Jujutsu Society

Three months later.

Morning sunlight fell across the grass, making the frost on its blades glitter before it gradually melted into droplets and slid off their tips.

Two figures walked slowly past.

The man in front wore a tiger-pelt cape, its furry collar framing his neck and making his long, pale blue hair stand out all the more. A jade-green staff rested on his shoulder, gleaming softly in the sunlight.

The woman behind him wore red-and-white robes cinched at the waist with a black cord, her steps light. A pitch-black sword rode on her back, its blade occasionally giving off a dark, cold glint in the sun.

They were Kashimo and Fenghua.

"What the hell-"

Kashimo glanced up at the sun, which offered little warmth, then down at the wild grass wilted by frost, and drew in a breath of cold air.

"Winter's coming."

Three months was a short time.

So short that the leaves in the mountains had yet to turn entirely yellow, so short that the morning frost had only just begun to form.

But for Jujutsu Society, those three months had been enough to turn everything upside down.

The death of the Gojo Clan's head had been like a boulder crashing into a calm lake, its ripples spreading in every direction at an astonishing speed. Once Gojo Arashi's death was confirmed, the schools that had once wavered between the Gojo Clan and the Zenin Clan had sided with the Zenin Clan almost without hesitation.

The reasoning was simple: the Gojo Clan had only a dead man left, while the Zenin Clan still had a living Ten Shadows user.

In a single month, the balance of power in Jujutsu Society had been completely rewritten. Zenin Sawa sat at the seat of honor, watching the factions that had once treated the Gojo Clan with utmost deference offer their pledges of allegiance one after another, his smile broader than ever.

As for the Shogunate...

Two months earlier, the Tokugawa elders had still been frantic over the missing Princess. They had sent out search party after search party, turning the entire route from Edo to Kyoto upside down without finding so much as a trace of her.

The reason was simple.

For the past three months, Fenghua had been running all over the place on Kashimo's heels. One day she was cutting down cursed spirits in the mountains of Kai, the next she was basking in the sun in a village in Shinano, and the day after that, who knew what remote corner she had wandered into. Every time her pursuers picked up a lead, she would dash off with Kashimo to the next place, never even leaving them a glimpse of her back.

After three months, the Shogunate was close to giving up.

Kashimo had not been idle during those three months, either.

He had refined his control of cursed energy. Where he had once simply blasted it all outward, he could now split it into hundreds of branching currents, making lightning dance at his fingertips. He had experimented with injecting the entire charge in a single attack, so that instead of needing three points of contact to trigger an explosion as before, he could detonate it with the very first punch.

After two months of trying, he had succeeded.

Now, when he landed a punch, his opponent could forget about remaining standing. They would be lucky to leave an intact corpse.

Fenghua learned quickly, too.

Her use of the World-Cutting Slash Strike grew increasingly proficient. She had gone from only being able to cut stationary objects to predicting an opponent's movements in combat. In just three months, she had even gained a solid grasp of the hand-to-hand fundamentals Kashimo had taught her.

There was not much more he could teach her.

Sometimes, watching her back as she swung her sword, Kashimo would remember the girl who had still been complaining about the basics three months earlier.

She had changed quite a bit.

Not that he would ever say it aloud.

Beside him, Fenghua remained silent.

She walked half a step behind Kashimo at his side, her gaze resting on the tiger-pelt-draped figure ahead of her, her thoughts unreadable. Morning light shone on her from the side, casting faint shadows across her face and making her pensive expression all the clearer.

Over that time, they had actually begun talking less.

Kashimo had never been much of a talker. When he had first taken her as his disciple three months earlier, he would still offer occasional pointers, correct her movements, and explain how to use cursed energy. Once she had learned most of it, he could not even be bothered to say that much.

As for heart-to-heart conversations...

Those were out of the question.

Kashimo's speeches about strength, loneliness, and love only ever surfaced when he faced someone strong. With a disciple who followed him around every day, he had neither the inclination nor the habit.

Fenghua had not been like this at first.

When she had first begun following him, her enthusiasm had burned like fire, and she was always pestering him with questions. She asked about cursed energy output, combat techniques, and cursed techniques and cursed tools she had never seen. Sometimes, when she asked too much and Kashimo could not be bothered to answer, she would puzzle it out on her own, then start asking again once she was done.

Back then, they had actually talked more.

Later, at some point, she had begun asking less.

It was not that she did not want to ask. She had simply realized that asking rarely got her much of a response. Kashimo's answers were always as brief as possible: mm, right, like that, figure it out yourself. If she asked too much, he would turn those dead-fish eyes on her until she swallowed whatever she had been about to say.

And so, little by little, things had become what they were now.

They walked together, ate together, and dealt with the cursed spirits that occasionally appeared together. They fought when they needed to fight and traveled when they needed to travel. The rest of the time... each kept silent.

Fenghua did not know whether this counted as normal.

She only knew that she was still following him.

As long as Kashimo did not send her away, she would keep following.

Morning light fell over them both, stretching their shadows long. The shadow in front carried a staff and moved at an unhurried pace. The one behind carried a sword and followed closely.

Neither spoke.

Only their footsteps sounded against the frost-covered grass, a soft, faint rustling.

They were now in Izumo Country.

Not long before, Kenjaku had sent someone with a message. In his words:

"The martial arts and swordsmanship of Izumo Country will certainly interest you."

Kenjaku's perpetually smiling face surfaced in Kashimo's mind, along with that irritating line of stitches. He quickly shook his head, banishing the image.

Whatever. I might as well take a look.

It's not like I have anything else to do.

A breeze blew past, carrying the chill of early winter. As the grassland came to an end, the view suddenly opened up.

A massive fortified city came into sight.

Its walls of gray stone gleamed a cold gray in the morning light, and its gate tower rose high, the corners of its eaves sweeping upward. A moat circled the city, the outlines of the walls reflected on its surface until the wind rippled them into a blur.

The Matsue Domain.