The mountain's silhouette solidified against the deepening night—a desolate, secretive expanse. With their combined power, few Cursed Spirits here could truly threaten them. Yet, as Yaga-sensei had drilled into them, carelessness killed more Sorcerers than any supreme-grade curse. No mission was beneath their full attention.
"The population is sparse, so the curses born here shouldn't be strong," Geto noted, his black hair stirring in the cool breeze. "But according to the report, the casualties are severe. It doesn't add up."
"Because the damage isn't coming from the Cursed Spirit alone," Kamo Itsuki replied, his gaze fixed ahead. "Human fear unleashes its own malice. Sometimes, the human heart is more terrifying than any curse."
Geto sighed softly. "I understand the theory. I just… avoid dwelling on it. I fear it would shake my belief—that we exist to protect non-sorcerers."
"You can't afford to think like that, Suguru." Itsuki turned to him, his voice low but clear. "In our plan, you are the one who will guide non-sorcerers toward the truth. A leader cannot be lost himself. You must face the darkness within—directly, without prejudice. Accept all of who you are."
"But what if I find something… unworthy?" Geto's words trailed off, hesitation flickering in his eyes.
"The Geto Suguru I know is gentle. Sometimes too gentle, which makes him cruel to himself." Itsuki offered a faint, reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I'm here. If you ever stray toward an unforgivable line, I will stop you. Cleanly. Decisively."
Geto's lips curved into a wry, grateful smile. "You're more the leader than I am. I've been thoroughly influenced—brainwashed, even. I never imagined myself in this role as a child." He paused, studying Itsuki. "Speaking of which, you're stronger than both Satoru and me now, aren't you? It's getting harder to see through you."
"We've never fought in earnest, so it's hard to say. But I'm confident I can stop you from going too far." Itsuki's answer was deliberately ambiguous, leaving the truth hanging between them like the night air.
Under the moonlight, their figures cut resolute shapes against the sky as they descended toward the village. It was a place time had forgotten—devoid of modern tools, its fields worked by hand, its shadows long and undisturbed.
Their patrol was brief. A Grade 3 Cursed Spirit, faintly luminescent in the dark, was quickly located. The difference in power was so vast that Geto dispatched it without ceremony, having one of his own curses consume it. It held no value for his collection.
The entire exorcism was soundless, invisible to the sleeping villagers.
"For two Special Grades to handle a Grade 3… it's an honor for the curse," Geto remarked dryly.
"Sorcerer shortage. The capable do more," Itsuki replied. "Let's inform the village head. Hopefully, this settles the matter. Finding potential Sorcerers is Satoru's—" He stopped. Geto had gone still, his expression tightening.
"Wait. Something's wrong."
As Geto's mastery over Cursed Spirit Manipulation had deepened, so had his connection to the curses he absorbed. He could now sense lingering emotions—and even fragments of memory—from the spirits he consumed.
This curse, which they had assumed was born from the villagers' fear, carried something else. A resonance of suffering that felt… specific. Human.
Geto's eyes widened slightly as the curse's final impressions flooded his senses—not just fear, but pain, imprisonment, and a deep, twisted sense of betrayal.
"Itsuki," he said, his voice low and strained. "This curse wasn't born from ambient fear. It was created. Deliberately."
The truth of the matter was clearly not as the village chief had described. The curse's essence tasted not of primal, shapeless fear, but of a sharp, personal bitterness—the resentment of a being with cursed energy who had met a violent, unjust end at human hands.
"The village chief's story is a lie," Geto stated, his voice low.
"Do we investigate, then?" Kamo Itsuki asked, though he already sensed the answer.
"No need for anything so cumbersome." A faint, cold smile touched Geto's lips. He raised a finger, and from its tip emerged a Cursed Spirit of delicate, ethereal beauty. It took the form of a translucent butterfly, its wings dusted with phosphorescent patterns that pulsed with a soft, hypnotic light. "This one is perfect. It coaxes the hidden self to the surface… makes secrets spill like water."
"The versatility of Cursed Spirit Manipulation never ceases to amaze me," Itsuki remarked, his tone a blend of genuine admiration and solemn understanding.
Without another word, they moved as one through the sleeping village, stopping before the weathered wooden door of the chief's house. The deep night held a false peace, broken only by the drone of insects.
Merging with the shadows, they became part of the darkness itself. With a subtle gesture from Geto, the butterfly spirit fluttered silently through a gap in the window frame.
Inside, the dim glow of an oil lamp danced over the worn faces of the elderly couple as they shared a simple meal, their conversation mundane, their smiles tired but gentle.
Then, the butterfly's luminous powder descended like a slow-falling mist, glinting in the lamplight before settling upon them.
A change was immediate. The warm simplicity evaporated, replaced by a stiff, creeping tension. Their eyes, once placid, now swam with unease. Their words, once of harvest and weather, twisted into hushed, fearful confessions, dragged from the depths of their hearts by an invisible force.
Listening from the darkness, Kamo Itsuki felt a cold clarity settle in his gut. He leaned closer to Geto, his whisper barely audible.
"This… I didn't expect it to be quite like this."
The fragmented, guilty truths tumbling from the couple's lips began to sketch a picture far darker than a simple curse infestation. They spoke of a "strange child," of markings on skin, of fear turning to cruelty, and of a deep, communal silence.
Geto's expression, illuminated by the faint, ghostly light of his own spirit, did not shift into anger, but into something colder and more weary—the look of a man seeing a dreaded hypothesis confirmed. The mission had just become something else entirely.