Chapter 72: The Demon from the Dream, A Sword for the Storm
Finding the location of the Thunder Beast was not, in fact, a difficult task.
From the moment Kobe Hikaru had set out from Kaede Village, a clear map had already formed in his mind. As a demon, he could perceive the presence of Yao Qi as instinctively as a human could see light or hear sound. It was an innate sense, woven into the very fabric of his being. This was amplified by the [Inspiration] talent he had gained from conquering the Naohi, the benevolent half of the Shikon Jewel, which had honed his sensitivity to spiritual power to a razor's edge.
Yao Qi and spiritual power—one a murky, violent torrent, the other a crystalline, tranquil stream—were fundamentally opposing forces. As he traveled toward the Imagawa Clan's domain, the dense demonic energy and the way it repelled all spiritual power around it was as conspicuous as a raging bonfire in the dead of night. It was impossible to miss.
The lightning-attribute Yao Qi manifested in his perception as a blinding, violent purple light. It leaped and flickered, a restless, caged storm hidden deep beneath the main castle of the Imagawa Clan.
This knowledge was the bedrock of his confidence, the reason he dared to venture here alone.
He could see the enemy, but the enemy could not see him. In any battle, such a deep asymmetry of information was the greatest advantage one could possess.
...
Even so, at this particular moment, Hikaru felt a genuine urge to complain.
How in the world had the historical Imagawa Yoshimoto become a woman?
And a young one at that. Far too young.
She looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, her petite frame swathed in a gorgeous and cumbersome jūnihitoe—a twelve-layered ceremonial kimono. Layer upon layer of exquisite fabric enveloped her, making her seem even smaller. Deep brown hair, so dark it was nearly black, cascaded down to her waist, glowing with a soft luster under the flickering candlelight. She was, by all accounts, a classic, long-haired beauty.
'In this world, even the great Sengoku daimyo are girls?'he thought, his deadpan expression unwavering.'Is this some kind of gender-bent timeline? What's next, will I find out Oda Nobunaga is a loli?'
Though his mind was reeling with such thoughts, Hikaru's outward demeanor remained perfectly calm and indifferent. He had to admit, the Imagawa Yoshimoto before him fit his aesthetic preferences quite well—a dark-haired, straight-styled beauty, much like Kikyo.
But now was hardly the time to entertain such notions.
Imagawa Yoshimoto stared at the demon who called himself Kobe Hikaru, her mind struggling to process his words. What had he just said? He wanted to help her deal with the thunder? And… borrow her castle?
What kind of absurd request was that? Borrow a castle?
"You—"
She had barely spoken a single word.
BOOM—!
The sky exploded. A clap of thunder, more violent than any that had come before it, crashed down with enough force to seemingly overturn the entire tenshukaku.
Yoshimoto's expression twisted in alarm. She rushed to the window, her heavy silks rustling.
What met her eyes was a sky choked with violet lightning. It wasn't a single bolt, but a frenzied web of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of crackling tendrils. Countless purple serpents writhed through the churning clouds before converging—and falling.
Their target was the tenshukaku.
The very room where she stood.
"Oh no—"
Yoshimoto instinctively tried to run, but she knew it was too late. The lightning descended with blinding speed, so fast she didn't even have time to turn around.
And then, she heard a sound. It was very light, yet as clear as if it had whispered directly into her ear.
It was the sound of the demon's footsteps on the tatami mats.
Kobe Hikaru had already crossed the room to the sword rack. He reached out, his hand closing around the hilt of the Sōza Samonji. It was the famed blade of the Imagawa Clan, a treasure once wielded by the Ashikaga Shogunate, a sword said to be so incomparably sharp it could cut through iron as if it were mud.
The blade was long and slender, its edge shimmering with a cold, deadly light. The hilt, wrapped with a simple red knot, felt solid and steady in his grasp.
Hikaru drew the sword.
Clang—
The sound of the blade leaving its sheath echoed through the room. It was a peculiar ring, not the harsh scrape of metal on wood, but something softer, more resonant—like the sigh of a living creature.
[Conquerable Target Detected]
[Famous Sword: Sōza Samonji]
[Quality: Superior (Mortal Weapon)]
[Current Favorability: 0 (Stranger)]
[Evaluation: A blade that has been treasured for too long; it misses the taste of the battlefield.]
Hikaru glanced at the system panel, entirely unsurprised. Famous swords were objects, and any object could be conquered. But now was not the time for grinding favorability.
He looked up. The lightning had already torn through the roof.
A torrent of destructive purple energy plummeted straight down.
Imagawa Yoshimoto squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the end. She knew she couldn't escape.
Yet, the excruciating pain she anticipated never came.
She heard only a soft, slicing sound, like silk being torn. It was followed by the sharp crackle of dissipating electricity.
Slowly, she opened her eyes.
Kobe Hikaru stood before her, the Sōza Samonji held firmly in his right hand, its blade angled toward the sky. And the deluge of purple thunderbolts… had been severed.
Yes, not blocked, but severed.
The phantom arc of his sword strike still lingered in the air, a line of impossible grace. The lightning had been split clean in two, the divided streams of energy brushing past either side of Hikaru to slam into the floor.
BOOM!
The floorboards shattered, and charred, smoking traces spread out like blackened veins. But the space where Hikaru and Yoshimoto stood remained utterly untouched.
Yoshimoto was stunned. This scene… it was identical to the one from her dream.
The pale white hair. The crimson eyes.
A long sword held aloft, cleaving the thunder in two.
"You…" Her voice trembled. "Are you really…?"
Hikaru glanced back at her. "Probably."
His tone was casual, as if he wasn't at all surprised that she seemed to recognize this form.
After all, he mused, "The Naohi half of the Shikon Jewel sometimes does strange things." He paused, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "Like sending dreams, for instance."
Yes. Although the Shikon Jewel itself remained with Kikyo, its power was still reaching out. Through his [Inspiration] talent, Hikaru could sense the subtle machinations of the Naohi. This was, in its own way, Kikyo's 'support' for his mission.
Imagawa Yoshimoto, however, was left with a face full of confusion.
"What Shikon Jewel? What is Naohi?"
She had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. But there was no time to dwell on it.
Because the lightning was still falling. Bolt after bolt rained down, as dense and relentless as a torrential downpour.
Hikaru said nothing more. He simply adjusted his grip on the blade.
Then—he moved.
A horizontal slash. The light of the blade swept from left to right, bisecting a descending bolt at its waist.
A vertical cleave. From top to bottom, another spear of lightning was split perfectly down the middle.
A diagonal cut. The blade carved a fluid, curving arc, shattering three bolts that fell simultaneously.
Every strike was impossibly fast. Every strike was lethally precise.
Imagawa Yoshimoto could only watch, utterly mesmerized. As the head of her clan, she was no stranger to swordsmanship. Even if she didn't practice it herself, she retained many samurai, each a veteran who had survived a hundred battles.
But their skill, when compared to the monster before her, was on an entirely different plane of existence.
It seemed as though he possessed no formal technique, yet his movements were the embodiment of speed, precision, and ruthlessness. This wasn't just swordsmanship. It was an art form. A miracle. It was sorcery made manifest through absolute power and speed.
While it was true that Hikaru had never systematically learned any blade techniques, in the half-year since he had arrived in this world, he had swung his sword every single day. He had fought for his life every single day.
The essence of any technique was simply its application. And in the crucible between life and death, he had long since carved the art of killing with a blade into his very bones.
And so, here, in this room, all lightning was severed, and all thunder was extinguished.
"Is that all?" Hikaru suddenly spoke. He wasn't looking at Yoshimoto, but at the floor beneath his feet.
The lightning had begun its assault the moment he appeared, a clear sign it was aimed at him, not her. Not that it mattered.
He had come here to slay this beast, after all.
"Hiding underground, only daring to throw lightning from a distance," he taunted, his voice not loud but carrying an immense penetrating power that seemed to pierce through the floorboards and into the earth below. "Are you truly so frightened? And you dare call yourself a vanguard of the demon hordes?"
The response was a surge of even more violent lightning.
This time, it didn't just descend from the sky. It erupted from below.
Searing purple electricity surged from the cracks in the floor, writhing upwards like a nest of venomous snakes.
Imagawa Yoshimoto screamed and scrambled back.
But Hikaru remained standing in place.
He simply slid the Sōza Samonji back into its sheath with a soft click.
Then—
His left hand fell to his waist, pressing against the hilt of his own sword, Muramasa.
"I told you I was borrowing your castle," he said to Yoshimoto, his voice calm. "Things might get a little chaotic now."
The moment the words left his lips, Hikaru's body began to change.
A crimson mist seeped from beneath his skin, spreading out into the air with him at its center, a bloody fog that expanded in all directions.
[Blood Transformation] activated.
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