The torrential rains, relentless for days, had churned the earth into a treacherous mire that sought to swallow the ankles of any traveler. Sugawara no Utsugi moved with measured steps, his gaze cast downward beneath the rim of a weathered bamboo hat, making no effort to brush away the filth that clung to his knees.
Thrum—Thrum.
A migraine, sharp as a needle piercing his temple, surged once more through his mind.
With a short, clicking tongue, Utsugi reflexively channeled the Reverse Cursed Technique. The positive energy surged into his cranium, regenerating the gray matter that felt as though it were being scorched by white-hot coals.
Within the confines of the Sugawara main estate, the layered barriers had served as a shroud, dulling the sensory assault of the world. But here, in the raw wilderness where alien currents of cursed energy raged without refinement, his Six Eyes threatened to spiral into a state of perpetual frenzy.
"Vile," he muttered.
Utsugi's azure pupils shifted toward a small hamlet huddling at the base of the foothills ahead.
It was a cluster of mere dozens of thatched huts. The straw of the roofs had long since rotted into mush, and a faint, cloying miasma of impurity clung to the entire settlement like a shroud. This was but a temporary respite to gather intelligence on the Special Grade cursed spirit and replenish his meager rations before ascending into the heart of the Ou Mountains.
As he crossed the village threshold, the peasants huddled under the eaves to escape the downpour turned as one. Their gazes were a jagged mixture of suspicion and primal terror.
Though he was draped in tattered, humble cotton, the exceptionally long tachi slung at his hip and his steady, unshaken gait through the muck spoke of a higher breeding. Most telling was the ethereal blue luminescence that flickered through the gaps of his hat—an unearthly glow that marked him as something far more dangerous than a common ronin.
Utsugi approached an old man whose face was etched with deep furrows, evidently the village headman.
"I travel toward the Ou Mountains. A single room for the night and something to chew upon will suffice. Meat, if you have it."
Utsugi spoke, producing a pouch of dull gold dust from his robes and giving it a sharp shake. The flowery, decorative court tongue used by the aristocrats of Heian-kyo had long been discarded.
The elder swallowed hard at the sight of the gold, but he soon shook his head with a countenance of pure dread.
"M-Milord… Forgive us, but there is no food left in this wretched place. We have incurred the wrath of the Mountain God. Days ago, our livestock were slaughtered to the last beast, and the hunters who ventured into the peaks have yet to return."
"The wrath of a Mountain God?"
Utsugi's brow twitched imperceptibly. This could be the thread that led to the Special Grade.
"Tell me. What manner of form does this 'God' take?"
"T-That is… none have seen its shape and lived, but every night a black mist exhales from the depths of the Ou range, and the screams of the beasts echo through the valleys. However…"
The elder stole a furtive glance at Utsugi's face before continuing.
"The beasts of the high peaks have fled that black fog, descending even to the mountain behind our village. Among them is a hideous, three-headed hound—a monster that has been descending every night to carry off our remaining heifers and our children… the villagers have forgotten the taste of sleep. If milord is a monk or an exorcist who commands the hidden arts, could you not slay this hound for us? For recompense… we shall offer all the dried venison and grain remaining in our granary."
Utsugi scoffed internally. The 'black mist' described by the elder was undoubtedly the Special Grade cursed spirit the Sugawara Clan had ordered him to subjugate. The lower Grade 2 or Grade 3 spirits, driven out by the overwhelming pressure of a Special Grade's cursed energy, were now crawling down to human settlements like vermin to commit their atrocities.
"Dried venison, you say."
Unless he forced himself to swallow some sustenance, however tough, he would lack the stamina to climb the mountains while enduring this wretched headache. Furthermore, it took less cursed energy to slay a common spirit than it did to breathe.
"Fine. Lead the way."
• •
At the mountain's rear, before a derelict mountain shrine.
The rain continued its dismal descent, and the stench of impurity vibrated around the collapsed sanctuary. The Six Eyes had already captured the mass of cursed energy lurking within—a beast-shaped spirit with three heads. A Grade 2 monstrosity.
Utsugi placed his hand upon the hilt of his tachi, preparing to step into the clearing.
"This is why hunting cursed spirits is such a poor trade. If only they left a pelt to sell, but they simply turn to ash the moment they are hewn. What a waste."
A dry, lethargic voice cut through the rhythm of the falling rain.
Utsugi's gaze flicked upward.
Atop the shrine's roof, a man lay reclined against the ridge tiles, draped in loose hemp garments soaked through by the rain. His eyes, sharp and narrow, were filled with a profound boredom regarding the world's affairs. With his fingers, he carelessly flicked purple ash from the edge of a blade.
Beneath the gaze of this man, Hideto, lay the 'three-headed spirit' Utsugi had intended to slay. It had already been bifurcated with a single strike, its body crumbling into violet ash and scattering into the void. It was a clean exorcism—so swift the spirit had not even found the time to shriek its death rattle.
"Who are you?" Utsugi spat the words coldly.
Hideto turned his head slowly to look down at Utsugi. He noted the aberrant, overwhelming blue light leaking from the shadow of the bamboo hat. A faint, derisive curl touched the corner of Hideto's mouth.
"Who can say? If one must label it, perhaps I am the master of the house greeting a tardy, uninvited guest."
Hideto leaped lightly from the roof. Though he landed in a swamp of mud, not a single drop of water splashed. It was the mark of a master who perfectly controlled his weight through cursed energy.
He kicked a lingering fragment of the spirit's remains with the toe of his boot and sneered.
"Since these lingering residues are the only proof I have, I wonder if the old woman at the tavern beyond the ridge will believe I slew the monster and grant me my draught of poison."
"That spirit was my quarry, commissioned by the village. The reward belongs to me."
Utsugi gestured with his chin toward the spot where the spirit had fully dissolved.
At those words, Hideto sheathed his sword and let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"A commission, is it?"
Hideto's eyes shifted from the dissipating ash to Utsugi's face. The indifference in his gaze was replaced by a chilling, predatory light.
"Is that what the high-born lords of the Heian-kyo clans call it? Placing their spoons upon a meal someone else has already prepared? It was my blade that split the core and severed its life in an instant."
Hideto's tone did not rise in anger. It remained remarkably calm and dry, making the sarcasm embedded within cut even deeper.
"You've wasted your trip, so begone. Spoils are for the first to arrive."
A visceral loathing for the great clans of Heian-kyo saturated Hideto's voice.
He found it nauseating—the 'natural arrogance' of a privileged class who believed the laws of the world rotated around them simply because they were born with everything in their palms.
Originally, the 'New Shadow Style' was a school founded to protect the weak, those without jujutsu, from the scourge of cursed spirits. However, Hideto was a mutation—the only one in the history of that school to be born with a powerful innate cursed technique.
As if mocking the ideals of his master, Sadatsuna, who emphasized pure defense and discipline, Hideto had corrupted the 'Simple Domain'—a shield intended to guard one's territory—by infusing it with his own Refraction Cursed Technique. He had turned it into a weapon of slaughter and deception used to trifle with his foes.
A heretic (sado) who had defiled the blade meant for salvation. That was the true reason why, despite his genius talent, he had been excommunicated from the New Shadow Style and branded a pariah.
Utsugi found no value in responding to such sarcasm at length.
"It is of no concern to me. Whether you struck first or not, I shall have the venison promised for that kill. Step aside before I hew you down."
Hideto's brow furrowed. He let out a low, weary sigh.
"The sheer gall of stealing someone else's blood and sweat as if it were your birthright. Truly, those who are born with everything are beyond help. Those arrogant eyes of yours… they especially irritate me."
The atmosphere surrounding Hideto began to shimmer with a faint distortion. Before the raindrops could touch his body, they bent at grotesque angles in mid-air and plummeted to the ground.
Before the sentence was even finished, Utsugi's form exploded forward.
Dialogue was meaningless. He would not waste time on a petty struggle for dominance while a migraine crushed his skull.
This was the ultimate physical reinforcement afforded by the Six Eyes—the reduction of cursed energy consumption to a state nearing zero. Utsugi kicked off from the mud, and his tachi vanished from sight, arcing toward Hideto's throat.
Shriiik—!
The sharp sound of air being rent apart. It was a perfect trajectory.
Yet, Utsugi's pupils wavered ever so slightly.
It was not flesh that his blade met. The sensation transmitted through the steel was that of empty space.
"Quick enough, I suppose."
From the precise trajectory where Utsugi's blade had just passed—but a mere inch away—Hideto's dry voice reached his ears.
The Six Eyes had read the mass and form of the cursed energy, reporting to Utsugi's brain that Hideto was exactly where he had swung. Yet, in reality, Hideto had slid aside with a bizarre afterimage, like moonlight distorting upon the surface of water.
Refraction Cursed Technique.
An unorthodox technique that manipulated the reflection of light and the residue of cursed energy to create visual and sensory illusions. For the 'Six Eyes,' which perceived everything exactly as it was, this technique—which distorted the very nature of truth—was a catastrophic match-up.
CLANG—!!
Hideto counterattacked. It was an irregular reverse-hand strike, slashing upward from below.
Utsugi reflexively twisted his blade to block, but the visible trajectory of the sword and the actual point of impact were subtly misaligned.
A heavy impact shuddered up his wrist, and Utsugi's feet sank deeper into the mire.
Hideto leaned into his blade, pressing hard against Utsugi's defense as he whispered lethargically.
"The habit of placing absolute trust in what the eyes see… it must be a congenital defect of you noble houses."
Around his sword's length, the raindrops began to flicker and warp like a heat haze. Dozens of refracted blade-shadows blossomed in Utsugi's vision, intended to daze and disorient.
"My master called me a heretic. He said I used the sword meant to guard the weak only to deceive and slaughter others."
A faint, cold smirk lingered on Hideto's lips.
"Well, he wasn't wrong. But you see, the real world is a place teeming with falsehoods and deception. Why don't you try finding the truth with those magnificent eyes of yours? Young Lord of the Sugawara."
A chilling smile slowly spread across Utsugi's lips.
To twist the fundamentals of the Simple Domain—a defensive art—into such a bizarre offensive technique… this man was indeed a pariah of a different caliber than the average disciple.
To Utsugi, suffering under the relentless assault of his headache, this serpent-like man was a marvelous target upon which to vent his irritation.
"You possess quite the troublesome trick for a peasant."
Upon Utsugi's blade, azure cursed energy began to coil like a serpent, compressing with terrifying density.
"I shall carve through that petty trick, shell and all."
In the rain-slicked woods of Mutsu, the discarded genius of the Sugawara and the heretic of the New Shadow Style stood poised. Their frigid bloodlust tore through the sound of the rain as they clashed in earnest.