Silence.
Tsuramo let his hand drop.
He flicked the last stray spark from his glove as if it were dust, then turned back toward the group, sliding his sword into its sheath with a soft click.
His mask was still intact. His posture relaxed.
As if he had just finished a simple drill, not killed a Shinryu Beast and crushed its soul.
Only the details betrayed him: the dark wetness spreading under his uniform at the ribs, a slice along his sleeve, the faint tremor in the fingers of his left hand that he quickly stilled.
Kijin was the first to move.
"Oi, Tsuramo!" he snapped, boots splashing through the shallow dust of Ryugan's remains.
Wind coiled anxiously around him.
"You're bleeding everywhere, and you say nothing? You trying to make taichō die of stress?"
Tsuramo tilted his head slightly.
"It's nothing," he said. "He was just weak."
Kijin's eye twitched.
"That was 'weak' to you?"
Rei, finally free of the crushing domain, exhaled shakily and pressed his hands together.
Golden light surged back to full strength, smooth and steady this time, flooding the tunnel.
His hair and sleeves lifted in the gentle current of mana.
"Light field stabilized," he reported. "No more interference. Ryugan's imprint is gone."
Along the wall, Kurojin's faint red tracers flickered back into view, revealing the path they'd taken—a subtle line of burnt sigils and clawed marks.
He scratched his cheek and let out a low whistle. "Good thing I was diligent, huh? If this place folded again, you'd all be kissing stone without my art."
Ayame finally straightened fully, rolling her right shoulder once—testing. Her blade lay a few meters back where it had fallen; Rei's light picked out the familiar shape.
She walked past Tsuramo, retrieved it in one smooth motion, and slid it home. Then she turned to face him.
Her violet eyes lingered on the blood at his ribs, then rose to meet the black shadow of his mask.
"In this domain," she said quietly, "I was overpowered. My sword fell. If you hadn't moved, I would have been crushed with the rest of you."
She paused.
"You defeated the Beast I couldn't. That's the reality."
Rei and Kijin both looked at her, faint surprise in their faces; Ayame didn't hand out that kind of admission lightly.
Tsuramo shrugged one shoulder, as if they were discussing the weather.
"I didn't defeat him alone," he said. "Kijin's illusions cut his senses. Kurojin's marks anchored the space so it didn't break under the field. I just cut what was left."
Ayame's mouth curved in the faintest, controlled hint of a smile. "Modest now, are we?"
Behind them, a groan sounded.
One of the support specialists—the man with the paper fan charms—stirred against the wall where he'd collapsed during Ryugan's first shockwave.
Two others still lay unconscious nearby, breathing shallow but steady. Ayame's expression hardened back into command.
"Rei, check their condition. Kijin, assist. We're leaving. Formation for withdrawal—combat ready."
"Hai!" Rei moved at once, light gentling as he knelt beside the fallen.
Kijin's wind wrapped around them, easing their breathing, feeling for breaks and internal injuries.
"They're alive," Kijin reported after a moment. "Mana backlash and shock. No fatal wounds. They just ate Ryugan's first wave head-on."
Kurojin clicked his tongue and stepped in, slinging one supporter's arm over his shoulders. "Tch. Dead weight. Good thing I'm such a generous assistant, huh, Ayame-taichō?"
"Less commentary, more lifting," Ayame said dryly. "Your traces will guide us back?"
Kurojin's eyes glowed faintly as he glanced down the tunnel. "Of course. My marks don't forget their path."
The red sigils along the walls brightened in response, forming a subtle, glowing trail leading away from Ryugan's den.
They started moving. Ayame took point again, violet eyes ahead, blade at her side.
Behind her, Tsuramo walked with his usual unhurried step, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lightly on his sheath.
Kijin flanked the limp supporters on the right, Rei on the left, light both illuminating and shielding.
Kurojin brought up the rear, eyes sharp for any shift in the stone. For a while, the only sounds were boots on rock and the soft murmur of healing spells.
Then Ayame spoke, without looking back.
"Tsuramo." He inclined his head slightly.
"Hai, taichō?"
"That cut," she said. "The one that erased his army. And the one that finished Ryugan. That wasn't standard Shinryu control—not for a new hatch."
Her voice was calm, but there was a thin edge of curiosity. "How did you do it?"
For a moment, only the echo of their footsteps answered.
"It's nothing worth naming yet," Tsuramo said at last. "There was just… a gap. In his pressure. Kijin bent his sense of distance. Your orders kept everyone off my line. Ryugan was looking everywhere at once—and for one breath, not at the right place."
He tapped his sheath lightly with two fingers. "I cut that place. That's all."
Ayame's brows drew together.
She didn't quite accept that, but she let it sit. "You call that 'nothing',"
she murmured.
Kurojin snorted from the back. "Don't let him fool you, taichō. That 'nothing' sliced a Shinryu in half from the inside."
He shifted the weight of the unconscious man on his shoulders. "Oi, Tsuramo. At least pretend you broke a sweat, or the rest of us will look bad."
Tsuramo glanced back over his shoulder, eyes hidden under the brim of his hat.
"If you're worried about appearances, Kurojin-san," he said mildly, "then next time, draw your marks closer to the enemy's heart. I prefer not to run that far for the final cut."
Kurojin blinked—then barked a short laugh. "Ha! Sharp tongue, too. Fine, fine. Next time I'll draw you a straight line to it, like a guide rope."
"Good," Tsuramo said simply, turning his gaze forward again.
Rei's golden light flowed ahead of them, steady and warm now, washing the blood from the stone in its glow.
Kurojin's red trail burned a clear path out.
The tunnel, for the first time since they'd entered, felt less like a throat about to close and more like a passageway they could actually leave.
Ayame walked in silence for a few more steps, then said, just loud enough for him to hear
"Whatever you call it… power, coincidence, or 'nothing'—remember this, Tsuramo." Her hand brushed the hilt at her hip.
"You're not just my early warning anymore." He didn't answer.
But beneath the shadow of his mask, a faint, unreadable smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the Yokoshima Tunnel slowly released them from its grasp.