"They're all so strong," she murmured.

Murasaki, Magoroku, even the ones they'd lost—none of them were truly fine. Yet they all kept moving forward. Facing life. Compared to them, she felt weak. Soft. Spoiled by comfort.

"I have to become strong too," she whispered.

Strength—that was what she lacked. Without it, she could only lose again. Never protect, only watch things slip away. She refused to let that happen. From now on, she would take what she needed—mercilessly if she must.

Her fingers tightened around the small wooden box.

A faint, dangerous aura bled from her body—but no one was there to see it.

* * *

"Murasaki-san, are you returning to the Ako estate?"

At the covered walkway of the Oumi Family Yashiki Estate—where the Onitsuki Clan now lodged—a refined voice called out. Murasaki turned. Behind her stood a graceful woman holding a folded fuumi fan, dressed casually yet radiating elegance.

"Thank you for attending the celebration," the woman said warmly. "As a teacher, it makes me proud that the Ako Family sent their blessing."

The phrasing was ceremonious, almost exaggerated.

Murasaki bowed. The speaker was Onitsuki Sumire, head lady of the Onitsuki Family, younger sister to the Ako matriarch—and Murasaki's aunt, mentor, and idol. She was also Tamaki's teacher's mother.

The resemblance between mother and daughter was unmistakable: their layered robes, the same graceful bearing, the same soft curve in their smiles. Even the air around her carried that familial warmth.

"Madam," Murasaki said, "it's been some time. Since no one from the main house was at the estate, I've been managing what I can... but I've neglected my sword training. It's embarrassing, really."

Murasaki bowed deeply. Her reply sounded genuinely contrite. She'd heard stories from her father and grandfather about her aunt's temperament—caution was only natural.

Her grandfather used to say, "Sword fiend fits your aunt perfectly."

Outwardly, Lady Sumire carried herself with the grace of a refined noblewoman, but before her marriage, her ferocity in duels was legendary. Even the servants who had worked in those days shuddered when they spoke of her. That wild nature had passed directly to her daughter. The killing intent she exuded during a match could make one break into a cold sweat. Her obsession with the blade—her hunger for power and for the act of cutting—was infamous. Remembering that, Murasaki knew better than to defend her own lack of recent training too casually.

Her father had warned her: "Even with kin, never let discipline slip."

"I'm sorry," Sumire said with a soft smile. "I had hoped we could share tea and sweets, but... well, she's been going out so often lately. Won't tell me where. I worry terribly, you know? A mother's heart never rests."

She sighed, resting a hand against her cheek. Her lips, tinted a touch too red, curved in a languid smile.

"My elder niece is... whimsical," Murasaki offered carefully. "But she's wise. Hardly reckless or careless. You can trust her judgment."

Murasaki knew her cousin's greatness well—beautiful, brilliant, and blessed beyond measure. Her pride was real, but understandable given her lineage and talent. Trouble followed her sometimes, yet she always resolved it with poise and wit. Murasaki could only admire her.

"Yes, indeed," Sumire said proudly. "She's my pride. That's why I've been trying to find her a suitable match. But whenever I arrange one, she simply disappears."

"A suitable match...?"

Sumire's shoulders rose and fell in a theatrical sigh. The motion was elegant, almost seductive. But Murasaki heard more beneath the casual tone. It wasn't mere gossip—it carried political weight.

Her father and grandfather had both warned her about this. Never dig too deep.

"The princesses are of age now," Murasaki said evenly. "And... exceptionally beautiful. I imagine suitors are countless. Lady Hina, for example—after the recent ceremony, I heard several nobles sent her letters and even invitations for tea."

A neutral, factual remark—precise enough to show awareness, distant enough to avoid implication.

The inner politics of the Onitsuki Family were difficult to read from the outside. Still, the fact that the clan's princesses—especially the elder one—remained unmarried and without an official successor had drawn public curiosity.

Some gossips whispered that Lady Aoi's looks were too plain for marriage, that her manners lacked refinement, or that her temperament would sully any bloodline she joined. Others claimed she was too cunning for her own good.

Those vulgar rumors had died down after the ceremony, once both sisters' radiance became known. If anything, their brilliance only fueled the rivalry over succession—and the public's fascination.

Now, all eyes were on the Onitsuki. Envoys probed for information. Courtiers sent poems, tea invitations, and gifts. Factions began to form around each princess. Some noble ladies whispered envy over the attention their suitors lavished on the sisters. Every public appearance drew hungry stares—measuring beauty, lineage, wealth.

And of course, there were extremes. One fool from the Zuida Family had dared to propose publicly—declaring he'd fallen for the "quality of her womb" and begged to "use her blessed womb for the clan's prosperity." The second princess broke his front teeth with a single strike. It was a miracle he wasn't exiled on the spot.

Even so, politics and romance were inseparable among nobles. Still, letting things spiral this far had become dangerous.

A matter of love could turn into bloodshed, Murasaki thought. And if it did, the court might demand someone retire to a monastery to atone.

Even the head of the family—or the princesses themselves—might face punishment if scandal reached the Imperial Court.

The idea of her cousin being forced into nunhood made Murasaki's stomach tighten.

"Yes," Sumire said, "she's received many invitations. I've thought some might even be good matches. But whenever the opportunity arises, she slips away again. Perhaps her standards are just too high."

She sighed again, sounding every bit the worried mother of an unwed daughter.

Murasaki, who barely remembered her own mother, couldn't tell if this was truly how mothers acted—or if it was simply Lady Sumire's way.

"The princesses possess both talent and beauty," Murasaki said politely. "They have the right to be selective."

"Or," Sumire mused, "perhaps one already has someone in mind?"

"That... I wouldn't know."

In truth, Murasaki doubted it. Especially for the younger princess. She couldn't recall any man close enough to inspire affection.

If anything, she thought, it might be a woman...

Lady Tachibana's daughter often visited for tea or plays, sometimes even staying overnight at the estate. Murasaki herself had once been forgotten on such a trip—a painful memory. She'd make sure to accompany them next time. Still, she'd never sensed anything improper between them.

Surely, they weren't sharing a "shell-matching sleepover" like the erotic stories suggested.

Speaking of which...

Her thoughts turned, circling back toward a man—one presumed dead long ago.

"Anyone come to mind?" Sumire asked suddenly.

"Eh!? N-no! Of course not!"

The question startled her so badly that denial flew out of her mouth unbidden. Then she realized how foolish she sounded. Ridiculous, she told herself. Absurd. Like something out of a dirty novel.

Just like that scandalous new release from Barensou-shi—Humbling of the Lowly Maidens: A Tale of Degenerate Pleasure.

The idea of her noble, flawless cousin harboring affection for a mere servant? Impossible.

If anything, it was more believable that she'd be flirting with a mischievous fox spirit.

And besides—he was dead.

She exhaled softly.

"...Is something the matter, Murasaki-san?"

"No. Nothing important. Truly, it's nothing."

Even she could hear how deflated her own voice sounded. Lady Sumire would surely suspect something if she wasn't careful.

Of course it was impossible. Even if her cousin had favored the man, it would have been as a master favors a loyal retainer. Their social divide was unbridgeable. Society would never allow it. And the man himself was gone.

Her cousin hadn't shown the slightest sign of mourning since hearing the news—just her usual, dazzling self-assurance.

"Ah, I see," Sumire said smoothly. "By the way, Murasaki-san—you're of age as well. Has your father or brother mentioned any prospects for marriage?"

"E-eh!? M-me!? A match!?"

The curveball question from her aunt hit Murasaki twice over. A marriage proposal? Her own engagement? She'd never even considered it. It wasn't that she disliked men—she simply hadn't thought that far ahead. Her family had never brought up the topic either.

Which, in hindsight, made her wonder. Not one guest or visitor had ever asked about her prospects. Did everyone still see her as a child? Or was she simply... unappealing?

"With my daughters nearing that age, I do hear about eligible young men," Sumire said with a light smile. "Would you like me to introduce someone? Any particular face or lineage you prefer?"

"E-eh, um..."

Murasaki froze. Against her will, her mind began filling in the blanks—what kind of man would she even like?

A noble background was nice, but not essential. The Ako Family valued skill over status. Their history included plenty of adopted sons and daughters of questionable origins. So pedigree came second. What mattered most was ability.

Someone in the same profession would be best. Not a scholar or ritualist, but a fighter—an exorcist who knew real battle. A swordsman, or maybe a spearman or archer. She didn't care about elegance in technique; strength and dedication mattered more. He should train constantly and have a firm will.

As for personality—so long as he wasn't malicious, that was enough. Diligence was a plus. Kindness was welcome, though he couldn't be soft. A husband must know when to draw the line, to be fair and disciplined for the sake of their children.

Still... he should have moments of vulnerability too. When work left him weary, she wanted to be the one to comfort him. There was something endearing about a proud man—strong and capable in public—who let his guard down at home.

Physically, she preferred someone sturdy. Tall enough to envelop her small frame in his arms. Not overly muscular, but well-built from real training. She didn't care about scars. Everyone in her family bore a few. Battle wounds were marks of honor.

As for looks—handsome would be nice, but not required. Substance mattered more than surface. Pretty men were often useless. Better a strong, rough-looking warrior than a weak beauty. How could a man protect his family otherwise?

Children... yes. At least three. A boy and a girl, plus one extra son for good measure.

Of course, that didn't have to be the limit. Bearing children was a wife's duty, and she took pride in that. If her husband wished for more, she would oblige—out of love, devotion, and sheer determination.

Yes. If he wanted five, she'd give him six. If he wanted six, she'd aim for seven.

Even if it sounded indecent—something straight out of an erotic tale—she would endure it. After all, it was her role as a wife to help her husband fulfill his vigor. She'd do whatever it took for the family's sake.

It was duty. Nothing more. Really. She could do this. She would try.

As for concubines or mistresses—she didn't like the idea, but she wasn't a child. If her husband could afford to support them, she'd tolerate it. More children meant a stronger family. She'd accept it as long as order was kept. She would raise all the children properly, without cruel favoritism. There would be a difference between legitimate and secondary heirs, yes, but no unjust cruelty.

If necessary, she'd protect them herself.

A wife who upheld order had no reason to despise those who shared her husband's burden. They were all part of the same household, striving for its prosperity.

"I see," Sumire said, nodding thoughtfully. "Understood. If I hear of a young man matching your… detailed conditions, I'll be sure to introduce him."

"Huh?"

It took Murasaki a moment to realize what that meant. Then her heart dropped. She looked up at her aunt, who was smiling far too pleasantly.

"...Did I—say all that out loud?"

"Oh yes. In great detail, too. How delightful~desuwa."

"A-a-aahhh—!!!?"

She spun around, mortified, only to meet the wide-eyed faces of the household staff—Yona, the maid, and Magoroku, the servant. Both had heard everything.

Yona's expression hovered somewhere between awe and pity. Magoroku's awkward grin made it worse.

"Princess… you've truly grown into a fine young lady," Yona said carefully.

"Please don't worry, Princess," Magoroku added, bowing. "I'll forget all of this ever happened."

"Noooooooo!!!"

Her scream tore through the hall. Tears filled her eyes as she bolted away, desperate to escape. She wanted to dig a hole and bury herself. Or better yet—just die. Right now.

"Waaaah! Kyaaa—!"

And then, fate answered. Her foot hit a banana peel that had somehow appeared on the veranda.

Her body lifted, spun once and a half in the air, and her head—with its ridiculous cowlick—plummeted straight toward the stone step below.

"Princess!?"

"Oh my."

"Guhh!?"

Yona and Magoroku gasped and ran, but Lady Sumire reached her first. With calm precision, she performed a shukuchi—a flash-step technique—and appeared beside her niece.

At the last instant, she stuffed a burdock root into Murasaki's collar, softening the impact and sparing her skull.

Unfortunately, the sudden stop wrenched her neck and left her dangling like a caught fish. A strangled cry escaped her lips as her eyes rolled back.

Lady Sumire gave her a light thump on the chest, forcing her soul—figuratively—to return. Probably.

"My, my. Such a tomboy. Just like I was in my youth," Sumire said, smiling fondly.

Still suspended by the burdock root, Murasaki was handed off to the maid and servant, who rushed to catch her limp body. Sumire laughed cheerfully behind them. "Hohohoho~."

Yes, she'd been wild in her youth—but certainly not this kind of wild.

"Princess! Are you all right!?" Yona cried.

"Kyuuu…" Murasaki whimpered weakly, still half-conscious.

She was alive, at least. Barely. Maybe that counted as luck.

"Oh dear, she's out cold," Sumire said. "Please, bring her to the carriage. She'll wake soon enough."

"Yes, Madam," Magoroku replied.

"As you wish," Yona added. "Excuse us."

The two obeyed, carefully carrying Murasaki away. Staying any longer in another family's estate after that disaster would be unbearable. She'd already humiliated herself enough for one day.

"No, no," Sumire said with a graceful smile. "I should've caught her more gently. My mistake. Poor girl. I'll visit later with some sweets to apologize."

"…Please send a letter ahead first," the steward replied dryly.

Yona bowed in formal silence, then helped Murasaki to her feet. Together with Magoroku, she guided the unconscious girl from the chamber. Their departure was stiff with unease.

Unlike the naïve Murasaki, Yona didn't trust the Onitsuki matriarch. Not entirely. And before long, she'd have to question which dubious book her young mistress had been reading.

None of them noticed what had truly happened. Lady Sumire's voice had hidden a thread of kotodama—subtle, precise, inescapable. A word-spirit woven into casual talk. A charm meant to draw out confession.

And Murasaki, careless as ever, had answered it without realizing.

"Yes. That will be fine," Sumire said softly.

Her smile was elegant, almost divine. Watching the fainted Murasaki carried out by her servants, she sighed inwardly—disappointed, unsurprised, and faintly contemptuous. She had expected little more.

"…"

Sumire turned and left. For a moment she glanced toward the quarters where the Hotoya girl—the new retainer—had been assigned. Then she moved on.

Her destination lay deeper within the Oumi estate: the most secure room Onitsuki had been granted. A place heavily guarded by layered exorcism barriers.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" she asked softly.

"…Not well," came the reply.

She passed through the threefold barrier—a ward strong enough to repel anyone without the proper seal—and entered a dim chamber. Fine furnishings gleamed faintly in the low light.

At the far end sat a thin man cross-legged on a bed. Scrolls and talismans lay open around him.

At his feet crawled a host of shikigami—birds, rats, insects—each broken or burnt, their limbs twisted, their bodies scorched. Failed familiars from an infiltration ritual.

"Please don't push yourself," Sumire said, bowing deeply. "With your body—and your spirit—strained as they are, it's too great a burden. Leave the minor work to me. You need only act when all preparations are complete."

"This much is nothing," the man muttered. "If I stay idle, I dull. …You were speaking with the Ako princess just now?"

He cut her off mid-sentence, disinterested in her concern. She accepted it with grace.

"I spoke to her after congratulating Tamaki-san," Sumire replied. "As I thought, the girl knows nothing."

"As expected," Yusei said. "It's like her. …She's much like you."

"Like me?" Sumire smiled faintly. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

He gave no answer. Instead, his shadowed eyes fell back to the talisman in his hand, then lifted to her again.

"The unrest at the main estate hasn't settled," he said. "Rumor says the elders plan to send my sister-in-law away."

"My, my. As if the foxes dance when the tiger's gone," Sumire replied dryly. "How convenient for them."

The recent turmoil at the Onitsuki main estate had left heavy air in its wake. The clan's treasurer and head of the Hidden Group—Yusei's younger brother—had collapsed from poison. Though he survived, the household had grown tense.

Branches of the family were already maneuvering for advantage, and whispers said the poisoned man's young wife was in danger of exile.

"She never matched the family's rank," Yusei said coldly. "If someone slipped a cursed insect into her food, the suspicion alone is enough."

The meal had come from her own family as a gift—an apparent act of goodwill. But the hidden spell within made it look like a clear case of attempted assassination by her kin. On the surface, at least.

"Shisui helped her escape," Sumire said. "He's sending her down to Hayama."

"A cautious move," Yusei murmured.

Hayama Village—neither rich nor poor—was ruled by a minor landlord with no real spiritual strength. His young daughter, nearly alone, carried the remnants of a dead family name.

To banish the disgraced wife there was an elegant solution. Not execution, but confinement.

If she died, it would invite scandal. Alive, she was simply… forgotten.

"Her husband now demands divorce," Sumire added with a faint smile.

"From his sickbed, no doubt?"

"Where else?"

"He should remember his place," Yusei said.

The treasurer's body had nearly failed him. Though he'd awakened, he couldn't resume his duties. Assistants like Yun-shoku handled most affairs now, but greed and rivalry simmered through the estate. The fight over the treasury seat had already begun.

Sumire covered her mouth, laughing softly. "And you say he overreaches?"

"…Fetch ink. I'll write a new talisman."

"As you wish."

Her laughter faded. She moved gracefully to a writing chest and began preparing brushes and paper.

"I'll change the material," she murmured. "Finer ink and higher-grade paper. New catalysts. To slip past a fortress of curses like that, we'll need something stronger."

She opened the box beside him, arranging the writing tools, her breath brushing his ear.

Up close, Yusei's condition looked worse—gaunt, hollow-eyed, his skin pale and drawn.

Still, she gazed upon him with rapture. Devotion bordering on madness.

"…Stronger, then," he said quietly, finally meeting her eyes. "Do it."

"As you command."

Her tone was soft and obedient, the perfect wife's reply. Yet beneath that composure, her love burned molten—jealous, consuming, absolute. Nothing in this world ranked above him.

"Oh, and one more thing," she said. "A letter arrived earlier. Shall I read it to you?"

"From whom?"

"From the Shadow."

Not a metaphor. The letter had come literally from the Shadow—the unseen network that served the clan's dark interests. Sumire had already checked it for curses and poison.

She presented it with both hands.

"You should have said so sooner," Yusei said. "Read it."

He already guessed the sender's intent—the timing, the positioning, the whisper at his ear. He knew what she meant to gain.

"Yes, my dear," Sumire purred.

She leaned close enough for her perfume to fill the air and began to read, her voice a low, melodic whisper—smooth, dangerous, and inhumanly beautiful. Any ordinary man would have been entranced.

But Yusei's heart was long beyond such reach.

She knew it, and still, she devoted herself completely.

Good or evil—none of it mattered.

"All for you," she whispered. "Everything, just as you desire."

And with that, the sword fiend of the Onitsuki clan—mad with love—kept reading into the darkness.

Notes:

• Mari - A human imperial minister first appearing in Chapter 188 during Kei’s meeting with his lord and the Bureau Head in the Ministry of Civil Administration. He’s invoked when the Bureau Head offers to recommend Kei — a lowborn clerk serving his lord — for promotion. The meeting occurs because Kei’s lord seeks favors, caused by political decay and court bribery. The Bureau Head leads the exchange under the Minister’s authority. Kei connects indirectly through that manipulation. No known direct relationships. Known for merciful reforms aiding fallen nobles.