Chapter 35: Under One Roof, a Demon to Slay
The house was suffocatingly narrow.
Compared to the spacious shrine hall in Kaede Village, this vacant thatched hut felt utterly cramped. It contained little more than a low table with a missing corner and a ceramic lamp holding the last dregs of oil. The rest of the space was taken up by a single tatami mat, its woven reeds showing the faint, dark bloom of mold.
But the old village headman had sworn this was the best empty room in the entire settlement.
Hikaru believed him.
After all, most of the hovels he had seen on their way here didn't even possess a complete roof, let alone four intact walls.
Sizzle…
The wick of the lamp sparked. The flame leaped up an inch before sinking back down, casting listless, swaying shadows across the earthen walls.
Kikyo knelt on one side of the tatami mat, her slender fingers working to unfasten the bracers on her arms. The white ties loosened, revealing a length of clean bandage wrapped beneath. It was a wound from the previous night, a raw chafe on her knuckles and wrist from drawing her bow with too much force.
Leaning against the pillar by the door, Hikaru held his blade, letting his gaze wander aimlessly.
The room was too small—so small that even with a few feet of distance between them, the warmth radiating from her body and the faint scent that clung to her drifted into his senses.
Kikyo smelled… good.
At least, she did to an oni whose senses were as sharp as his.
He fixed his eyes on his own blade, but his peripheral vision betrayed him, tracking her movements.
With the bracers removed, the priestess shifted her shoulders slightly. The motion caused her white kosode, already a little loose, to slip further down the elegant line of her shoulder.
The collar gaped.
The dim, yellow lamplight fell precisely into the hollow of her collarbone, illuminating the pale shadow there. Her skin seemed to glow, a dazzling, almost luminous white against the gloom. Further down, the gentle curves of her chest were restrained by the fabric, pressing softly against the lapel with each quiet breath. Below that, her red hakama was cinched tight, the belt tracing a slender, supple line at her waist.
Because she was kneeling, the crimson fabric stretched taut over her thighs, outlining a full, rounded silhouette. Several deep folds creased at the back of her knees, disappearing into the shadows beneath the hem of her skirt and tracing a deep, triangular curve into the darkness.
Hikaru's Adam's apple bobbed.
"That old man wasn't telling the truth," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet that inexplicably unsettled the demon in his heart.
Kikyo's hands paused. She placed her bracers neatly on her knees.
"Mm," she responded without looking up, her attention focused on tidying her sleeves.
"The thing in that shrine isn't a god."
"I know."
Hikaru shifted his weight, adjusting the position of Muramasa so the hilt wouldn't dig into his waist. "That thing has a large appetite. It demands offerings and human lives. It craves the status of a god to be worshipped, yet it can't shed its demonic nature of devouring people."
Greedy and conflicted. It was a common affliction among demons who sought shortcuts to power.
Kikyo finally looked up. The lamplight flickered, a tiny star shimmering in the cool depths of her dark eyes.
"He knows," she said softly.
Hikaru was taken aback for a second before he understood. She was talking about the old man who had led them here—the headman of this village.
"He knows it's a demon?"
"He knows," Kikyo's voice was barely a whisper. "But he doesn't dare to acknowledge it. If he does, the village's last sliver of hope will be extinguished. Even if they are making offerings to an evil spirit, as long as the village can barely survive, they will continue to bow their heads."
This was the chaotic age of warring states; human life was cheaper than grass. To live, groveling like a dog before a demon was nothing out of the ordinary. Even if it meant offering up their own people as sacrifices, it was a price they would pay, so long as the rest could survive.
Hikaru said nothing. He remembered the way the old man had knelt on the dirt, his body trembling as he begged Kikyo to go 'communicate' with the shrine's deity. Humble, terrified, and clinging to a desperate thread of wishful thinking.
Thinking back on it now, the old man had never wanted her to truly communicate. He had wanted this powerful priestess to frighten the demon, to make it restrain itself just enough.
The desperate wisdom of those at the bottom—they had to rack their brains for every scrap of cunning simply to stay alive.
"So, what's the plan for tonight?" Hikaru asked, his gaze falling on the single tatami mat. "There's only this one. You're sleeping on it?"
Kikyo glanced at the small mat, then back at him. A faint blush, almost imperceptible in the dim light, rose to her cheeks as she likely recalled the nonsensical things Kaede had said that morning.
"You are injured," she stated simply.
"I'm an oni," Hikaru countered, patting his chest. "I don't need to sleep. I can just stand for the night."
"Sit here." Kikyo shifted to the side, freeing up half of the mat. Her expression was calm and her face cool, but the very tips of her ears were still tinged with red.
Hikaru didn't move. "It's too cramped."
"It is not," Kikyo insisted. She seemed unaccustomed to being indebted to others, even for small courtesies like this.
With a quiet sigh, Hikaru relented. He walked over and sat cross-legged beside her.
A mere half-fist of space separated them. The fabric of their clothes brushed together.
That scent grew stronger.
Kikyo seemed a bit uneasy. Her body went rigid, her posture unnaturally straight, and even her breathing became shallow.
Hikaru stared at the dancing flame ahead, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
[Demon Blade Muramasa indicates hunger. It smells a very fragrant scent not far away.]
"I'm hungry, too," Hikaru said suddenly.
Kikyo turned to look at him, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. "The grain cakes the old man brought earlier…"
"Not that kind of hunger." Hikaru drew his blade an inch from its scabbard. The cold, polished steel cast a sharp light across half his face, catching the crimson glow in his eyes. "It's hungry." He paused. "And my hands are itching."
He had no desire to spend the entire night in this moldy hut, stewing in the village's despair. He certainly didn't want to wake up tomorrow morning and listen to that old man plead with them to negotiate terms with a man-eating yokai.
He was a yokai himself. He never allowed his hands to be tied.
And he was more sensitive to the emotions of others than most.
"You feel frustrated, don't you?" Hikaru suddenly glanced sideways, his eyes meeting Kikyo's deep, dark gaze.
She was slightly taken aback. Then she saw the young man before her break into a faint, knowing smile.
Although she hadn't answered, he could feel it—the frustration and hesitation churning in her heart. As a priestess with immense spiritual power, her duty was to slay demons and exorcise evil. As a guardian, she was meant to purify any yokai that dared to desecrate the gods.
But… after she killed it… what would become of these people?
For all its evil, that yokai had brought a fragile stability to this village. Even if it felt fundamentally wrong, Kikyo's reason told her that the old man's approach was, in a grim way, the correct one. Just scaring the demon a little would be enough. It would be sufficient.
And yet, the frustration remained. To allow a demon to run rampant… the indignation was a bitter pill to swallow.
"Don't worry about it so much." Hikaru pushed himself up, his gaze lifting to the sliver of moon visible through the window. "Since it's a yokai that commits evil, it must be killed. Since it's a god that commits sin, it must be dragged down from its altar."
He paused, a wry twist to his lips. "As for what happens afterward… we'll talk about it later."
Hikaru stood, the hem of his gray robes catching a gust of wind that made the oil lamp flicker violently.
"I used to really like a saying: 'Saving you has nothing to do with you.' Some people, and some things, simply must be dealt with." His voice was low and resolute. "I'm going to cut off its head and wake this village up."
"You rest."
He didn't look back at Kikyo as he turned toward the door.
His wrist was suddenly caught. The touch was cool, the fingertips bearing the thin, hard calluses earned from years of holding a bow.
Hikaru glanced back.
Kikyo was already on her feet, her other hand grabbing the vermilion longbow that had been resting nearby.
"Together," she said.
She had made up her mind. Her eyes, dark yet impossibly bright, bloomed with a deep, unwavering depth. All hesitation was gone.
Hikaru looked down at the hand gripping his wrist, then back up at her eyes. There was no girlish shyness in them now, only the unshakeable purity and determination of a priestess who had found her conviction.
"Fine." A grin spread across Hikaru's face. "Then together."
Kikyo released him. She took a moment to straighten her collar, her movements crisp and decisive, before being the first to push open the door and step out into the night.
"Together," she repeated, her voice firm with finality.
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