Ibaraki-dōji

Sunlight filtered through the treetops, scattering dappled patches of light across the ground. The woods were quiet, save for the occasional birdcall and the swish of a blade cutting through the air.

Kashimo sat on a gray stone, one leg bent and the other dangling, with the Ruyi Staff resting across his knees. He watched the figure swinging a blade before him, his gaze languid, as though she were something to pass the time.

"Keep your horse stance steady."

He spoke in an even voice.

"Keep your breathing steady. Don't rush it."

Fenghua gripped the Soul-Devouring Blade with both hands, holding her cutting stance. The pitch-black blade was much heavier than her usual Zhanmadao, and every swing made the muscles in her forearms tremble. Sweat slid down her cheeks and dripped onto the ground, spreading into small dark spots.

"Why-"

She gritted her teeth, and the blade paused in midair for a moment.

"Do I still have to practice the basics?!"

The muscles in her forearms bulged slightly, veins faintly showing.

Kashimo watched her without a word.

Two breaths later, he stood up.

"Tch."

The soft sound slipped between his teeth, tinged with impatience.

He walked up to Fenghua and looked down at her face, flushed slightly with exertion.

"Martial skill isn't about variety. It's about mastery."

His tone was flat, as though he were stating the simplest fact in the world.

"Are your fundamentals really that solid?"

Fenghua opened her mouth but couldn't find a reply.

"Grip your blade tightly."

Kashimo tilted his wrist and lightly thrust the Ruyi Staff forward.

Smack.

The tip of the staff struck the back of Fenghua's hand with a sharp crack.

Kashimo withdrew the staff and sat back down on the stone. Sunlight fell across his shoulders, making his pale blue hair shine.

"As a sorcerer," he said, still in that languid tone, "you must never let your weapon leave your hand in battle."

Fenghua glanced down at the back of her hand. A red welt was slowly rising, stinging fiercely.

She said nothing, only tightening her grip on the Soul-Devouring Blade.

"Yes!"

Her voice was stronger than before.

Kashimo said nothing more.

The birds called a few more times, then fell silent. Only the swish of the blade through the air remained, over and over, its rhythm gradually growing steady.

An hour passed.

Sunlight slowly shifted through the treetops and onto Fenghua, illuminating her focused face. Sweat dripped from her chin, spreading into a small dark patch on the ground before quickly evaporating.

No one spoke.

Only the sound of the Soul-Devouring Blade slicing through the air rang out, again and again, through the silent woods.

Training was over.

Fenghua tossed the Soul-Devouring Blade onto the ground and fell backward, landing flat on the grass. She no longer cared about getting dirty. Her chest heaved as she gulped down air. Sweat streamed down her cheeks, soaking the loose strands of hair at her temples.

Kashimo looked down at her and tilted his head.

"Done already?"

Lying on the ground, Fenghua rolled her eyes. But she was panting too hard to speak.

It took a few breaths before she finally caught her breath.

"Argh!"

She bared her teeth, her voice edged with frustration.

"You're so infuriating!"

Kashimo didn't answer. He untied the well-worn cowhide waterskin at his waist and bent down to offer it to her.

"Ah... get some rest."

He paused.

"I'll take you to meet someone in a bit."

Fenghua didn't stand on ceremony. She took the waterskin, tipped her head back, and poured the water into her mouth.

Gulp, gulp, gulp-

Water spilled from the corners of her mouth and soaked her collar, but she couldn't be bothered to wipe it away. Only after draining nearly half the waterskin in one go did the burning in her throat ease a little.

She lowered the waterskin and let out a long breath.

Then she turned her head to look at Kashimo standing beside her.

"Who are we meeting?"

His face betrayed little emotion.

Kashimo looked down at her, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"A sneaky old bastard who's been alive for six hundred years."

He knew where Kenjaku was.

Somewhere near Kyoto. It would just take a little effort to find him.

And they were already very close to Kyoto.

They were sorcerers, after all. They could cover ground quickly.

On the outskirts of Kyoto.

Kenjaku stood in a clearing in the woods, his gaze fixed ahead.

There, a figure slowly emerged from the shadows. Dense cursed energy coiled around him, his distorted form looking especially eerie in the sunlight. His hollow eye sockets faced Kenjaku, as though studying him-or waiting.

The corners of Kenjaku's mouth slowly rose.

There was something inscrutable in that smile.

Ibaraki-dōji.

That name had echoed through legends for hundreds of years: Shuten-dōji's most capable general, and one of the most vicious demon generals of the Heian era.

He was said to have been a human infant abandoned in the wilderness because of his unnatural appearance. As he grew, he developed immense strength and a temperament as savage as a wild beast. Eventually, he transformed completely into a demon and joined Shuten-dōji, who held sway over Mount Ōe, becoming his trusted confidant. In those years, they plundered Kyoto together, slaughtering its people and throwing Heian-kyō into turmoil.

The longer his legend circulated through the world, the deeper people's fear of him grew.

And that fear ultimately brought him out of legend and into reality.

Kenjaku knew all of this.

But there was one thing he remembered very clearly.

Back in the Heian era, Shuten-dōji and his two generals, Ibaraki-dōji and Hoshikuma-dōji, had already been killed by Sukuna.

But now...

Kenjaku watched the figure slowly taking shape before him, those hollow eye sockets, and those familiar, terrifying fluctuations of cursed energy. The smile on his lips froze for a moment.

"So..."

"What's going on here?"