Published: January 24, 2026
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About a week before Fuuka and the others arrived at Kyokutō――.
“Hey, Orun,”
Fuuka spoke quietly after they had finished slaying the colossal beast species demonic beasts that had appeared in the Principality of Hitia.
“Hm? What’s up?”
“Aren’t you afraid of dying?”
“What’s with the sudden question…? Of course I’m afraid of dying. It’s only natural.”
Orun answered with a wry smile.
“Then why can you use demon-slaying? If you mishandle it, you’ll end up dying yourself.”
“...I see, so that’s what you mean.”
Noticing the intent behind Fuuka’s question, Orun faintly smiled.
“Like I said earlier, I’m scared of dying. But more than that (・・・・・・), what scares me far more is losing something precious.”
Orun spoke with distant eyes.
“I’ve failed twice in the past to protect what mattered most to me. Both times, because I lacked the strength... I lost them right before my eyes.”
His voice carried a quiet determination laced with pain.
“I’ve had enough of that feeling. If even just a little chance to protect what’s important to me comes from risking my life, I won’t hesitate to bet my life on it.”
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Wincing from the pain coursing through her body, Fuuka recalled her exchange with Orun.
His figure, speaking about protecting what is precious even at the cost of his life, floated behind her eyelids.
What about herself—who said she was ‘Orun’s sword’?
Was she protecting?
Was she piercing through?
Did she possess something worthy of matching his resolve?
At that moment,
A heavy, dull “something” welled up from deep within.
The cursed sword gripped in Fuuka’s right hand trembled slightly.
Then, it felt as if someone whispered right by her ear.
‘――Serves you right.’
It wasn’t a voice.
Rather, it was a wave of negative emotions seeping directly into her mind, invading her spirit.
‘Is that all you got?’
‘Cut. Cut more. Keep cutting, cut and cut...!’
Anger. Hatred. Fear. Sorrow.
The emotional remnants of the yōkai cut by this sword in the past flooded into Fuuka like a torrent.
Usually, even if she heard it, she wouldn’t be bothered.
If she diverted her attention, it was just noise.
――But now, it was different.
Her body ached.
Her heart wavered.
Taking advantage of her weakened state, the voices became clearer.
‘You said you’ve been striving to gain power? Pathetic, and this is the result?’
‘You only know how to cut; what are you hesitating for now?’
‘In the end, you’re nothing. That’s why you call yourself a “sword” to mask it, right? How laughable.’
“Shut up...”
Fuuka muttered in a hoarse voice.
But it had the opposite effect.
Even more voices of resentment surged inside her.
Fuuka grimaced, struggling not to be swallowed by the negative emotions.
Then, suddenly, a different voice reached her ears.
“...Is someone there...?”
It was a girl’s voice.
Not resentment, not hallucination.
A soft, trembling, real voice (・・・・・・).
(…That voice...)
Fuuka slightly lifted her face.
Then, once again:
“Um... please... let me out of here...!”
This time, she heard it clearly.
It was not a curse, but a genuine cry for help.
Pushing down her wavering body, Fuuka gathered strength in her arms.
Ahead of her gaze was the room that had once been her own.
Beyond that sliding door, a faint magical aura flickered.
(…She’s there.)
Fuuka slowly but steadily stepped toward the sliding door.
――Convinced that she was there.
Then, as if to shake off the annoying voices of resentment, Fuuka swung the cursed sword horizontally.
Cutting through the magical power engulfing the room, with a piercing sound, the sliding door split in two.
By cutting it open, light streamed into the room.
Beyond the fallen door――in the silence beyond, a girl was there.
In that room where light hadn’t reached, the girl looked up at her with a vacant gaze.
She must have been desperately trying to get out.
The miko-clad girl was in tatters—both her body and clothes were worn out.
Still――only her eyes were moist, like a lost child who had found her older sister.