Following the direction of the screams from the previous night, Yukishiro and Mitsuri tracked the faint trails left behind by Kimura and his companions.
Their path eventually led them to the site of the ambush.
The scene was a nightmare. Corpses lay scattered everywhere, twisted and broken beyond recognition. Even after a full night had passed, the heavy metallic stench of blood still hung thick in the air.
Mitsuri's hands trembled as she clutched Yukishiro's sleeve tightly. Each step into that clearing felt like stepping deeper into hell.
Heads dangled from branches like grotesque wind chimes, entrails sprawled across the dirt like grotesque garlands, and blood pooled so darkly that the ground itself seemed to drink it in. The wide clearing was nothing short of a slaughter field.
Her stomach lurched. Mitsuri couldn't take it anymore. She released Yukishiro's sleeve, stumbled to the side beneath a tree untouched by the carnage, and clung to its trunk as she vomited violently.
Yukishiro, unfazed, walked calmly to the center of the slaughter. He analyzed the battlefield with cold precision. This must have been the heart of Kimura's group. The evidence was clear: the corpses were densest here, and more than a dozen backpacks were piled in a small heap. They must have fled in a panic, abandoning what they couldn't carry.
Kneeling down, Yukishiro inspected the bags. He opened each in turn, examining their contents with clinical efficiency. Food. Water. Medicines. Spare clothes. Weapons, though crude.
He set aside three of the largest packs, filled them with supplies scavenged from the rest, and slung them across his shoulders.
Mitsuri was still gagging weakly against the tree when she noticed him leaving without a word. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she forced herself upright and hurried after him, her steps uneven from the lingering nausea.
Not long after they left, others emerged cautiously from the woods—groups of stragglers, three here, four there. Survivors who had hidden away during the night. They scurried into the clearing like rats, quickly gathering whatever scraps Yukishiro had deemed unnecessary, and then vanished again into the shadows.
By the time Yukishiro and Mitsuri returned to their stone platform, the weight of the three packs seemed to anchor them in relative safety. Yukishiro calmly took out rations, chewing as though the slaughter he had just walked through had meant nothing.
Mitsuri lowered herself carefully to the spot where she and Yuka had chatted the night before. Her body felt weak, chilled. She had vomited everything she'd eaten, and her stomach still threatened rebellion at the memory of that grotesque field.
Her eyes darted to Yukishiro, who ate without hesitation. She wanted to join him—her hunger clawed at her—but the memory of swaying heads and scattered intestines surged back, and she dry-heaved again, clutching her middle.
Frustration bubbled up in her chest. If I'd known he was going just to scavenge, I wouldn't have followed… But then the thought passed as quickly as it came. Where else could I go? He's the only one I can rely on…
That night, she survived only on sips of water, curled against the cold stone as hunger gnawed at her.
For the next several days, life settled into a grim rhythm.
By night, screams occasionally cut through the forest, but each time they grew fewer and farther between. Demons still prowled, but Yukishiro cut down those that crossed their path with ruthless efficiency.
Heads flew, and bodies dissolved into ash beneath his blade.
The "bouncing Demon" never appeared again, nor did the spider-bodied or multi-armed monstrosities Yuka had described earlier. Perhaps they hunted elsewhere. Perhaps others had already fallen to them.
Day after day, Yukishiro and Mitsuri shared small exchanges about their breathing techniques, comparing notes, sharpening control. It was almost peaceful, though never truly safe.
Until the seventh night—the final night.
The air shifted. Heavy, suffocating, oppressive.
It was the same atmosphere they had felt on the very first night: restless, charged with dread, as though the mountain itself held its breath. A round, brilliant moon hung over Fujikasane Mountain, turning the woods into a silver wasteland.
Mitsuri glanced at Yukishiro, her voice quieter than usual.
"Hey… Yukishiro, after we go down the mountain tomorrow, where will you go?"
"It's none of your business," he replied flatly.
Her cheeks puffed in mock anger. "How can you say that? We're good friends now—we survived life and death together."
"You experienced life and death," he corrected coldly. "I didn't."
"You're so heartless… talking to you feels like walking on thin ice."
Yukishiro gave the faintest smirk. "That's accurate enough."
Despite his coldness, Mitsuri smiled to herself, her heart lightened by the thought of the future. "I have to see my sister first. She'll probably scold me for coming here. And then… hmm… hey, Yukishiro, where do you live? I'll come visit you."
"There's no need," he said without hesitation. "It's better if we don't meet again."
"Hmph! That's so cruel. I still think of you as my best friend." She pouted, patting his arm gently—more a playful touch than anything else.
He snorted. "Then thank you. My family's poor enough as it is. Don't make it worse by showing up."
"You—! You're mocking me again."
Before she could argue further, footsteps rustled from the woods below the stone platform. Both froze. Mitsuri's hand instantly went to the hilt of her blade, her nerves taut. After all the encounters of the past week, her fear of Demons had dulled into readiness.
Two figures stepped out of the shadows.
"Yuka? Akino?" Mitsuri's eyes widened. "You… but you went down the mountain!"
Her shock turned quickly into joy. She rushed down the steps, clasping Yuka's hands tightly.
"You're alive!"
Yuka exchanged a look with Akino before answering. "We couldn't leave. All of my family was killed by Demons.
If I went back like that… I'd never find peace."
Mitsuri's expression softened, sorrow shading her features. "I… I didn't know. I'm sorry."
Yuka smiled faintly. "It's been a long time. The pain dulls eventually." She glanced at Yukishiro. "We didn't come to seek you out, but we wanted to see you one last time. It's the final night—surely there's no danger."
Mitsuri hesitated, words caught in her throat. She wanted to say If I had known… I would have let you stay, but the thought died before it reached her lips.
"What is it then?" Yuka asked gently.
Mitsuri shook her head. "Never mind… forget it."
Yuka chuckled softly. "Then let's just sit and talk. I've so much to tell you. You won't drive us away again tonight, will you?"
"No!" Mitsuri clutched her hand tightly, glaring at Yukishiro as if daring him to disagree. "I'll be angry if anyone tries."
So the girls sat together on the stone platform, chatting endlessly as though reunited sisters. Yukishiro only watched, his eyes hard. Don't regret this later, he thought to himself.
After a time, Mitsuri and Yuka rose together, giggling as they wandered toward the woods. Akino frowned. "Where are you going?"
Mitsuri waved carelessly. "Even for something small, you have to ask? We'll be back soon."
Akino lowered his head, embarrassed, and sat back down.
Moments later, a piercing scream split the night.
Mitsuri stumbled out of the trees, tears streaking her cheeks, panic twisting her features.
"Yukishiro!" she cried desperately. "Yuka's been captured! Please—you have to save her!"