Mitsuri supported Yukishiro and led him back to the clearing where the earlier battle had taken place. Several exhausted examinees were resting there. When they saw the two figures emerging from the woods
Yukishiro pale and unsteady, Mitsuri practically carrying him—they hurried to their feet.
Two of them stepped forward, hands outstretched as if to offer help, but Mitsuri smiled politely and shook her head. She carefully guided Yukishiro toward a broad stone slab, lowering him onto it with great care, as if she feared he might shatter like glass.
The examinees gathered in a loose circle around them. Someone quickly offered two bottles of water.
Mitsuri bowed her head in thanks, twisted one open for Yukishiro, and then opened the other for herself, sipping lightly.
Kimura spoke first, his voice carrying a note of awe and caution. "That Demon was…?"
Mitsuri nodded solemnly.
A hush fell over the group. When they realized the dreaded three-headed Demon had been slain, their expressions shifted from disbelief to reverence. Their eyes fixed on Yukishiro as though he were a savior sent from the heavens. Some even looked ready to kneel right there in the snow.
Only hours ago, most had resigned themselves to inevitable death. Now, hope flickered again because one swordsman had stood against the impossible.
While they gazed in awe, the mood lightened just enough for some to breathe more easily. Relief trickled into their exhausted hearts.
Mitsuri turned to Akino. "How is Yuka?"
Akino, who had been tending to the injured girl nearby, gave a small nod. "Much better than before. Just shallow scrapes—painful, but nothing serious. What about him?" She glanced toward Yukishiro.
Mitsuri's lips pressed thin. She lowered her gaze to Yukishiro's torn haori. The cold aura that had once swirled around him like a shield was visibly receding, the white frost vanishing. Beneath it, crimson spots bloomed across his shoulders and back.
Blood. It seemed his icy energy had sealed the wounds during battle, but now that it was fading, the injuries were opening again.
Yukishiro looked up at the ragged survivors. There were only four or five before him, their faces hollow with fatigue. He remembered clearly—when he left to face the three-headed Demon, there had been more than a dozen here. His eyes darkened. "Are you the only ones left alive?"
One survivor straightened, eager to prove his worth. "A few more went to chase the six-legged Demon." He puffed his chest, as though their courage deserved praise.
Yukishiro's face hardened. "You should have run. A Demon cannot be cornered so easily. This mountain is filled with unknowns—you'll throw your lives away wandering blindly."
The air turned heavy. The few who remained shifted uncomfortably, shame flickering across their faces.
Yukishiro's voice dropped. "How long have they been gone?"
"About ten minutes," one finally answered.
He said nothing more, staring at the ground as though lost in thought.
The survivors gradually dispersed, some whispering in worried tones. A few clustered around Kimura, debating if they should search. Kimura glanced once at Yukishiro. The state he was in made the decision harder—without him, none of them could survive another encounter. After a long silence, he said only,
"We'll wait a little longer."
Mitsuri remained at Yukishiro's side. She noticed the worsening pallor in his face, his uneven breaths, the faint tremble in his hands. The moment his cold aura ebbed, he seemed fragile, dangerously so.
Then she saw it—a trickle of blood running from his forehead, sliding down his pale cheek.
"Yukishiro… you're bleeding!"
Her voice shook, drawing everyone's attention.
They rushed closer just in time to see him falter. His fingers slipped around the water bottle, spilling droplets onto the snow.
He tried to drink, perhaps hoping water would steady him. But before he could swallow, a mouthful of blood erupted into the bottle. The clear liquid turned crimson.
Gasps broke out. Several examinees lurched forward in alarm. The bottle clattered to the ground, blood seeping out onto the frozen earth.
Yukishiro dropped to one knee, coughing violently, his blood pooling at his lips.
"Yukishiro, what's happening to you?" Mitsuri clutched his arm in panic. Her gaze darted to the others. "Is anyone a doctor? Please—someone, help him!"
But the others only looked at each other helplessly. None dared step forward.
Yukishiro raised one trembling hand, motioning them back. His voice was ragged, each word costing him effort. "I'll live. Just… tell me—what time is it? How long until dawn?"
One survivor glanced at the sky. "A little after five. Maybe an hour until sunrise."
"Good." Yukishiro inhaled sharply.
"From now on, we will stay together. When the sun rises, we head for the mountainside. We'll wait there until the assessment ends."
Everyone nodded quickly. His authority, even in weakness, left no room for argument.
"But… What about the others?" someone asked timidly.
A shadow passed over the group. Nearly thirty minutes had gone by since the others pursued the six-legged Demon. Not one had returned. The silence of the woods answered for them.
Kimura finally broke it. "I'll go search for Eimi. We entered this trial together—I won't abandon her."
Yukishiro closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, his tone was final. "We'll go together. We'll follow their trail down the mountain. If we haven't found them by the time we reach the mountainside… we stop searching."
The decision was grim, but the others nodded.
Akino supported Yuka while Mitsuri took Yukishiro's weight onto her shoulder. Though her body was slight, she bore his weight without hesitation. His Nichirin Blade, sheathed and hanging at her waist now, felt heavier than steel.
Yukishiro's condition was worse than he allowed them to see. The "Ice Dragon" had destroyed the three-headed Demon, but at a cost—his left wrist had been broken by the recoil of impact.
The earlier kick from the bouncing Demon had left internal injuries, and the long battle had torn his strength apart from the inside out.
Led by Kimura, the survivors moved cautiously. They crossed the clearing, climbed the slope, and passed the barren tree. The sight of corpses still strung across its branches made their stomachs twist.
Grief and fear flickered in their eyes, but no one dared to stop.
At last, they crested the ridge. For the first time, the other side of the hill came into view—and there, under the pale moonlight, lay a vast lake. The water shimmered like polished glass, impossibly serene. Its beauty felt out of place amidst the carnage of Fujikasane Mountain.
Carefully, they descended. Searching as they went, they scanned the lakeside for any trace of those who had come before. At last, someone crouched near a jagged stone, holding up a broken bracelet.
Kimura's eyes widened. "Eimi's… That's hers."
The implication chilled everyone. The broken bracelet meant disaster. Yet there were no bodies, only scattered footprints.
"The bracelet proves they were here," Kimura said tightly. "Spread out. Search the lakeshore."
The group divided, moving in cautious trios.
Mitsuri guided Yukishiro to the water's edge, near the stone where the bracelet had been found.
She peered into the lake. Its surface reflected nothing but darkness—no fish, no ripples, just an abyss.
"Do you think… maybe Eimi dropped it washing her hands?" she asked.
Yukishiro's eyes narrowed. A chill pricked at his heart, deeper than the cold of his wounds. Something felt wrong.
He crouched slightly, examining the stones by the waterline. His breath stilled. Thin, threadlike scratches scarred the rock, dozens of them, all gouged in the same direction—toward the lake.
"What could cut stone like this?" His mind raced. "And all the marks point inward. Which means…"
His gaze swept to the other shores. The tall weeds were untouched, no sign of bodies dragged through. No bloodstains. No trampled grass. Whatever had happened… had happened in the water.
He straightened suddenly, grabbing Mitsuri's arm.
She blinked at him in confusion. "What's wrong? Why are you pulling me?"
"Something's wrong," he said sharply. His eyes never left the lake.
"What do you mean?"
Yukishiro's grip tightened. His voice dropped to a whisper, urgent and cold. "This lake isn't safe. There's something in it. We need to leave. Now."