Torchlight gave color to the ruins.
The veteran leading the Hidden Corps was called Chang. He had been in this line of work for twenty-three years and cleaned up more than a hundred mission sites. From the web-strewn corpses on Mount Natagumo to the derailed wreckage of the Mugen Train, he had seen every kind of hell.
He had prepared for the worst.
He had run through the expected casualty figures for the Entertainment District mission three times in his head. The Sound Hashira had been out of contact for three days, and this was territory occupied by an Upper Rank. There were civilians underground, along with undercover operatives. The mission briefing issued by headquarters read, "Expected civilian casualties: uncontrollable."
Nagaya took a deep breath and led the hundred-odd people behind him down through the breach in the collapsed ground.
Torchlight spilled into the Underground Granary.
Everyone's footsteps stopped, as though someone had pressed pause on them all at once.
Ruins.
Ruins everywhere.
But not the chaotic rubble left by an explosion. Stone, timber, and bricks had been cut into neat geometric blocks. Every cut surface was smooth enough to reflect a face, as though someone had taken the sharpest blade in the world, treated the entire underground space as a set of building blocks, and methodically dismantled it into pieces.
Nagaya's Adam's apple bobbed.
He took a step forward. His foot landed on a square brick. Its surface had no cracks or chips, only that scalp-pricklingly smooth cut. He crouched to examine it. Then he saw it clearly.
An exceedingly fine grid covered the cut surface. Every line was equally spaced, with a precision that defied belief.
His right hand pressed against the hilt of the communication sword at his waist. He gripped it once, then let go.
"Sir