"Hahaha—! Foolish Americans! Come and taste my blade!" The captain suddenly drew a short sword from behind. He planned to charge into the crowd and cut down a few people. He had confidence in his martial skills—though the crowd looked numerous, once he killed two or three of them, the rest would scatter.
But the moment he raised his blade, his brain felt like it had been struck by a massive hammer. A thunderous roar echoed in his skull, and then—nothing.
"He's got a knife! Get back!"
"Run? Hell no—beat him!"
"Hit him! Beat him to death!"
The survivors were initially startled, but then noticed the man had only struck a pose before freezing completely.
Without thinking twice, everyone swarmed him with punches and kicks.
Over a dozen crew members were surrounded by more than a hundred survivors. They tried to resist—if they'd been allowed to fight properly, their professional training would have easily defeated the survivors. But under Bella's Eagle Vision, their movements were pathetically slow. One Mind Blast each, and after that, she didn't need to worry about them anymore.
"What the hell?! What is all this stuff?"
Everyone piled on. Punches and kicks flew—the dozen or so Hand assassins were literally beaten to death while in their dazed state.
When they searched the bodies, they found a pile of knives, kunai, shuriken, and senbon needles. Even an idiot could tell something was wrong with this crew. What kind of flight crew carries this stuff around? And what even were these things?
A few Japanese survivors explained the history of Japanese ninjas to the crowd, though most people weren't particularly interested.
The crew members' deaths cast a shadow over all the survivors' hearts.
No matter how you looked at it, this seemed like the work of a cult organization—an especially insane one at that.
Bella moved continuously among the injured, checking on this person, offering encouragement to that one.
Most of the survivors had no idea where they were. They jumped into the water to retrieve their suitcases or grabbed unwanted clothes to wrap themselves for warmth.
After the sun completely set, the surroundings became deathly quiet. The survivors faced their first night in Ashina.
"Don't drink the raw water here. Boil it first. I'm worried there might be parasites in it. If you get diarrhea in this environment, I won't be able to treat you."
Bella moved through the crowd constantly, warning everyone: drink hot water, drink hot water, drink hot water!
She said it at least a hundred times. Whether anyone actually listened, she had no idea.
Many of them were used to drinking ice water—the concept of boiled water was unfamiliar to them. Bella wasn't sure her words would sink in, so she could only exaggerate the dangers.
She'd observed carefully—the area in front of them wasn't actually the sea, but rather a river. The opposite shore was shrouded in thick fog that even her Eagle Vision couldn't penetrate.
This water definitely flowed from the Divine Realm. Countless undying insects filled the river water. If people drank it, they'd eventually transform into undying monsters.
Her warnings annoyed many people, who felt she was being a busybody. Bella could only sigh inwardly. If they insisted on drinking it, what could she do? Two sips probably wouldn't kill them, and she couldn't physically stop everyone.
Ashina's night had no moon, and distant wolf howls echoed in the darkness. Everyone could only huddle around bonfires, leaning against each other while waiting for dawn.
The next day, early morning.
While the survivors were still discussing when the rescue team would arrive, a figure approached from the distance—a Japanese samurai wearing a horned helmet, iron armor, and carrying both a katana and wakizashi at his waist. He'd come to recruit the "outsiders."
Emma was such an intelligent woman, yet without a proper language environment, she'd struggled to learn English. This samurai, who probably couldn't even write his own name, was even less likely to speak it.
Fortunately, he hadn't come alone—he'd brought two helpers.
Two foreign men, though both had become completely feudal-Japan-ified. They looked haggard, wearing tattered cloth robes and sashes, barefoot with no shoes, shouldering long spears with the distinctive look of common foot soldiers.
Though the survivors found their appearance odd, they stubbornly believed these were members of a Japanese rescue team.
As long as they could be rescued, what did it matter what clothes they wore?
The samurai-dressed man barked an order for them to halt. The Western survivors didn't understand Japanese, but seeing how serious he looked, they instinctively stopped.
The Japanese survivors, however, rushed forward.
"You're from the Self-Defense Forces, right? We're survivors! You have to save us! I'll pay!"
"Yes, how much money do you want? I know Councilman Matsumoto—we're old friends!"
"Why are you dressed like that? Though you do look pretty imposing..."
Over twenty Japanese survivors abandoned their American companions. Some even rushed up to get friendly with the samurai, while others tried to touch his armor.
"Bastards!" The armored samurai flew into a rage, believing he'd been provoked. He drew his katana and slashed diagonally from top to bottom, splitting the Japanese man before him in two.
The bloody corpse fell to the ground. All the survivors were stunned.
The samurai barked sharply: "Are you spies for the Interior Ministry?"
The Japanese survivors were completely baffled. Who was he talking about?
"Where are you from?" The samurai pointed at one Japanese man, demanding an answer.
"I'm from Yamanashi Prefecture," the man replied reflexively.
"What Yamanashi Prefecture? Never heard of it! You have a Kanto accent—you can't fool me!" The samurai cut down this Yamanashi resident as well.
"Where are you from?" He pointed at another Japanese person.
He questioned them one by one. Everyone with a Kanto accent was cut down—he considered them "Interior Ministry spies." Those with Kansai accents were also killed—they were "dogs who surrendered to the Interior Ministry." In the end, only three people with northeastern Japanese accents survived.
The three stood frozen like statues, having no idea why their companions had been killed or why they themselves had survived.
The bloody scene terrified the remaining survivors. They couldn't imagine that in "modern society," someone could be this brutal. Not rescuing them was one thing, but actually killing people? Wasn't he afraid of breaking the law?
Bella had been observing since the samurai killed the first person. This warrior thoroughly enjoyed the slaughter—his muscles and bones were being strengthened by an infusion of negative emotions.
This thing the Hand called the Black Sky—and which Ashina called Shura—was no ordinary phenomenon. It possessed most characteristics of a demon—probably a very high-level one at that.
While she was observing this, she didn't pay attention to the Japanese survivors' situation. By the time she refocused, she discovered nearly all the Japanese people had been killed as "spies."