That sense of folding was still there.
It was faint, exceedingly fine, like someone lightly scratching the back of a sheet of paper with a fingernail, leaving a crease so shallow it almost did not exist. But it was not wind, not a change in temperature, not any normal natural phenomenon in the mountains around the Swordsmith Village.
Yaha closed his eyes.
The perception of Cursed Technique: Dismantle spread outward with his cursed energy, not as an attack, but as a simple extension. It was like laying a hand flat against the water's surface and judging distant movements through minute changes in the ripples.
Thirty meters above the Swordsmith Village.
There was a slit.
Too thin for the naked eye to see. But to his technique's perception, that slit was like an ink line on white paper, so stark it set his teeth on edge. On either side was the normal molecular structure of air, while inside was something projected from another dimension.
Someone had opened a door in there.
Yaha opened his eyes.
"Nakime."
He said the name softly, but distinctly.
Shinobu Kocho stood three steps from the bed, holding the plate of reheated grilled meat. At the name, she glanced upward without speaking.
Yaha got out of bed.
He walked to the window without opening it, merely raising his right hand, fingers half-curled, and making a loose pinching motion toward the empty space above and outside. He did not close his fist completely; he simply drew his fingers inward.
Cursed energy seeped from his palm and traveled upward along the folded path he had sensed, passing through the roof and thirty meters of air before plunging straight into the slit invisible to the naked eye.
The power of Cleave's laws erupted inside the slit.
It did not cut