Deep in the forest, sunlight filtered through the overlapping canopy, casting patches of light and shadow on the ground. A thin mist drifted among the trees like countless invisible hands slowly roaming between the trunks.
Shinya Zenin leaned against the trunk of a thick oak, his hands in his pockets and his expression indifferent.
Before him, a Grade 3 Cursed Spirit was slowly dissolving. It resembled a twisted lizard, its body covered in rotting scales. Even in death, its four eyes remained wide, their pupils filled with fear and resentment.
Black remnants drifted through the air like black snowflakes, settling on the grass at his feet before vanishing.
Shinya watched those remnants, his lips curling into a sneer.
A Grade 3 Cursed Spirit. Not even a warm-up.
He raised his foot and stamped on the grass corroded by the Cursed Spirit's blood, grinding his sole into the dirt and leaving a deep mark.
Then he thought of yesterday again.
That damned woman.
Wana Zenin.
Her face surfaced in his mind-the face she had worn as she stood before him, looking down on him and saying those words.
"You? You think you can put yourself on my brother's level?"
"I'll throw those words right back at you-you're nothing but trash, too."
Shinya slammed his fist into the tree beside him.
Bang!
The oak's trunk shook violently, leaves showering from its canopy like green rain. A patch of bark split open, exposing the pale wood beneath, and cracks spread from the point of impact like a spiderweb.
The skin on his knuckles broke, a trace of blood seeping out, but Shinya felt no pain.
There was only that scene in his mind-Wana standing before him, her gaze calm, a faint sneer on her lips as she uttered that one word.
Trash.
He