The old man's corpse hit the ground like discarded cargo.
To a demon, a human body wasn't much different from goods—something to be consumed, traded, or bartered.
At some point, in their eyes… humans had stopped being human at all.
"Well?"
The demon looked at Soma impatiently.
It could barely hold itself back now. Its gaze kept drifting toward Kanao, hunger burning brighter with every second.
That soft, delicate body…
It was irresistible.
How could he not take a bite first?
The demon couldn't understand it.
If it were him, he'd already have torn off an arm—savored the fresh flesh, ripped open that slender throat, and drunk deep from the warm, flowing blood…
The mere thought made its mouth water.
Soma remained silent.
His eyes shifted briefly to the corpse on the ground—then closed for a moment.
Even after becoming a demon…
He still couldn't get used to this.
Could never get used to treating what was once his own kind as nothing more than food… or merchandise.
"You should leave."
His voice was low.
To demons, eating humans—trading them—was simply the way of things. He despised it, rejected it…
But he couldn't change it.
Not yet.
He couldn't even change himself.
Every day, he was still fighting the hunger for human flesh. And if he never found the Blue Spider Lily…
Would he eventually become just like them?
No one even knew if the flower truly existed.
Or if it could really free a demon from its curse.
At Soma's words, the demon's expression darkened. Its eyes grew colder, its presence turning sharp, dangerous.
Still—
Soma didn't move.
He simply stood there, watching.
Huff…
After a moment, the demon forced a grin.
"Fine. Let's make it easier."
It pointed lazily at Kanao.
"I'll trade this whole body… for just one arm of your little prey. Just one. Let me have a taste."
Its voice dripped with greed.
Its eyes locked onto Kanao.
Its throat moved as it swallowed.
Drool slipped from the corner of its mouth.
This time—
Soma didn't answer at all.
But something changed.
The air around him turned cold.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
The demon noticed immediately. Its muscles tensed, its gaze sharpening.
"You're really going to fight over something this small?"
It scoffed, though there was caution beneath the bravado.
"I'm even offering a trade. Sure, mine's old—tough meat, not great taste—but it'll last you days. All I want is one arm…"
"…Haa."
Soma exhaled slowly, his breath forming a thick white cloud in the frigid night.
He didn't speak further. His hand moved to his waist.
The demon's gaze followed. It caught sight of the cloth-wrapped weapon beneath his hand and felt a creeping sense of unease.
"Come closer. I'll share with you."
A small smile played across Soma's lips. The moonlight glinted off his teeth, blindingly white.
"Hah, why didn't you say so earlier, buddy? I almost thought you'd start a fight over a single arm of meat!"
The demon laughed, eager, stepping forward.
"Left arm or right arm? I like the right better, though… hmm, that weapon you're holding…"
"I…"
Soma's voice was low.
The moment the demon drew near, the Nichirin Sword hidden under the cloth sprang free.
Under the pale moonlight, the cold steel glimmered with a searing intensity.
At the instant the blade was drawn, the demon's eyes widened in pure, uncomprehending terror.
"Nichirin Sword!"
The words came out in a horrified shriek.
A demon… wielding a Nichirin Sword?
A weapon that repulsed them with mere contact—how could any demon endure carrying such a thing?
For a fleeting moment, the demon felt something it hadn't expected—regret.
It hadn't imagined that the other would actually be willing to kill over a mere "prey." It wasn't worth it. It really wasn't.
But by the time that thought surfaced… it was already too late.
The instant its eyes caught sight of the Nichirin Sword, the strike had already fallen.
Clean. Effortless.
The demon's head was severed in a single stroke.
Its headless body stood for a heartbeat—then began to crumble, dissolving into ash. The severed head dropped silently to the ground, landing beside the old man's corpse.
As its body disintegrated, a foul stench spread through the air… and with it, something else—
A faint trace of sorrow.
In the final moment of its existence, perhaps the demon remembered what it once was. A human.
But that, too, faded with its death, vanishing without a trace.
Soma had killed it with ease.
In truth, the demon hadn't been weak. If they had fought head-on, prepared, the outcome might not have been so certain.
But it had let its guard down.
After all, no demon would ever expect another of its kind to wield a Nichirin Sword—something so repulsive to them that even touching it felt unbearable.
"...Nichirin Swords really are the perfect weapon against demons," Soma muttered, glancing at the faint glow along its edge.
He sheathed it.
Then turned to leave.
"Uncle…" Kanao's voice stopped him.
He paused.
"…Can we bury him?"
Her soft purple-pink eyes were fixed on the old man's body.
"…Alright." He nodded.
Raising his blade again, he began digging into the earth nearby. Kanao joined him, working alongside him in silence.
With a demon's tireless body and strength far beyond human limits, it didn't take long before a deep pit was carved out.
He gently dragged the old man's body into the grave. Just as he was about to cover it—
He noticed Knao had wandered off.
She had gone to where the demon had perished.
There was nothing left there now—no body, no remains. Only that lingering, unpleasant stench.
Soma didn't stop her. He simply watched.
The girl knelt down and cupped her hands together, as if gathering something invisible—
As if she were holding the demon itself.
Then, carefully, she carried that unseen weight back to the grave and lowered her hands beside it.
Soma frowned slightly, puzzled.
"Demons don't leave bodies behind when they die," he said quietly. "There's nothing to bury."
Kanao looked up at him.
"I was just thinking..."
Her voice was soft, almost fragile.
"If one day, Uncle and I are killed... I hope whoever kills us will be like me, and bury us."
Soma glanced at her, then said nothing.
He simply began covering the grave with ground, one shovel at a time.
"If you're dead, you're dead," he muttered under his breath. "Buried or not… it doesn't really matter."
And yet—
He didn't ask why she had said "us."
He just kept filling the grave in silence.
...
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