On the far bank of the river, the Spider Father snarled in rage. Several jagged ice spikes jutted from his flesh, the remnants of Yukishiro's earlier strike. With a guttural growl, the hulking demon wrenched them free and hurled them to the ground. The sound echoed like shattered glass across the valley.
His roar followed, raw and furious, as though demanding: Why do you interfere?
Yukishiro stood his ground, blade angled at his side, his breath calm and steady despite the oppressive aura of the beast.
"You—" his voice was low but firm, "—aren't you one of the Twelve Kizuki, are you? A monster like this… hardly fits the pattern."
The Spider Father tilted his grotesque head. Countless eyes glimmered across his face, but there was no carved rank, no etched kanji that marked the true Moons. His grotesque bulk, half-man, half-arachnid, lacked the elegance of the powerful demons Yukishiro had been warned about.
Behind him, Inosuke stirred weakly at the tree roots. His chest rose and fell with shallow, ragged breaths, blood seeping beneath the boar mask. Despite the pain, he coughed twice, forcing words out.
"Ton… Ton… Taro—" He spat blood, then growled louder. "TonTaro said this one was a Twelve Kizuki!"
Yukishiro blinked, puzzled. He had no idea who "TonTaro" was supposed to be, but the boar-headed boy's conviction was clear.
"No," Yukishiro said coldly, his eyes narrowing on the beast. "Whatever this thing is, it's not one of them."
The Spider Father's chest heaved, his voice gravelly. "You will not… touch my family."
The words clawed through the air, thick with protective fury.
Family?
Yukishiro recalled the pale girl in white who had named herself Rui's sister. Could this monster be the father, part of the twisted "family" forged under Rui's command?
The threads began to align.
The Spider Father lunged, water spraying as he crashed forward.
Yukishiro's eyes flicked to Inosuke—slumped and nearly defenseless. He had no intention of letting the demon turn its wrath upon the boy. He exhaled, and cold mist curled from his lips.
Frost gathered beneath his sandals, encasing the river in translucent sheen.
His feet glided across the forming ice as if it were solid ground. The current froze beneath his step, lifting him above the rushing water.
Inosuke's jaw slackened beneath the mask. His vision blurred from blood loss, but even in his haze, he had never seen a breathing style like this.
A man walking on water, cloaked in mist—like a phantom of winter itself.
Yukishiro's voice cut through the roar of the river.
"Tell me. Rui—what is he to you?"
The Spider Father's reply was a thunderous roar. "Die! Die! DIE!"
He charged, his titanic fists smashing down.
Yukishiro met the assault head-on. The world sharpened through his temperature sense, every shift in heat marking the demon's movements before they came.
He skated aside on sheets of ice, his form weaving between each crushing blow.
Water splashed in towering arcs. Yukishiro's silhouette flickered through the spray like a phantom.
Then—an opening. He dropped low, sliding beneath the beast's legs, and slashed upward across its back.
CLANG!
The Nichirin blade struck like lightning—but the impact jarred his arms to the bone. It was as though he had struck stone itself. The cut bit shallow, leaving only a pale scar across the hardened flesh.
The Spider Father bellowed in fury, spinning with a wild backhand.
Yukishiro vaulted away, boots skimming the river's ice-crusted surface. His hands trembled faintly from the impact, but his mind was clear.
Defense like rock. Offense like a hammer. His body itself is his weapon.
The conclusion was obvious: brute force would fail.
But there had been a reaction—his shallow wounds did not seal instantly. This demon's regeneration was slower than expected. That was his opening.
Yukishiro steadied his stance. Frost coiled thicker around him, the cold in his breath crystallizing mid-air. The river groaned as sheets of ice crept outward, freezing the current into stillness.
His voice rang, calm and precise:
"Ice Breathing—Fusion Technique: Phantom Snowfall."
His form vanished into a whirling white storm. Snow and mist exploded outward, swallowing the Spider Father.
The demon swung blindly, his roars muffled within the fog.
The river cracked and glazed with a crust of frost, spreading inch by inch.
From the treeline, another figure appeared—Mitsune. She froze at the sight of Inosuke slumped beneath the tree, her hand instinctively reaching for her sword. But then she saw his lower uniform, the insignia of the Corps.
Relief softened her grip.
Her eyes lifted to the river, where the storm of mist churned violently. She recognized the signature cold aura immediately.
"Yukishiro…" she whispered.
She knew better than to interfere. This was his battle for now.
The mist trembled, then split apart.
A figure shot upward, silhouetted against the moon.
Yukishiro's blade gleamed above his head, both hands gripping tight.
The gathered fog surged toward him, drawn as if by unseen strings, coiling into his sword like threads of white silk.
His cry tore through the silence:
"Ice Breathing, Fourth Form—Icefall!"
The blade descended.
Frost cascaded like a waterfall, crashing down onto the demon's back. The ice encased the Spider Father in jagged flowers, locking him mid-roar. The surface of the river split under the force, then froze solid again.
The demon howled, thrashing, but the cold dug deeper, numbing his limbs. His movements slowed, stilled—until at last he was forced to his knees, half-sunken, his hulking body trapped like a grotesque statue.
Yukishiro wrenched his blade free and raised it again, slamming it into the same wound, over and over.
The cracks widened.
Each strike splintered flesh and ice alike, the cold seeping deeper. He looked like a butcher working frozen meat, merciless and methodical.
"Yukishiro," Mitsune called, stepping lightly onto the frozen river. "Let me help."
He did not glance at her, his expression unreadable, but neither did he stop her.
Understanding his silence, she unsheathed her own Nichirin blade. Together, they hacked at the demon's neck, their strikes ringing in unison.
Inch by inch, the stubborn flesh gave way.
On the shore, Inosuke stirred. With a groan, he forced himself upright, gripping the tree for balance.
His ribs ached, every breath sharp with pain, but his eyes burned as he watched the scene unfold.
Two swordsmen, fighting in perfect rhythm, overwhelming the monster he himself had failed against.
He clenched his fists around his broken blades.
So that's how it's done. Hitting the same point, over and over, until the beast falls…
Jealousy twisted in his chest. He had tried something similar, but only managed to hack through an arm. Compared to their precision, his methods were crude, clumsy.
His breathing grew harsher, not from pain, but from the storm boiling inside.
"Damn it…" he muttered beneath the boar mask. "I won't lose to anyone…"