In a classical Japanese garden.
The white sand of the dry landscape garden had been carefully raked into rippling patterns. A few old pines leaned beside moss-covered stones, and several red leaves floated on the pond.
A white-haired old man in a plain kimono knelt on the ground, his forehead pressed to the earth, his bearing so respectful it bordered on devotion.
"Master, I have learned the Barrier Technique principles you taught me recently. But your disciple is slow-witted, and I still cannot grasp the essentials of Domain Expansion."
The figure standing with his back turned among the trees spoke in an unexpectedly youthful voice, calm and unhurried.
"Little Three, you aren't slow-witted. Your talent is merely average. But your mastery of Barrier Technique is already excellent-you've learned most of what I know."
"Your recent improvements to Hollow Wicker Basket, allowing sorcerers to free their hands while using it, have opened a fine path for future generations."
"I believe that, given time, you will surely master its mysteries."
The old man called Little Three slowly raised his head. Deep wrinkles scored his aged face, and dappled shadows from the trees reflected in his clouded eyes.
"But I fear I have little time left. I have failed your teachings, Master. I have mastered neither Reverse Cursed Technique nor Domain Expansion."
The man among the trees turned and slowly stepped out.
"Don't be anxious, my disciple."
With the leaves no longer obscuring him, his face was fully revealed in the sunlight-a youthful face with gentle features and a soft curve to his lips.
Most striking was the line of stitches running across his entire forehead, as though something that did not belong to him had been sewn into his skull.
"Your master has a plan."
Tokyo No. 2 Colony
Tall bookshelves stood in rows. The library had remained surprisingly intact within the barrier, except that all its windows were shattered. Broken glass covered the floor beneath the windowsills, and wind poured through the openings, sending scattered pages fluttering across the floor. The air smelled of old paper and dust.
A young man sat in the reading area by a window, several thick medical textbooks spread out before him.
He turned a page, his gaze sweeping swiftly over the dense text-anatomical atlases, illustrated neurosurgical procedures, and detailed cross sections of the brainstem and medulla.
"This era's knowledge of the human body is truly advanced."
He closed the book in his hands and rubbed the corners of his eyes, genuine admiration in his voice.
"I've learned so much. I wonder whether it will help me master Reverse Cursed Technique."
Suddenly, he paused, his fingers resting on the edge of a page. He addressed a corner of the room slowly. "Since you already know you've entered the Perception Barrier I set up, why keep hiding?"
A woman slowly emerged from the shadows in a corner of the library.
She clicked her tongue, clearly displeased that the man had detected her.
"My Cursed Technique is Puppet Manipulation. But there's one difference-my puppets are corpses."
As soon as she finished speaking, rustling rose from every corner of the library. Behind bookshelves, among the collapsed tables and chairs in the study area, beneath the checkout counter-blood-soaked corpses with ruined faces emerged from all directions.
All the corpses stopped at once, standing around the woman as though awaiting a command.
The man closed his book and slowly rose. His movements were unhurried, and he even placed the book on a relatively clean shelf beside him, neatly arranged with its spine facing outward.
"Revealing your technique?" He straightened and lightly brushed the dust from his trouser legs.
"What a thoroughly brainless move. When you could kill someone by exploiting what they don't know, why insist on chasing that little boost you get from revealing your technique?"
The corner of the woman's mouth twitched, and her gaze sharpened. "You certainly know how to run your mouth. Let's see you keep up that act after my puppets tear it apart."
The horde of zombies lunged at the man.
He smiled faintly, raised a hand to cover his mouth, and slowly intoned.
"Don't move."
Everyone in the library froze at once-not only the zombies suspended in mid-lunge, but the woman herself, pinned in place by the invisible force.
Her eyes shifted within her stiffened face. So it's Cursed Speech.
The man darted forward, drawing the long blade at his waist. His footwork was clean and decisive, every step following the most efficient path as he thrust straight at the woman.
The woman's brow furrowed. Her body was still under the control of Cursed Speech, and she could not open her mouth, but she could still control her puppets with her mind-a headless corpse emerged at her side and blocked the incoming blade with its chest.
The restraint broke. She immediately covered her ears and retreated, her soles scraping briefly across the debris-strewn floor as she swiftly put distance between them.
She came to a stop, her lips curling into a mocking smile.
"You didn't reveal your technique, only to expose it outright? Looks like you're the idiot!"
After cursing him, she snapped the fingers of her right hand. The heads of every zombie present burst apart-black blood and dark purple remnants of Cursed Energy splattered everywhere, and the stench of decay instantly filled the library.
"Let's see what you do now. None of my puppets can hear your Cursed Speech, and your technique doesn't work on someone covering their ears, either-what else have you got?"
The man's expression remained unchanged. His legs suddenly drove against the floor, propelling him straight toward her.
But several headless zombies lunged at him, then exploded the moment they drew close, used like human bombs.
Black blood mist and shattered bone fragments shot in every direction, the explosions echoing through the library.
As the blood mist cleared, a thin defensive film of Cursed Energy covered the man. Black blood stained his uniform, and a bone fragment had slit his sleeve, exposing several shallow scrapes on his forearm. His steps never faltered.
The woman snorted disdainfully. "Trying to attack the caster? Ridiculous. I have more puppets around me than anywhere else. You're asking to die."
A mass of zombies gathered around her, forming a barrier of rotting flesh before her. "I'm going to make you my first sorcerer puppet."
The man spoke again. "Don't move."
The woman's first reaction was to laugh-had this guy confused even himself?
But just as she tried to order her puppets to counterattack, she discovered that every one of them was stuck in mid-lunge, frozen like statues in various poses. Her own hands and feet would not move, either.
Why?! I've covered my ears, and all the puppets' heads have already exploded-these zombies shouldn't be able to receive any Cursed Speech!
The man had already passed through the puppets frozen in midair and swung his blade.
The woman's limbs were severed-precise, clean, without a single unnecessary movement. Each cut sliced through the tendons and ligaments at a joint, wasting no strength and leaving her no opportunity to fight back with her severed limbs.
She collapsed into a pool of blood. The puppets behind her remained beyond her control, frozen in place.
Blood continued pouring from the stumps of her limbs. Her eyes widened, and she forced indistinct sounds from her throat.
"How did you do that? These puppets should have already-"
The man sheathed his blade and raised his fist, speaking slowly to the limbless woman on the ground.
"I already had points, so the rules won't harm me."
"But I'm sure that, in the future, some Swimmer will add rules to the Culling Game allowing Swimmer information to be made public and points to be transferred. I don't want to become a target for the strong to hunt."
"So I won't kill you."
He crouched down and looked into her eyes. "I'll simply have to deprive you of the ability to think permanently."
With that, he swung his fist at her head, intending to knock her unconscious first.
But suddenly, his punch accelerated sharply-a gust swept past, and the woman's head exploded under his fist.
The sharp crack of shattering bone rang through the library, and blood and brain matter splashed across the floor.
The man froze for a moment. He looked down at his fist, then at the headless corpse before him. His calm expression shifted into barely suppressed amusement, and then he spoke with sincere bewilderment.
"Wait, girl, why did you elbow my fist with your head?"