"Simple Domain," Miwa said, still catching her breath, "is a domain technique in its most basic form."
She adjusted her grip on the sword.
"It creates a controlled space around me. Anything that enters that range is automatically intercepted."
She hesitated before adding, "It's reactive. I don't have to track the target visually."
Ren nodded slowly.
That explained why she hadn't looked at the curse.
The cursed energy she'd spread around herself functioned like an extended sensory field—detecting intrusion, responding instantly.
"Automatic interception," Ren repeated quietly.
"Don't call it absolute," Miwa said quickly. "It still depends on the user's physical ability. If I'm too slow or too weak, it won't save me."
She straightened slightly.
"But it's reliable."
Ren smiled faintly.
If an opponent was overwhelmingly stronger, no technique would compensate for that gap.
Still.
A localized defensive space. Instant reaction. No wasted motion.
It had practical value.
Compared to his own Innate Technique—which interfered with probability at enormous cursed energy cost—Simple Domain seemed efficient. Sustainable.
He stored the observation away.
"Alright," Mai said, holstering her revolver. "We're done."
She checked the time on her phone.
"Wrapped up early. Not bad."
She glanced at Miwa. "Want to head into town? I heard there's a new cosmetics line out."
Miwa stiffened slightly.
"Ah—no. I've got something to take care of. Maybe next time."
Ren didn't miss the faint tension in her voice.
Mai shrugged.
"Suit yourself."
Ren glanced around the factory floor.
In the far corner, small fish-like curses drifted in and out of shadow—thin, almost translucent.
"That's it?" he asked. "We're leaving those?"
"Those aren't even Fourth Grade," Mai said dismissively. "They can't seriously harm civilians. And there are too many."
She gestured toward the shadows.
"If we tried to wipe out every weak curse like that, we'd never finish."
Ren considered that.
The building still pulsed faintly with low-level cursed energy.
"They won't… accumulate?" he asked. "Compete. Devour each other. Eventually produce something stronger?"
Mai gave him a look.
"What is this, some kind of monster-raising game?"
Then she paused.
"…It's not impossible."
Ren blinked.
"But usually, if something grows to Grade 2 or 3, it gets reported. We get sent. It gets exorcised."
She shrugged.
"In terms of efficiency, letting them thin each other out isn't the worst strategy."
Ren thought about it.
From a purely operational standpoint, it made sense.
"Industry standard," Mai added dryly. "Write it down in your rookie handbook."
She smirked.
"Unless you plan to work twelve times harder because you're twelve times stronger."
Ren shook his head immediately.
"No thanks."
He started walking toward the exit.
"Shift's over. Let's—"
The ceiling exploded.
A deafening crash split the air.
A massive industrial machine hurtled past Ren's head, missing him by inches before smashing into the opposite wall. Steel embedded itself deep into concrete. The entire structure shook violently.
"Move!" Ren shouted instinctively, already diving aside.
Dust and debris rained down.
"Miwa! Mai!"
Two coughing responses came from the haze.
They were alive.
Ren turned toward the source.
High above, a gaping hole yawned in the ceiling.
Through drifting smoke, something crouched atop shattered rebar and broken concrete.
It was massive.
A hybrid of lizard and human, its elongated torso hunched, its limbs thick and sinewed. A tail over two meters long slammed repeatedly into the floor, each impact cracking the concrete beneath it.
The entire level trembled with every strike.
Ren felt it immediately.
The cursed energy radiating from it was dense—far beyond the earlier ape curse.
The air itself seemed heavier.
"…So that's the big one," Ren murmured.
He looked up at the creature's reddish-brown reptilian skull, nearly brushing the fractured ceiling.
"Bit larger than expected."
The monster opened its jaws.
Rows of serrated teeth flashed as it roared.
The sound carried weight—cursed energy surged outward with it, oppressive and suffocating.
Miwa stepped forward instantly, positioning herself in front of Ren.
"Careful!" she shouted.
Her voice trembled—not from panic, but from calculation.
"This isn't Third Grade."
Her fingers tightened around the hilt.
"Not even close."
The tail struck the ground again.
The factory groaned.
And this time, the air felt wrong in a way that Ren recognized.
Not like before.
Worse.