A solo assignment

The night wind swept through the weed-choked grounds of the abandoned factory, carrying the damp chill peculiar to the outskirts.

The rusty wire fence creaked stiffly in the wind.

Before the enormous concrete entrance to the underground water storage facility, Satoru Gojo casually tossed over a long, slender black wooden case.

The case turned halfway over in the air before Feng caught it securely.

"Open it up. This is a little 'welcome gift' I went out of my way to find for you through a special black-market connection."

Satoru Gojo stood with both hands in his pockets, his black blindfold particularly conspicuous in the night.

A breezy smile lingered at the corners of his mouth. He tipped his chin up slightly, gesturing for Feng to inspect the contents.

With a soft click, the case's clasp sprang open. Resting quietly on its dark red velvet lining was a Japanese sword with an elegant curve.

Its blade was long and slender, its temper pattern marked by distinctive half-moon shapes. A cold, watery sheen rippled across it in the faint moonlight.

Feng took hold of the hilt and smoothly drew the long sword from the case.

The scrape of the blade leaving its sheath rang clear and long. Holding the sword in one hand, he turned his wrist slightly, tracing a silver arc through the air. Its balance was superb, as though it had always been an extension of his body.

His dark red eyes lowered, his gaze slowly following the patterns along the blade.

"This sword is a replica of the famous Mikazuki Munechika. But after a special cursed energy soaking treatment and modifications by Jujutsu High's own craftsmen, it's now a very nasty special cursed tool."

Satoru Gojo raised an index finger, a distinct note of mischievous delight in his voice.

"Anywhere this blade cuts will develop a crescent-shaped wound. If left alone, the wound will keep spreading like a living thing, eating away at the flesh.

To stop it spreading, whoever gets hit has to constantly flush the wound with positive energy from Reverse Cursed Technique, or with highly concentrated, pure cursed energy."

Satoru Gojo took half a step forward and bent down, leaning a little closer.

"In other words, land just one cut, and your opponent has to devote a considerable amount of attention to 'stopping the bleeding.' For a battle of attrition, it's practically the perfect tool for bleeding someone dry."

"Thank you, sir..."

With a flick of his wrist, Feng spun the sword in a crisp flourish, then angled the Mikazuki Munechika toward the ground.

The icy blade reflected his impassive profile. He lowered his center of gravity slightly and adjusted his footing, ready to burst forward at any moment.

Seeing Feng settle into a combat-ready stance, Satoru Gojo straightened and stepped back twice. At the same time, he raised his right hand, bringing his index and middle fingers together.

"Emerge from darkness, blacker still than darkness. Purify all that is impure, every trace of cursed residue."

As he recited the incantation with effortless ease, a black, translucent Curtain spread swiftly down from the sky like an inverted hemisphere, completely enclosing the abandoned water storage facility and the surrounding wasteland.

The chirping insects outside were instantly silenced, leaving only deathly stillness.

"The concentration of cursed residue inside has reached Semi-Grade 1. According to the report, there's a cursed spirit lurking at the bottom of the reservoir, and it's good at hiding and ambushing people.

So, your assessment officially starts now. No support whatsoever, just you and that little thing inside. Good luck~"

Satoru Gojo waved, then disappeared without hesitation into the darkness at the edge of the Curtain.

"Understood..."

Carrying the long sword, Feng stepped alone onto the stairs leading down. The underground facility was thick with musty moisture and a powerful, fetid stench.

Standing water rose above his ankles, each step stirring a faint splash.

Feng maintained a steady pace, his sword arm hanging naturally at his side. He seemed utterly unguarded, yet his dark red eyes precisely caught every irregular shift of air in the darkness.

"Drip-"

A drop of water fell from the peeling vaulted ceiling, and the instant it struck the surface-

"Riiip-!"

A huge, twisted black shape erupted without warning from the shadow of a support pillar to his left.

It was a grotesque cursed spirit covered in hard scales, its four limbs thick and powerful like a frog's.

It opened a vast mouth packed with interlocking fangs and swung its forelimbs, tipped with sharp, webbed claws. Using the darkness as cover, it lunged straight for Feng's throat with terrifying speed that belied its massive size.

Feng's toes shattered the reflection on the water's surface as he stepped sharply forward rather than retreating.

With astonishing flexibility, he ducked low to the right. The sharp, webbed claws skimmed his hair, whipping up a foul-smelling gust.

At the same time, the Mikazuki Munechika swept upward, tracing a perfect silver-white crescent through the air.

"Squelch!"

The blade sliced effortlessly through the hard scales on the cursed spirit's belly, drawing a long spray of foul black blood.

Having landed his strike, Feng did not pause. Using the momentum of his swing and a twist of his waist, he glided several meters away like a fish slipping through water, restoring a safe distance.

The long sword pointed diagonally toward the ground, black blood sliding swiftly down its fuller.

"Rooar-!!"

The aquatic cursed spirit crashed heavily into the standing water, letting out a howl of pain and fury. It spun around, only for its attempt to charge again to freeze abruptly.

It lowered its head toward its belly. The edges of the cut, which had not been particularly deep, had now taken on an eerie crescent shape.

With a sizzling sound like acid, the flesh around the wound rotted and peeled away at a speed visible to the naked eye.

A flicker of almost human fear crossed the cursed spirit's murky yellow compound eyes.

It sensed instinctively that if it let the wound keep growing, its torso would soon be hollowed out completely.

It stopped its mindless roaring, a low gurgle rising in its throat.

Vast amounts of black cursed energy began surging frantically toward the wound in its belly, fiercely resisting the strange power that was trying to tear its flesh apart.

As it forcibly suppressed the worsening wound, the cursed spirit changed its stance. Instead of rearing up to attack like a wild beast, it lowered itself onto all fours, pressing its massive body close to the water's surface.

Its compound eyes fixed on the black-haired boy holding a sword a short distance away. No longer filled with simple hunger, they now held caution and calculation.

It was analyzing the situation-the weapon in its prey's hand possessed an extremely dangerous, lingering destructive power, while it now had to divert a large amount of cursed energy to keep its body from falling apart.

A head-on clash would put it at a definite disadvantage. It had to use the terrain and standing water to wear him down.

Inside the underground water storage facility, only the echoes of falling droplets sounded slowly between the boy and the cursed spirit.