Toward evening, Urokodaki returned from the foot of the mountain with a cloth-wrapped bundle.
Giyu took it and unwrapped it.
Inside were two letters and two palm-sized cloth pouches.
The Amulets had been sewn with crooked stitches, barely forming recognizable squares.
The letters were from Tsutako.
Giyu sat beneath the eaves with the letter in his hands, his eyes slowly reddening.
He pressed his lips tightly together, his shoulders trembling slightly as his fingers unconsciously crumpled the edges of the paper.
Yaha reached over his shoulder and snatched away the other letter and Amulet.
He unfolded the letter with one hand and skimmed it.
Tsutako's handwriting was neat, every stroke carrying a strained awkwardness.
The contents were simply reminders to eat well, practice their swordsmanship, avoid getting hurt, and keep warm.
At the bottom was a simple drawing of three little figures holding hands, with names scrawled crookedly beside them.
Yaha, Giyu, big sister.
Yaha folded the letter, stuffed it carelessly back into its envelope, then picked up the Amulet and turned it over.
"These stitches. Even a blind person could do better."
Giyu snapped his head up and glared at him.
His eyes were still red, and his muffled voice carried a stubborn edge.
"She spent a lot of time making that."
"So? Does that make the stitches any less ugly?"
Yaha's words were cutting, but his fingers brushed the dust off the crooked Amulet with effortless care.
He untied the innermost lining of his uniform and secured the Amulet snugly against his chest.
Watching his smooth, practiced movements, Giyu opened his mouth.
He looked down at the letter in his hands, then at Yaha's chest, and swallowed whatever he had been about to say.
"What are you staring at? Go write back."
Yaha brushed the dust off his trouser legs and stood.
"With how tight-lipped you are, you'd probably take three days to squeeze out two lines."
"I know what to write," Giyu protested quietly.
"Oh? Let's hear it."
"Big sister, I'm doing well. So is Yaha."
Yaha looked down at him for two seconds.
"That's it?"
"Yes." Giyu nodded, carefully holding the letter against his chest.
"Fine. Tsutako's used to you being like this anyway."
Yaha slipped his hands into his pockets and turned toward the side room.
After two steps, he stopped without looking back.
"Tell her we'll be down the mountain before next year. Tell her to stop worrying for nothing."
Behind him, Giyu gave a firm "Okay."
Yaha pushed the door open, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.
Once the room grew dark, he stood leaning against the door for a while, touching the Amulet over his heart through the fabric.
The rough stitches pressed against his skin, carrying a faint warmth.
He closed his eyes.
The image of a demon gripping Tsutako by the throat in the snow flashed through his mind like a branding iron.
Then came the mangled bodies of Sabito and Makomo from the original story.
Final Selection.
Mount Fujikasane. Seven days.
A Hand Demon was imprisoned on that mountain, one that specifically hunted Urokodaki's disciples.
Yaha opened his eyes again.
Blood-red light slowly consumed the pure black of his pupils from deep within.
He waited until late at night.
Clouds covered most of the moon over the mountains, leaving only a little pallid light filtering through.
Yaha slipped out the window, tapped his toes against the eaves twice, and vanished into the dense woods behind the house like a falling leaf.
He did not take his usual training route.
Instead, he headed deeper into Mount Sagiri, toward an old logging site abandoned more than a decade ago.
The trees there had already regrown into dense woodland.
The thickest were as wide as buckets, and even the thinnest were as thick as a forearm, packed so tightly together that they blocked out every scrap of moonlight.
Yaha stood in the middle of the woods, raised his head, and surveyed his surroundings.
Trees filled the area for thirty meters in every direction.
He needed to test something.
His Cursed Technique, [Dismantle], could precisely cut a single target.
But the Hand Demon had dozens of arms, an enormous body, and a particular knack for ensnaring and strangling its victims.
If Sabito and Makomo were caught, he would have to sever every arm in an instant.
And he could not let his companions suffer so much as a scratch.
That called for a wide-area, grid-shaped form of his Cursed Technique, one that could leave safe zones wherever he wished.
[Cleave].
Yaha pulled both hands from his pockets and spread his fingers slightly.
Ancient, sinister black curse markings crawled up his neck like living things.
They crept over his jaw, spread across his cheekbones, and finally claimed half his face.
He drew a deep breath.
"Cursed Technique Expansion."
The words slipped through his teeth, hoarse and languid, yet carrying a pressure that made the soul tremble.
Invisible cutting lines shot from between all ten of his fingers at once.
Like an unseen net woven from impossibly thin blades, they burst outward in every direction.
There was no warning.
Even the wind had no time to whistle.
Then came a dense series of teeth-grating cracks, as though hundreds upon thousands of rotten timbers had been snapped by tremendous force in the same second.
Every tree within fifteen meters in front of Yaha froze in place.
The next second.
Thick trunks became neatly divided wooden blocks, while slender branches became finger-length segments.
The entire stretch of woodland collapsed with a thunderous crash, as though an invisible net had crushed its way through.
Wood chips and shredded leaves exploded into the air, spreading into a white haze.
Yaha stood where he was, neatly cut wooden cubes piled around his feet.
Every cut surface was smooth as a mirror.
He looked down and frowned.
"Fifteen-meter range. That's enough. The precision works, too. I can get the smallest pieces down to three centimeters."
He clenched his fists.
"But this cuts indiscriminately."
If Sabito and Makomo had been within that range, they would have become heaps of minced flesh in that same instant.
He had to leave an absolutely safe gap.
Yaha raised his hands again and walked toward the next untouched stretch of woodland.
This time, he closed one eye.
His remaining crimson eye locked onto the middle of three neighboring trees.
[Cleave].
The invisible net spread again, but this time, he forcibly reined in his Cursed Energy around the middle tree.
The trees on either side shattered into a grid of pieces.
The middle tree remained standing, unharmed.
Yaha approached and ran a fingertip over its bark.
There were two shallow scratches, less than half an inch deep.
"Half an inch off. Not good enough."
He returned to his original position and raised his hands again.
On the second attempt, only one faint scratch remained.
On the third, the great net swept past, and the trees on either side collapsed.
The bark of the middle tree remained completely intact, without even a splinter stripped away.
"Good enough."
Yaha lowered his hands.
The curse markings on his face receded like the tide, and the crimson in his pupils faded into the night.
He stood amid the scattered wood chips and fragments.
The surrounding woodland looked as though a god had measured it with a ruler and gouged out a great chunk, leaving only a few scattered, untouched trees standing alone in the middle.
With this precision and range, the Hand Demon's dozens of arms were nothing but garbage waiting to be diced before him.
As long as he was there, no one was going to die.
Yaha brushed the wood chips from his hands and turned to head back.
The instant he took his first step.
That cold, mechanical voice sounded in his mind without warning.
[Current roleplay level: 18%. 2% remaining until the next stage unlocks.] [Unlock condition hint: Reach 20% roleplay level to unlock basic Reverse Cursed Technique.] [Method: Demonstrate absolute contempt for the weak in battle.]
Yaha's foot stopped dead in midair.
Reverse Cursed Technique.
In a world where human lives were worth less than weeds, unlocking Reverse Cursed Technique would give him a self-healing ability that bordered on immortality.
Even against an Upper Rank of the Twelve Kizuki, he would have every right to be utterly arrogant.
But the condition was... absolute contempt for the weak.
Yaha slowly lowered his foot and stood amid the pallid moonlight and broken wood.
Wind surged up from the valley, snapping the hem of his uniform.
He touched the crooked Amulet over his heart.
He had endured for ten years, played that madman for two, and run into the woods behind the house every night to test these deadly Cursed Techniques.
Wasn't it all to protect the few "weaklings" around him?
The system wanted him to despise the weak. It might as well have been pointing a finger in his face and ordering him to betray the very reason he wielded his blade.
Yaha stood with his head lowered, silent for a long time.
Suddenly, the corner of his mouth curled upward, and he let out a vicious sneer.
You want contempt?
Fine.
Then I'll define that bastard lurking on Mount Fujikasane as the lowest, most worthless piece of inferior trash.
For a weakling who doesn't even deserve to beg for mercy, I've got plenty of ways to demonstrate "absolute contempt."
Yaha slipped his hands back into his pockets and strode into the dark forest against the cold wind.
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