Chapter 367: The Heroic Spirit Swordmasters Appear
Tamamo-no-Mae's softly whispered words were filled with a profound devotion that could move anyone's heart.
A sheath is the dwelling of a blade—the existence that protects the sword. A blade that remains perpetually unsheathed is merely a murderous tool. If it is always hacking and slashing, even the sharpest masterpiece will eventually chip or crack; if left exposed to the dust and humidity, it will rust.
Conversely, a sword that stays in its scabbard represents dignity and authority. It is precisely because a lethal weapon is not wielded lightly—and is only drawn with reason and a righteous cause—that the world submits to its prestige.
On the day King Arthur received the Sword of Promised Victory, Merlin cautioned her: the scabbard is more important than the blade. The Sword of Goujian, despite the passage of over 2,400 years, still flashes with light and remains incredibly sharp, capable of slicing through twenty sheets of paper with ease. This is due to the protection of its scabbard. This not only proves the miraculous skill of ancient craftsmen but also preserves for the world the spirit of the Hegemon of Yue, who "slept on brushwood and tasted gall" to never forget national humiliation and never give up.
Since ancient times, great women have made the noble resolution to become a "sheath" to bring about peace. They do not hesitate to sacrifice themselves, using their own bodies to protect their families, cities, and nations. They use tenderness to house a blade that is too sharp, persuading that person to lay down their butcher's knife and cease the endless, cycle of slaughter in the mortal world.
This is the grand sentiment of "feeding the tiger with one's body" or "receiving the sword with one's self." In ancient times, Xi Shi went to the State of Wu to save her people; Wang Zhaojun traveled beyond the Great Wall to calm the fires of war; and Diaochan used her wits against Dong Zhuo and Lu Bu to uphold the Han Dynasty.
The dancer had her own considerations... However... however... all of this was utterly ruined by the predatory, beast-like glint in her eyes.
"Shut your mouth, you fox dancer!" Shirou scolded. Fortunately, the children weren't around, or he would have felt compelled to seal her lips with tape.
"Yes, I am but a humble street performer. My only wish in this life is to serve by Lord Shirou's side. If you must forbid even my words of pursuing true love..." Tamamo replied softly, lowering her gaze and putting on a piteous, heart-wrenching display.
As she spoke, she leaned back, letting herself fall against Shirou's chest. She continued: "Then please, use your 'sword' to seal my lips~!"
"Ngggh... What shamelessness! I am Shirou-kun's sheath, I say!" Kiyohime cried out, lunging forward.
"Both of you, stay back! Have you no shame?!" Shirou shouted, his face flushing red as he was sandwiched between them.
"Oh my, oh my. It seems I've intruded. Such embarrassing talk, and such a shameless 'love battlefield'—it's quite an eyesore. Since I'm clearly extra here, I'll take my leave." Ogui felt her face burning just from watching, so she slowly closed her shell and prepared to float away.
"No! Please wait! You arrived at the perfect time. I wanted to ask if anything strange has happened around here lately?" Shirou asked the dragon-horned girl inside the shell.
The shell stopped closing and opened again. The dragon girl thought for a moment before speaking: "Well, I believe I've heard that ghosts have been active near here at night recently. There seems to be trouble in Hell, making the malevolent aura outside very heavy. Everyone is too afraid to leave their homes. That's why many yokai are looking forward to a festival like this for a change."
Ogui turned to join the ranks of the Night of a Hundred Demons. Before leaving, she said wistfully: "I hope nothing bad happens. For the yokai, and for the human world."
"..." Shirou watched her leave, his mind involuntarily recalling the bizarre serpent monster formed of black mist he had seen the night before.
A rabbit yokai girl riding a frog and a little girl sitting atop a pot with legs and a huge mouth hopped forward. A trio of raccoons wearing capes wobbled past... The long parade of yokai finally finished its crossing and vanished from their sight.
The music faded. In the dim light of the setting sun, the large maple trees by the road swayed, shedding beautiful crimson leaves.
"Let's go," Shirou said. Come what may, he would meet it. Water comes, use earth to dam it; a move is made, use a counter to break it. That was all there was to it.
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Before night fell, Shirou and the others finally reached the city of Shimousa. He had intended to walk Kiyohime home first, but as they reached the city gates, the soldiers recognized her. They dropped their weapons and ran off at full speed.
"Princess! Lady Kiyohime!" Before long, servants from the Lord's manor came running in a frenzy. Some even knelt on the ground, weeping hysterically.
"You're safe! Thank goodness!" "If the Master found out you were gone, we'd have been beheaded~!"
The maids swarmed Kiyohime, looking as if they would carry her home by force if necessary. Kiyohime looked reluctant, glancing toward the side. "Shirou-kun..."
"You really are stubborn. Be good and go home. Next time I come to the city, I'll bring Atsu and Tasuke to see you." Shirou gave a bright smile, looking at the single-minded girl, and reached out to pat her head. Though she was strange, he didn't dislike her. People who set their minds on one thing and never regretted it unto death were actually quite common around him.
"Wuuu... Shirou-kun, you're being unfair... I get it, I'll go back." Calmed by the headpat, Kiyohime finally agreed.
The surrounding servants weren't happy; they looked as if they had seen a ghost. If they told the Master that their Princess had run away for a week and returned with a "son-in-law," would they still be beheaded?
"Shirou... that was a foul move!" Tamamo-no-Mae said, eyeing him from the side.
"Hmm?" Shirou raised an eyebrow in confusion.
"Tamamo-chan, remember to come play with me! You can write to me too! Shirou! You too~!" The carried-away Kiyohime struggled to turn her head back and shout at them.
"Okay, Kiyohime-chan," Tamamo-no-Mae waved back.
Shirou didn't know how they had suddenly become friends, but he waved back helplessly, glad that the Princess was finally home.
Next, Shirou escorted Tamamo-no-Mae back to her rented inn.
"Shirou, why don't you come up for a bit? It's late. Don't go back; stay for the night, okay?" The fox dancer deliberately put on a seductive air, looking at Shirou expectantly. Her eyes shimmered with a thousand emotions—tenderness, longing—sparkling like stars. No joke! With Kiyohime finally gone, she wasn't about to miss this golden opportunity!
Shirou knew this Tamamo did not have memories of the other world. She was currently living in this ancient era, or perhaps she was a different individual with a different past and future. She was a fine person, experiencing life as a dancer here, and as someone she had recently met, he had always treated her with sincerity.
She was naturally clever and had her own schemes, but she never harbored ill will, and her affection for Atsu and Tasuke was genuine.
Shirou was touched by her sentiment, but he replied with a polite smile: "Goodnight! Goodbye!"
He turned and ran off, leaving the fox dancer stomping her feet in frustration.
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Because he had promised the children he would return as soon as possible, Shirou didn't linger and quickly left the city. While walking the rural paths, he encountered an acquaintance.
It was a silver-haired girl in samurai attire—the "virtuous wife" type who learned cooking with Erina, the Heroic Spirit Hime-Bushi who loved playing games.
"Good evening," the silver-haired girl said with a polite smile. "Good evening," Shirou replied with a nod.
However, she didn't seem to have memories of him, so the two simply passed each other.
What Shirou didn't know was that while this girl was indeed Tomoe Gozen, she was no longer the gentle girl she usually was. She was now a Heroic Spirit Swordmaster whose Saint Graph had been forcibly altered by a Sorcerer. Named after a layer of Hell, she aimed to turn the world into a living nightmare, single-mindedly focused on slaughter.
There were six others like her—no longer human, but Rakshasas from Hell, hiding their true faces and using the names of the Eight Great Hells of Buddhism to carry out the atrocities of demons.
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On the wilderness, dust rolled as an army of ten thousand carried out a forced march. They were under the command of Yagyu Tajima-no-Kami Munenori, sent to suppress rebellions. Having gathered more men, they were returning to the capital, passing through Shimousa to subjugate the local monsters and anomalies.
They were a veteran elite force from the end of the Sengoku period, survivors of the Siege of Osaka who helped the Tokugawa Shogunate defeat the Toyotomi clan. They were highly experienced samurai. The legion was exceptionally well-equipped: cavalry, infantry with shields and steel swords, archers with bamboo bows, and musketeers with matchlocks. They were arguably the finest army in the land.
A tall woman appeared, blocking the army's path. She was once a legendary general of this land, an ancestor of the Genji. She had led the Four Heavenly Kings to slay demons and defeat famous Great Yokai to protect Kyoto. But now, fallen and corrupted, she bore a new name—The Hell of Black Cord (Kokujo Jigoku).
The vanguard noticed the figure and halted. "A woman? Why are you in a place like this? Move aside!"
Black Cord did not reply to them, speaking instead to herself: "Seiwa Genji? Seii Taishogun? To resort to the trick of the many bullying the few... there is nothing more lamentable. Where has the war full of glory gone?"
"Is that outfit a Hime-Bushi?!" By the moonlight, the samurai finally saw her clearly—wearing armor, carrying a longbow, and with a katana at her waist. Experienced as they were, they did not look down on her for being female. The leader shouted to his subordinates: "Archers ready! Kill her if she moves!"
Black Cord stepped forward, eyeing the army. "In an army of ten thousand, there must be samurai from famous families. If you wish for a one-on-one duel, I can grant it."
The commanding general shouted: "Hmph! The leader of the anomalies causing trouble in Shimousa is a female demon; you must be one of those monsters! Don't move! Archers! Fire!"
Schwing.
A flash of blood surged into the sky like a fountain.
"What?! He's gone? The Commander vanished from his horse?!" the surrounding soldiers screamed in terror.
Black Cord's blade was drawn—none saw when—and it was dripping with blood. She said wistfully: "Using any means necessary to slay anomalies... it's exactly how I was when I was alive... Ah... it makes me a bit angry. I suppose this is what they call 'like poles repel'..."
Thud.
Half a torso, spraying blood, flew through the air for several seconds before crashing into the earth hundreds of meters away.
"How is this possible... what kind of monstrous strength... this is... sorcery!"
Black Cord frowned, looking with disgust at the soldiers who were pale with fright. "Quiet. Are you flies in May? Humming and buzzing without a single useful word! How unsightly! How noisy! You aren't samurai at all! Do not tarnish the name of Genji!!!"
"En... Enemy attack!" "Help!"
Screams and wails erupted.
"Ah... ah..." A samurai on horseback stared at the scene, paralyzed. He was a master known for a "hundred kills," having slain hundreds during the suppression of the Shimabara Rebellion. He had been like a demon-god; back then, the commoners in the city would wet themselves and flee just by looking at him.
He remembered a woman holding a child, kneeling and begging for mercy, saying she would do anything if he just spared her child. He had sliced the child's head off with one strike. To him, killing a person was as easy as crushing an ant. The look of despair and resentment in that woman's eyes as he pinned her down was magnificent. That pleasure of presiding over human life was addictive, making him feel like a god.
But in this moment, facing a woman who was a true demon-god, his limbs felt frozen. Retribution had come faster than he expected; the things he did during the sack of the city were now happening to him.
Against the weak, he thought he was invincible. Against the strong, he found he didn't even have the courage to draw his sword.
"Run—" The samurai finally snapped out of it, but before he could turn his horse, he was cleaved in two at the waist. His lower half remained in the saddle, while his upper half flew to parts unknown.
The woman's movements were too fast—she flickered through the army like lightning. Archers and musketeers couldn't aim. By the time an arrow was nocked, the hand was severed; by the time a matchlock was lit, the finger was gone. Fleeing soldiers and panicked, stampeding horses could not hinder her pace.
The blade in the woman's hand was heavy; it smashed through infantry shields like a sledgehammer. When a soldier fell, her iron boot appeared above him, crushing his head like a ripe watermelon.
Later, silence fell. Black Cord turned and quietly left.
The splashing blood had stained the local ponies the crimson of "sweating blood" horses. In an army of ten thousand, not a single person escaped. All lay dead. The wasteland was dyed a sticky black-red, and even the full moon in the sky seemed to be reflected in blood.
Aside from the horses, the only survivor was a young man collapsed on the ground, his eyes vacant. He was a novice who had never seen a real battlefield. Now, his mouth hung open, drooling, staring at the sky, sobbing and mumbling incoherently.
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