The woman smiled seductively. "A young warrior with jet-black hair, an upright posture, and features as delicate as a doll... How dazzling, how utterly dazzling.
People with such striking looks as yours will always find others willing to extend kindness, no matter where you go. Just like today—didn't you easily learn this servant's address?"
Hiru narrowed his eyes, remaining silent.
"But, but..." Her smile remained enchanting, yet her tone gradually thickened with malice and extremism. "Why must your purpose be to seek justice for those scum?"
"Scum?"
"Ah, yes. They're all worthless wretches, aren't they?" Her icy voice stood in stark contrast to her alluring expression. "They're just a bunch of vulgar people who judge by appearances and trample others without a second thought."
Hiru raised an eyebrow. This was a clue practically handed to him. He didn't believe the woman posed any threat and was about to press further when a loud crack echoed from the roof beside them.
Hiru instinctively turned to see Giyu propping himself up with his sword, drenched in cold sweat and drained of color. "...Giyu?"
Giyu felt his mind growing hazy, the world before him blurring into double vision. Yet he forced himself to speak despite his weakness. "Poison... You must leave."
"It actually takes ten minutes to take effect? A samurai's constitution really can't be underestimated." The woman's voice softened again. "But don't worry. To ensure the quality of the skin, I specifically used only drugs that induce unconsciousness and weakness. You'll die painlessly in your sleep."
"So you killed all those people?" Hiru watched Giyu collapse weakly onto the roof, then withdrew his gaze. "What did you do with their bodies? Why did you cut off their faces?"
"Merely transforming their ugly faces into something more beautiful." The woman took a step forward. "After all, isn't that what they worshipped? I've simply granted them what they coveted, haven't I?"
Hiru frowned and took a step back, glancing at the unconscious Giyu. "I've never heard murder described with such airy elegance."
"Heh, you'll soon find out... Your companion's already unconscious, and you're starting to feel weak, aren't you?" The woman's smile grew more seductive, though it couldn't mask the madness in her voice. She reached out to Hiru. "A face as beautiful as yours will make a splendid work—eh?"
"Sorry," Hiru raised his hand to seize her wrist, his eyes brimming with unchecked disgust. "My tolerance for poison is surprisingly high. But it seems you're not inclined to cooperate."
"Heh... How utterly shocking." The woman swept a strand of hair from her ear with her free hand. "But without evidence, killing me would only tarnish your reputation."
"Indeed. Since I have no desire to stain myself with meaningless bloodshed, I intend to employ some unconventional methods." Hiru released her grip, leaping onto the rooftop. After confirming that Giyu was truly unconscious, his pupils darkened with a gray hue. Amidst the woman's astonished expression, he extended his hand. "Blood Demon Art: Painted World Scroll—Memory Stripping."
The instant the Blood Demon Art struck, the woman collapsed unconscious—even as a murderer feared by all, she remained merely human.
Hiru closed his eyes, examining the memories stripped by his Blood Demon Art.
...
It was also a tale of twins.
The mistress of this household gave birth to twin girls. For reasons unknown, one side of both infants' faces fused together. To save both mother and babies, the midwife cut away the older sister's fused skin with scissors, allowing both infants to be delivered safely.
The elder sister, deprived of one side of her face, became a hideous monster, while the younger sister, retaining her skin, blossomed into a renowned beauty.
Yet the sisters remained deeply devoted to each other. The elder sister possessed remarkable talent; her embroidery even drew the attention of influential nobles in the capital, who sought an audience with her and expressed desires to marry her.
But the elder sister was profoundly ashamed of her appearance, so she asked her younger sister to communicate with the suitor on her behalf.
As time passed, the elder sister gradually overcame her self-doubt and resolved to meet the suitor face-to-face. Regardless of the outcome, she wished to speak honestly with this gentle, patient man. Yet as she stepped out of her room and passed through the front hall, she overheard her younger sister's voice.
[How could you propose to me? What about my sister?]
[But she never agreed to meet me. You've handled everything all this time. Don't you have even a shred of affection for me?]
[...Of course I'm pleased, but what about my sister?]
[I only admire her talent. She'll understand. So, will you accept my feelings?]
[...Yes. I've actually been fond of you too.]
Her sister was stunned. She silently returned to her room and picked up her needlework again.
It was only natural. Who was to blame for her own timid procrastination all this time?
She was the one who had her sister interact with the man on her behalf. He was the one who had confessed first.
Though bitter, what choice did she have?
The elder sister reverted to her usual silence. What pained her most was that the younger sister continued relaying messages for her, showing no intention of being honest.
It wasn't until shortly before their wedding that the younger sister finally confessed, her words brimming with guilt toward her sister—yet she'd waited until now to tell her.
Moreover, due to the younger sister's outward demeanor, the villagers had all concluded that it was because the elder sister was too ugly, or had done something indecent, that the man had rejected her, choosing instead the more virtuous and beautiful younger sister.
Rage and jealousy burned relentlessly at the elder sister's sanity. Yet, the younger sister still came here every day, holding her wedding gown, talking to her, dreaming of the beautiful future ahead.
The final thread in the elder sister's mind snapped.
On the night before the wedding, she killed her younger sister. With meticulous skill, she peeled off the younger sister's face and used her own masterful embroidery to sew it onto Tsuchinoto's own. Thus, the elder sister became the younger sister.
But when the groom lifted the veil, he was utterly shocked—
[Why is it you? Wasn't it agreed your sister would come?]
[What?]
[Didn't you discover your sister eavesdropping that day and scheme to trick her by staging that charade with me? I told you—whether she's beautiful or ugly, I love her.]
The sister froze. After a long moment, she tore the stitched face from her own Tsuchinoto. Her eyes brimmed with astonishment. [You love... me?]
Witnessing this, the man went mad with terror. [You're insane! You're not her at all! You're a demon!]
Seeing the loathing in his eyes, fury and disgust surged through the sister's heart.
[So it's true—people only care about appearances.]
[This man is no different.]
[Otherwise, why would he treat me like this after declaring his love, once I revealed my true identity?]
[If only it had been my sister whose face was cut off.]
The sister soothed the man, tearfully claiming she'd been momentarily possessed by a demon. She promised to turn herself in tomorrow, holding a wine cup and begging him to become her husband for one night only, to fulfill her obsession.
The man relented. After arguing with his sister, he accepted the wine she offered and drank it without a second thought.
This was the second person she had killed.
She felt no remorse or unease whatsoever. Calmly, she dragged her sister's corpse over and placed it beside the man. Then she sliced off his face and cut pieces of flesh from both bodies, arranging them to mimic the legendary appearance of victims attacked by a murderous demon.
She restored her own appearance and reported the incident to the authorities.
Legends of man-eating demons had long circulated, and the villagers were gripped by fear. Yet none suspected the sister, a seemingly frail woman.
Once the commotion subsided, she retrieved the two faces she had preserved—Tsuchinoto, in fact—and meticulously restored them, then adorning them with exquisite embroidery to create beautiful veils. Because each human face is unique, every embroidered mask was one-of-a-kind, drawing even more admirers to her.
Thus, she grew increasingly frenzied in her search for victims. What began as cautious selection soon devolved into acting purely on impulse. As more embroidered masks emerged, she became enveloped in praise—yet venomous whispers also surfaced:
[Ah! Such exquisite embroidered masks, yet crafted by someone so hideous.]
[Heh. Look at her. Doubt anyone would ever love her in this lifetime.]
[If she couldn't embroider, someone so ugly wouldn't deserve to live in this world.]
Sister listened to these remarks with calm detachment. She saw no need to argue with such gossip; she simply remembered to choose the loudest subjects next time.
Yet the relentless string of disappearances couldn't escape the authorities' notice. Among the victims were not only locals but also many passing strangers—including tall, imposing men. Each time, however, she possessed an alibi. Thus, though the authorities harbored suspicions, they never took action.
But as the incidents escalated, she finally drew the attention of the Demon Slayer Corps—a legendary group akin to the mythical ogre hunters.
Standing at the street corner, she spotted the two exquisitely handsome youths at first glance.
Both boys had long black hair, one with faint gray tips, clad in light blue-gray haori coats. Their faces always bore gentle smiles; though their stances were upright, they carried an air of boyish innocence. The other youth wore a cold expression, his blue eyes clear and lively, yet unable to conceal an underlying unease beneath his calm. He habitually pinched the hem of his dark red haori, his every movement seeming to mimic someone else as he closely followed the first youth's footsteps.
[What extraordinary individuals.]
Her gaze couldn't tear away. When she saw the two youths briefly confer before inquiring about recent death cases, her desire became utterly uncontrollable.
[Such beautiful faces deserve to be properly preserved.]
She sighed softly, watching the two youths split up for their investigations. Returning to her room, she selected the most exquisite face mask from her collection and stitched it onto Tsuchinoto's own.
The sharp pain of silver needles piercing skin and flesh only heightened her anticipation for what was to come. She could already picture the look of utter disbelief on those two youths' faces when they realized they'd been deceived.
[Ah, what a splendid expression that would be.]
After treating the wound from sewing the mask in place, she sat quietly by the window, waiting for the two youths to return.
[The blue-eyed youth is back. He's crouched on the eaves, watching this way? Ah ah, diligently carrying out his mission even without his companion—how adorable.]
She swallowed the antidote, applied a specially concocted sleeping potion to her clothes, and stepped out slowly to strike up a conversation with the boy.
His eyes widened in surprise at first, but he quickly turned away, lips pressed together. From below, she could see the flush spreading to his ears.
[Ah, such a sweet child. I must be gentle with him later... I wonder about his companion...]
Hiru couldn't bear to watch any longer; the woman's thoughts only filled him with disgust.
"Humans really are impossible to like." Carrying the unconscious Giyu on one shoulder, Hiru leapt lightly from the roof and approached the woman. The nail on his right index finger turned gray and sharpened, but just as it was about to pierce her throat, he paused. "Letting you die like this would be letting you off too easy..."
After a moment's thought, Hiru once again employed his Blood Demon Art, erasing all the woman's memories formed after Giyu's unconsciousness. He carried her back into the house, then shouldered Giyu himself, transporting him to the nearest Wisteria House for care.
Returning to the scene, he located the prosecutor handling the case. He compiled a document detailing the entire case's progression, including personal compromising information on the prosecutor, and placed it silently beside the prosecutor's pillow.
As for what state of mind the prosecutor was in the next day upon discovering the document, or what mood he was in when he dispatched men to arrest the woman, only to find every archive room ransacked and meticulously organized afterward—Hiru could only offer a silent "you're welcome." After all, he was a law-abiding citizen.
[Sigh, I really have given too much.]
Hiru thought to himself.
...
The next day, the first thing Giyu did upon waking from the drug's effects was to yell, "Leave me alone! Just go!"
Startling Hiru, who was eating a daifuku, into choking. He glared at Giyu, annoyed. "What's with the sudden panic? What's going on?"
"Hiru..." Giyu stared blankly at the wisteria decorations around them. "The Wisteria House?"
Hiru just rolled his eyes at him before turning back to eat his daifuku in peace.
"What about that woman from yesterday?"
"They took her away this morning." Hiru chewed on a strawberry daifuku, watching sunlight spill across the courtyard. "But she looked kinda... unyielding."
Giyu tilted his head, puzzled. "Why?"
"Probably because she didn't get to peel our faces off and turn them into her 'artwork'. She kept screaming something like, 'Let me go! I still have unfinished work! There were two prime specimens! If only I could have embroidered their faces, if only I could have embroidered their faces!' Something like that."
"...Embroidered faces?"
"It's when you peel off the entire face, process it, then embroider along the skin's texture. Finally, you sell it to high-ranking officials and nobles as thin masks to cover their faces."
Giyu subtly curled his fingers. "...How cruel."
Hiru watched Giyu, visibly shaken, and let out a soft, mocking chuckle. "In a way, humans are far more cruel to each other than demons could ever be. The most terrifying thing in this world has always been, and will always be, peoples."