Himiko stayed on her knees, porcelain fingers resting against the side of Kuro's cracked face. The courtyard was dead silent. Her crown had completely stopped spinning.
"…Kuro?" she whispered, voice low.
A long, painful pause.
Then, a faint, raspy buzzing sound came from the Fly King.
Kuro's compound eyes slowly cracked open, just barely. His voice came out weak and hoarse, but still carried that same lazy attitude.
"…You're heavy."
Himiko froze.
For a moment she just stared at him, completely silent. Then her expression shifted — cold, regal, and unmistakably irritated.
She slowly pulled her hand back, eyes narrowing into a sharp, imperious glare.
"You were unconscious for a couple minutes," she said, voice icy, "and the first thing you do is complain?"
Kuro let out a weak, wheezing buzz — the fly version of a tired laugh.
"…Couldn't resist. You looked… concerned."
Himiko's gaze hardened even further. She rose to her feet with perfect, elegant posture, looking down at him with pure aristocratic disdain.
"You are lucky I still require your services," she said coldly. "Otherwise I would leave you here to rot."
Kuro's wings gave one pathetic little flutter.
"…Noted."
Meanwhile, deep underground…
Far beneath the mountains, in a hidden base carved into solid rock, the air was thick with the smell of damp stone and old blood. Torchlight flickered weakly along the walls, barely pushing back the darkness.
Kurosawa lay on a cold stone slab, his grey skin covered in deep cracks and fresh wounds. Thick bandages, already soaked through with dark blood, wrapped around his torso and arms. His yellow eyes were half-lidded, still glowing with that unhinged, feverish light, but his breathing came in shallow, painful rasps.
A small girl knelt beside the slab — no older than twelve, with dull, lifeless eyes and trembling hands. She was one of his many "subjects," broken long ago. She held a brush over a piece of parchment, ink already dripping from the tip.
Kurosawa's raspy, venomous voice broke the silence.
"Write this exactly as I say… word for word."
The girl dipped the brush, her hand shaking so badly she nearly dropped it.
He took a slow, labored breath, then began speaking, voice low and filled with malice.
"To the Hollow Blade…"
The girl started writing.
Kurosawa continued, each word dripping with dark promise.
His message went on for several long seconds — the exact words hidden from view. Only the scratching of the brush against parchment could be heard in the dim chamber.
When he finally finished speaking, the girl kept her head bowed, not daring to look up. She waited in silence, brush hovering over the paper.
Kurosawa stared at the ceiling, his scarred lips slowly curling into a bloody, crooked smile.
"…Send it."
The girl quickly rolled up the parchment, tied it with a black string, and hurried out of the chamber without a word.
Kurosawa remained on the slab, chest rising and falling weakly. His yellow eyes gleamed with twisted excitement.
He whispered to the empty room, voice barely audible.
"This isn't over… porcelain queen."
A low, broken chuckle slipped out of him, wet and raspy.
"Heh… heh heh… I finally found something interesting."
His fingers twitched against the stone slab as he stared up at the ceiling, delirious and half-lost in the pain.
"That arrogant little doll… and her oversized bug. They actually hurt me. Me. That's… new."
He licked the blood from his cracked lips, a twisted grin spreading across his scarred face.
"I'll have to thank those pathetic villagers later… the ones who couldn't even make a proper deal. If they hadn't called me out there… I never would've met her."
His voice grew softer, almost dreamy, but the madness in it never faded.
"She's perfect… so cold, so regal, so full of herself. I want to break that pretty porcelain face. I want to watch it shatter… piece… by piece…"
He let out another weak, wheezing laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls.
"This is almost as exciting as back then… when the Hollow Blade found me. When he dragged me out of that gutter and gave me purpose. This feeling… it's the same."
His eyes narrowed, burning with obsessive focus.
"Next time… that domain won't catch me off guard. I'll find books. Scrolls. Anything that teaches simple domains. I'll learn how to counter it… how to break it before it even forms."
He smiled wider, the jagged scar on his face stretching grotesquely.
"I'll study. I'll prepare. And when I come back… she won't get the chance to trap me again."
Kurosawa slowly closed his eyes, still smiling like a man who had just discovered a new obsession.
"…This is going to be fun. I can't wait to play with you again… Your Majesty."
Himiko stared down at the broken Fly King for a moment longer, her expression cold and regal. Then, without a word, she bent down, slid one arm under his back and the other under his legs, and lifted him with surprising ease.
Kuro let out a weak, annoyed buzz.
"Be silent," she replied flatly, voice dripping with arrogance. "A queen does not need commentary from her injured general."
She carried him across the ruined courtyard, her porcelain feet clicking against the stone, and brought him inside the main hall. The fly-heads scattered nervously out of her way as she walked straight to the throne platform and gently laid him down beside it.
"There. Rest. Heal. Your swarm will bring you food if you need it."
Kuro groaned as he settled against the stone, one wing twitching.
"…This is humiliating."
Himiko ignored him, turning away with perfect poise and sitting back on her throne. Her crown began spinning slowly once more.
Meanwhile, in the treeline…
The four observers were deathly silent. The air around them felt thick, almost suffocating, as if the very atmosphere had been crushed under the weight of what they had just witnessed.
Gojo no Kenji slowly lowered his telescope, his hands still trembling so violently that the lens clattered against his fingers.
"…That was a Black Flash," he whispered, voice tight with disbelief. "Not some weak imitation. A real one. He didn't just knock the Fly King out… he nearly erased him. One hit. One perfect, black spark… and yet… she still won."
Kamo no Jiro's face had gone completely pale, sweat dripping down his temple like he was running a fever.
"She used an incomplete domain… and it worked. We just watched her trap one of the Hollow Blade's top dogs like he was a Grade 2 curse. He had to burn a high-grade cursed tool just to escape with his life. That man… he was supposed to be stronger than both of them combined."
The Zenin scout swallowed hard, his voice barely audible, almost a growl.
"This isn't just a special grade anymore. She has a general now. And she just proved she can go toe-to-toe with one of the most dangerous curse users in the Heian era… and come out on top. That wasn't a fight. That was a declaration."
The Abe onmyoji clutched his torn talismans so tightly the paper was tearing in his hands, his knuckles bone-white.
"We still have three days before we're allowed to report back… mission above everything. We don't break protocol. No matter what we just saw. We stay. We watch. Even if it kills us."
Gojo no Kenji stared at the estate, his face pale, eyes wide with something close to awe.
"She carried the Fly King inside like it was nothing… then sat back down on her throne like she just finished a light sparring session. Like the fight didn't even matter to her."
He let out a shaky breath, voice dropping into a grim whisper.
"The power balance just changed… and we're the only ones who witnessed it."
The four men fell into a heavy, terrified silence.
Three days remained until their report.
And right now… those three days felt like a death sentence.
Two days later…
The final day before the observers' deadline had arrived.
Over the past two days, the Sando Estate had transformed from a crumbling ruin into something that actually resembled a queen's domain.
The biggest change came from Kuro's swarm. The Fly King had designed crude but effective wooden sleds — long, reinforced platforms dragged by dozens of larger fly-heads working in perfect sync. The first time they pulled a massive slab of granite down from the northern ridge, the sound of hundreds of wings buzzing in unison was almost cinematic. The sleds cut their workload in half, allowing the swarm to haul far heavier materials than before.
Kuro had thrown himself into the labor with surprising dedication. He spent most of his time in the courtyard, wings buzzing constantly as he directed the swarm, personally helping lift the heaviest beams when the fly-heads struggled. Sweat and dust covered his chitin.
But the wound on his chest — the one left by Kurosawa's Black Flash — still hadn't closed. It wasn't just a cut. It was a deep, fist-sized hole punched straight through his chitin armor. The black sparks had left a jagged, blackened ring around the wound that refused to heal properly. Every time he moved too quickly or tried to exert real power, the hole would reopen, leaking thick, dark green insect blood that dripped down his torso in slow, viscous trails.
He was still far from full strength.
Himiko noticed, of course. She watched him from her newly elevated throne, legs crossed, crown spinning lazily above her head.
"You are pushing yourself too hard," she said coolly, not even looking up from her scroll. "That wound will not heal if you keep reopening it."
Kuro clicked his mandibles in irritation, pressing a clawed hand against the gaping hole in his chest.
"Tch… I'm fine. It's just a scratch."
Himiko raised a single eyebrow, her voice dripping with regal arrogance.
"A scratch that nearly killed you. Do not lie to your queen, General."
Kuro grumbled under his breath but didn't argue further. He simply went back to directing the swarm, though his movements were noticeably slower and more careful than they had been before the fight.
The fly-heads had also grown slightly more disciplined under his training. They no longer scattered in terror every time Himiko moved. A few of the braver ones even perched on the armrests of her throne like strange little gargoyles.
The entire estate now carried a strange, almost peaceful rhythm — the constant buzzing of wings, the scraping of stone, the occasional sarcastic complaint from Kuro, and Himiko's cold, elegant commands echoing across the courtyard.
It felt less like a cursed spirit's lair… and more like the beginning of something real.
Meanwhile, in the treeline…
The four observers looked completely exhausted. Two days of constant vigilance had worn them down to the bone.
Gojo no Kenji rubbed his tired eyes.
"They're actually rebuilding. Those sleds the Fly King designed… they're hauling stone like it's nothing. That swarm is working like a machine now."
Kamo no Jiro let out a dry laugh.
"And the Fly King himself is doing manual labor. I never thought I'd see a special grade pushing sleds and yelling at insects like a foreman."
The Zenin scout shook his head, voice hoarse.
"She just sits there on her throne, giving orders like she was born for it. It's terrifying how natural she looks doing this."
The Abe onmyoji clutched his talismans, voice quiet.
"Tonight we finally leave. After two days of watching this… I don't even know what to tell the council anymore."
Gojo no Kenji stared at the estate, watching Himiko casually correct the angle of her crown while Kuro grumbled about another stuck sled.
"…One more day. Then we report everything."
The four men sat in tired silence, the buzzing of the swarm and the scraping of stone echoing in the distance.
The final day of observation had begun.
Himiko sat on her throne like a statue, one leg crossed over the other, slowly flipping through an old scroll she'd taken from Yoshino Town. Every few minutes she'd glance up and give a single, regal order without even raising her voice.
"General. The left wall is crooked. Fix it."
Kuro, who was currently dragging a massive stone beam with the help of twenty fly-heads, stopped dead in his tracks. The wound in his chest was still an ugly, fist-sized hole, leaking dark green blood every time he moved too much.
He slowly turned his compound eyes toward her.
"…You do realize I'm literally carrying half a mountain right now, right?"
Himiko didn't even look up from her scroll.
"And yet you're still standing there complaining instead of working. How curious."
Kuro's wings buzzed loudly in frustration.
"You're evil. You know that?"
A small, arrogant smirk tugged at Himiko's lips.
"Perhaps. But at least I don't have a hole straight through my torso. You almost look like a doughnut, General. A very angry, very green doughnut."
Kuro froze mid-step. Several fly-heads crashed into each other behind him because he suddenly stopped moving.
He slowly looked down at the gaping wound in his chest, then back up at her.
"…Did you just call me a doughnut?"
Himiko finally glanced at him, her crimson eye sparkling with cruel amusement.
"I did. It's quite fitting. Would you like me to get the fly-heads to sprinkle sugar on you next?"
Kuro stared at her for a long moment, completely speechless. Then he let out the longest, most defeated buzz she had ever heard from him.
"I hate this job. I hate this estate. I hate you."
Himiko leaned back on her throne, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.
"Good. A proper general should fear his queen. Now stop bleeding on my new courtyard and get back to work, doughnut."
Kuro muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "I'm going to quit," but still turned around and kept dragging the stone beam, the hole in his chest leaking green blood the entire way.
The fly-heads, who had been watching the entire exchange, were now buzzing in what could only be described as quiet laughter.
Even a few of them were hovering near Himiko's throne, as if silently agreeing with her roast.
A couple hours later…
Rebuilding was going well.
By the afternoon, Kuro had managed to create something genuinely impressive. Using the sleds and a series of ropes rigged between the larger fly-heads, he had built a makeshift crane system. The swarm worked like a well-oiled machine — dozens of them pulling ropes in perfect rhythm while others guided the heavy stone blocks into place.
Himiko watched from her throne with genuine interest this time. She even set her scroll down.
"Not bad," she admitted, sounding almost impressed. "You actually have some use beyond eating people and complaining."
Kuro, who was covered in dust and green blood, shot her a tired glare.
"High praise from someone who's done nothing but sit on her throne and insult me all day."
Himiko smiled, cold and regal.
"A queen does not do manual labor. That is what generals are for."
She leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Though I must say… you're starting to look less like a doughnut and more like a poorly glazed pastry. The green blood really brings out the color."
Kuro dropped the rope he was holding. The stone block he was lifting immediately crashed back to the ground, sending the fly-heads into a chaotic panic as they scrambled to get out of the way.
He stared at her, completely done.
"I'm going to throw you off this mountain."
Himiko simply leaned back on her throne, looking thoroughly entertained.
"You can try. But then who would build my palace?"
Kuro let out a long, defeated buzz and picked the rope back up.
"…I miss my temple."
One of the fly-heads, now brave enough to perch on the arm of Himiko's throne, gave a little supportive buzz as if agreeing with her.
Kuro noticed.
"Et tu, insect?"
The fly-head immediately flew away in terror.
Himiko let out a soft, elegant laugh — the first real laugh Kuro had ever heard from her.
The sound echoed through the half-rebuilt hall like wind chimes made of glass.
Even Kuro paused for a moment, caught off guard by how… nice it sounded.
He quickly shook it off and went back to work, muttering under his breath.
"Laughing at me now… next she's gonna make me wear a little crown…"
Himiko overheard him.
She smirked.
"That's not a bad idea."
Kuro's wings flared violently.
"DON'T YOU DARE."
Meanwhile, at the Gojo Clan Estate…
The training grounds were quiet, broken only by the faint hum of cursed energy.
Gojo no Michizane stood with his arms crossed, watching his ten-year-old son with a lazy but proud grin.
Haruto stood a few meters away, breathing a little hard. Even at his young age, the boy already had an unnatural presence. His six eyes glowed faintly as he focused on his father.
"Again," Michizane said calmly. "You're still hesitating before you activate Limitless. Don't think — just do."
Haruto nodded. He raised his hand, and the air around him warped.
Limitless.
A thin, invisible barrier formed between them.
Michizane stepped forward and threw a casual punch. The moment his fist met the barrier, it slowed dramatically, like it was pushing through thick syrup. Blue sparks flickered at the point of contact.
"Not bad," Michizane said, still walking forward slowly. "But you're wasting too much energy. You're trying to completely stop me. Let the technique do the work. Neutralize the space, don't fight against it."
Haruto adjusted. The resistance around his father's fist became smoother. The punch finally stopped just inches from the boy's face.
Michizane grinned.
"Better. Your Six Eyes are already seeing the flow better than I ever could at your age. Keep that up and you'll be untouchable before you're fifteen."
Haruto lowered his hand, the Limitless fading. He looked up at his father, eyes still glowing.
"Father… that Porcelain Onryo the council mentioned. The one who destroyed two clans and wiped out an entire village… Do you think my Six Eyes will be able to see through whatever technique she uses?"
Michizane's expression grew a little more serious. He placed a hand on his son's head, ruffling his white hair.
"We don't know much about her yet. Only that she's strong enough to erase entire clans and that something about her power feels… wrong. But that's exactly why you're training. The stronger you get, the better chance we have when the time comes."
He stepped back, raising his fists again with a playful smirk.
"Now stop worrying about some porcelain doll and focus on not getting punched by your old man. Ready?"
Haruto's six eyes glowed brighter as he raised his hand once more.
"Ready."
Michizane's smirk faded into something sharper, more focused. This wasn't casual training anymore.
"Good. Now we stop playing."
The older Gojo clan head took a single step forward, his own Limitless humming faintly around him.
"Explain it to me while you maintain it. Don't just use the technique — teach it."
Haruto's six eyes narrowed in concentration. The air between them warped violently as he activated Limitless again, but this time it was different — far more refined.
"The core of Limitless is the manipulation of infinite space," the boy began, voice steady despite the strain. "At the atomic level, I'm forcing the space between myself and the target to approach infinity. The formula is simple in theory but complex in practice: the distance between two points becomes an endless series of converging values that never actually reach zero."
He adjusted his stance, sweat forming on his brow.
"Right now I'm holding the space in a neutral state. I'm not stopping your movement. I'm slowing the perception of distance itself to an asymptotic crawl. The convergence rate follows 1/x² decay. I'm currently holding the spatial dilation at roughly 0.0003 meters per second of perceived movement. If I drop below that, the technique collapses and you hit me. If I push too hard, I burn through cursed energy too fast."
Michizane threw a faster punch this time. The fist slowed dramatically, but the older man kept walking forward, pushing through the technique like it was thick water.
"Numbers," Michizane demanded.
Haruto's voice grew tighter.
"The energy cost is directly tied to how sharply I force the convergence. The Six Eyes let me see the exact flow of cursed energy needed for every decimal point of dilation. Right now I'm using 47 units of cursed energy per second to maintain this barrier. If I adjust the decay rate by even 0.02, I can drop that cost to 39 without losing effectiveness."
Michizane finally stopped walking, standing just inches from his son. He looked genuinely proud.
"That's the real power of the Six Eyes. Not just seeing cursed energy, but understanding it like mathematics. Most people with Limitless treat it like a wall. You're already treating it like an equation."
He placed a hand on Haruto's shoulder.
"Keep explaining your own technique like this every time you train. Teaching it forces you to find the holes in your own understanding. That's how you truly master it."
Haruto lowered his hand, breathing harder now. The glow in his six eyes slowly faded.
"I understand, Father."
Michizane ruffled his son's hair, expression unusually serious.
He squeezed the boy's shoulder once.
"Keep training. The stronger your Six Eyes become, the safer we all are."