Kokushibo emerged from the depths of the passage.
His footsteps made no sound. Some kind of sword intent enveloped his soles as they touched the ground, swallowing even the vibrations in the air, like a blade sliding out of its sheath.
All six eyes were open.
His three vertically stacked pairs of moon eyes did not look at Yaha's face, his sword, or even the Cursed Markings slowly fading from his skin.
His gaze settled on Yaha's right hand.
The hand wrapped in white bandages hung at his side, a crooked bow tied at the end of the cloth. The pattern of the wrapping, from wrist to knuckles, revealed the extent of his injuries. Faint tremors raised tiny wrinkles in the fabric over his joints.
Kokushibo's gaze lingered on that hand for three seconds.
Then it shifted to his sword grip. He held the sword in his left hand, its tip angled forward. His wrist was tilted two degrees off-a one-handed swordsman's instinctive adjustment of his balance to compensate for the missing support of his other hand.
Kokushibo understood it all.
He did not move. His six moon eyes slowly turned toward Shinobu Kocho, paused for a second, then returned.
Yaha pushed Shinobu Kocho two steps back with his left hand. The force was light, but the direction was clear.
"Stand farther back."
His voice ground out from the bottom of his throat, flat and slow.
"This thing might put up a halfway decent struggle before it dies."
Shinobu Kocho said nothing more. She retreated five steps to the side of a stone pillar at the platform's edge. With her back against the stone wall, she had a clear view of the entire training ground.
She slipped an alloy poison needle out of her sleeve with her right hand and