The Shinjuku barrier, along a commercial street that had already been reduced to ruins.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and burning flesh, where several low-grade cursed spirits greedily gnawed at severed limbs scattered across the ground.
Suddenly, a crimson blade flash tore through the night sky like lightning.
Slash!
Before those cursed spirits could even scream, they were vaporized into nothingness, leaving behind only a charred slash mark on the pavement.
Yoru casually flicked non-existent blood from the blade of Shiranui, his cold eyes sweeping over his surroundings.
Fewer than three hours had passed since he stepped into the Culling Game.
Yet in those brief three hours, more than twenty ancient incarnated sorcerers had already died beneath his blade!
Like a tireless grim reaper, he specifically targeted ancient powerhouses who reeked of blood and took pleasure in slaughtering ordinary people.
Moreover, what terrified the players throughout the barrier most was...
This God of Slaughter seemed not to care about "points" at all.
According to the rules of the Culling Game, killing a sorcerer awarded five points.
Yet every time Yoru cut down an ancient sorcerer, he never checked if the points had been credited; he didn't even spare another glance, simply turning away to track his next prey.
This utter disregard for the game's rules—killing purely for the sake of killing—had turned Yoru into the most terrifying nightmare across Tokyo Colony No. 1 in a remarkably short time.
"Hey... brother over there..."
Just as Yoru prepared to move on, a trembling voice called out from behind the adjacent ruins.
A bespectacled middle-aged man resembling an ordinary office worker cautiously poked half his head out from a pile of rubble.
He wore a tattered suit and tightly clutched a rusty steel pipe, his eyes filled with terror and despair.
He was clearly a modern awakened player whose cursed technique had just been forcibly awakened through Idle Transfiguration, dragging him into this slaughter game.
"Y-You're incredible..."
The middle-aged man swallowed hard, plucked up his courage to step out from behind the rubble, and dropped to his knees before Yoru with a thud.
"Please... take me with you!"
"I... I awakened a cursed technique. Even though it's weak, I can act as bait or scout enemy movements for you!"
Tears and mucus ran together down the middle-aged man's face, making him look utterly pathetic.
"I don't want to die... I have a wife and kids waiting for me at home... As long as you protect me, I'll give you every point I earn!"
Inside this hellish barrier, clinging to the strong was the only hope of survival for these modern awakened players.
Yoru halted his steps and looked down at the shivering man kneeling before him.
In his crimson eyes, there was neither sympathy nor pity, only an all-seeing calm.
"You don't need to give me your points."
Yoru's voice was quiet, yet carried an indisputable authority.
"Because things like that hold no meaning for me."
The middle-aged man froze, looking up blankly.
"B-But... the rules say that if you don't acquire points within nineteen days, your cursed technique will be confiscated and you'll die!"
Yoru sneered.
"Those are the rules Kenjaku set for you, not for me."
"Besides..."
Yoru slowly raised Shiranui, leveling the tip directly at the middle-aged man's forehead and making him violently flinch.
"I have no need for teammates."
"On this polluted soil, the only things I need are enemies against whom I can swing my blade."
Yoru sheathed his blade and paid no further attention to the terrified man, heading straight toward the end of the street.
"Find a safe place to hide. Before the nineteen-day countdown ends, I'll smash this damn barrier and the bastard who made the rules into pieces together."
Listening to Yoru's receding footsteps, the middle-aged man knelt dazed in place, tears streaming uncontrollably down his cheeks.
He did not know who this black-haired, red-eyed youth was, nor why he dared speak with such arrogance.
Yet in that moment, in the silhouette of the young man's back, he witnessed a power greater than any cursed technique—an absolute hope capable of tearing apart the boundless darkness!
...
Meanwhile, on the rooftop of the Shinjuku City Hall less than two kilometers from the commercial street.
Ten figures radiating terrifying cursed energy fluctuations stood quietly at the edge of the terrace, gazing down at the hellish city below.
These ten individuals were dressed distinctively: some wore Heian-period kariginu robes, some wore Sengoku-period gusoku armor, and one was an eccentric monk wrapped completely in bandages.
Yet they all shared one common trait—every one of them reeked intensely of blood.
"That non-sorcerer brat without cursed energy is far too reckless."
A warrior wielding dual blades snorted coldly, a bloodthirsty glint flashing in his eyes.
"In just three short hours, he has slaughtered over twenty brothers of our ancient alliance, without even taking their points."
"This is an outright provocation against us ancient sorcerers!"
Beside him, the bandage-wrapped monk pressed his palms together, letting out a chilling, sinister chuckle.
"Amitabha."
"Since he hungers so deeply for slaughter, our ancient sorcerer alliance shall grant his wish."
"With ten Grade 1 sorcerers joining forces, even modern Special Grade jujutsu sorcerers would perish on the spot. Let us see if that wretched blade of his can withstand an ambush from the ten of us!"
These ten ancient sorcerers were an elite squad dispatched by a hunting alliance spontaneously formed within the barrier by awakened ancient powerhouses.
Their objective was singular: tear Yoru, the "non-sorcerer" who was rampantly massacring ancient sorcerers, into pieces!
"Found him!"
One ancient sorcerer with a sensory cursed technique snapped his eyes open, shouting as he pointed toward a street below.
"Just two kilometers away at Shinjuku 3-chome! He's heading this way!"
"Very good."
The dual-blade warrior cruelly licked his lips and drew the twin blades at his waist with a flourish.
"Brothers, prepare to hunt!"
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Ten figures exuding dread leaped down from the hundred-meter-high rooftop like a pack of starving wolves, lunging madly toward Yoru's location.
Meanwhile, at the Shinjuku 3-chome intersection.
As if sensing something, Yoru slowly halted his steps.
He looked up at the ten crimson streaks rapidly converging through the night sky, a brutally cruel sneer curling at the corner of his lips.
"Finally, some decent prey has arrived?"
Yoru's right hand rested lightly on Shiranui's hilt, the patterns of the Transparent World spinning rapidly within his crimson eyes.
"Since you're so eager to throw your lives away..."
"Then out of mercy, I'll send you all off together!"
Boom!
The moment the ten ancient sorcerers slammed down around Yoru like meteors, the asphalt street caved in, and the terrifying shockwave of cursed energy sent abandoned cars flying into the air!
"Non-sorcerer brat, your time has come!"
The dual-blade warrior roared as he struck first, unleashing cross-slashes wrapped in razor-sharp wind blades directly toward Yoru's neck!
At the same time, the other nine ancient sorcerers activated their strongest cursed techniques—flames, poisonous mists, gravity, mental shockwaves...
Ten devastating attacks instantly wove into an inescapable web of death, locking tightly around Yoru!
Yet, faced with this absolute ten-sided death trap, Yoru didn't even blink.
"Too slow."
Beneath the peak vision of the Transparent World, these ten so-called Grade 1 sorcerers—their movements, their cursed energy flows, and even the minute flaws created by their contracting muscles—were all laid completely bare before Yoru.
"Sun Breathing, Eleventh Form..."
Yoru dropped low, blue veins bulging along his right hand as it gripped the hilt.
A terrifying heat, hotter than the sun and more violent than magma, erupted from Shiranui's scabbard in an instant!
"Dragon Sun Halo Head Dance!"
Clang—!
Accompanied by a deafening, resonant dragon's roar, Yoru's figure transformed into a roaring, deep-red fire dragon!
Too fast!
So fast that the ten ancient sorcerers didn't even have time to react!
Along a bizarre and ferocious trajectory, the fire dragon instantly tore through the dense web of death woven from cursed energy!
Slash! Slash! Slash...
A dense succession of dull blades carving through flesh echoed over the intersection.
Every cursed technique, every defense, and even their hardened Special Grade Cursed Tools were melted and severed on contact by the extreme heat as the fire dragon surged past!
When Yoru's silhouette reappeared a hundred meters away atop an abandoned bus, he didn't even turn his head, merely giving Shiranui's blade a light flick to scatter the lingering sparks.
Click...
The crisp sound of the sword snapping back into its sheath sounded extraordinarily sharp in the silent night.
And behind him.
The ten ancient Grade 1 sorcerers, who had been sneering maniacally just a second before, stood frozen in place like statues.
The next second.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud...
Ten severed heads, trailing gouts of crimson blood, soared into the air almost simultaneously!
Ten headless corpses collapsed into pools of blood like emptied sacks of cloth.
One strike, ten kills!
The so-called elites of the ancient Grade 1 sorcerer alliance couldn't even survive a single second before this boy devoid of cursed energy!
Standing atop the abandoned bus, Yoru coldly cast his crimson gaze over the ten headless corpses on the ground, an excessively arrogant sneer touching his lips.
"With only this much strength, you dared form an alliance?"
He raised his head, his gaze seemingly piercing through the layers of night toward the deepest reaches of the barrier.
He knew that his near-frenzied slaughter would inevitably draw out the true apex predators within this barrier.
And that was precisely what he desired.
"Come, spirits of antiquity."
"Show me your strongest trump cards, and let me see who the true hunter is in this mad game of death!"