Mitsuri followed the distant sounds of clashing steel and roars that echoed through the forest. She sprinted several hundred meters, weaving past shattered trees and trampled snow, before finally spotting Yukishiro locked in brutal combat with the massive three-headed Demon.
The battlefield was a ruin. Ancient trees had been split apart, some splintered by sheer brute force, others neatly severed by a blade's edge, and everywhere the wreckage glittered with snow-white ice crystals. It was a frozen wasteland carved out by the duel between man and Demon.
Yukishiro stood with his Nichirin Blade raised, his body stiff with exhaustion. His haori was shredded, his skin peppered with cuts and ice chips, his breath heavy and ragged. Though no blood streamed openly from his wounds, the pallor of his face and the tremor in his arms betrayed how battered he truly was.
The three-headed Demon fared little better. Its towering, grotesque body was carved with gashes of every size. Its once dark skin had paled into an unnatural white, the frost spreading across it like veins of ice. Even the breaths that hissed from the gaping mouth embedded in its chest came out in plumes of cold mist. The chill of Yukishiro's techniques had sunk deep into the monster's flesh.
Still, the creature endured.
Yukishiro's thoughts raced despite the ache coursing through him. The face on the chest—that's its weakness. He knew now that this Demon had long since adapted against the usual method of decapitation.
To guard its neck, it had devoured two other bodies, merging them into itself, forcing its head down into its torso.
That grotesque mask in its chest was both its shield and its life core. Unless that face was destroyed completely, the Demon would regenerate the moment his frost receded—and might even emerge stronger.
He had exhausted nearly everything. Six of the seven forms of his Ice Breathing had been unleashed, each single and combination technique wielded to the edge of his skill. None had broken through the Demon's monstrous defense.
Only one remained: his ultimate form. If this next strike failed, then the battle would end here, and he would have no choice but to leave this abomination for another hunter.
Before he could act, a voice rang out from the tree line.
"Yukishiro! Let me help you!"
Mitsuri burst from the shadows, her hand already on her hilt as she prepared to leap into the fray. But Yukishiro's voice cut her off, sharp and commanding.
"Stand there. Don't come any closer."
She froze mid-step, her heart lurching. For a fleeting second she thought he was still angry at her for their earlier clash. "I… I've already killed the Bouncing Demon," she said softly, her voice carrying a plea for acknowledgment.
Yukishiro turned his head, eyes cold but steady. "You'll only distract me if you interfere." His tone was quiet, but firm. He turned away again without another glance, pouring his focus back onto the hulking monster before him.
Mitsuri bit her lip, stung by his dismissal. She wanted nothing more than to rush forward, to fight by his side, to prove that she was not a burden. But she knew his temperament now—if she disobeyed him, he would only become angrier, and that anger might cost him the clarity he needed to land his final blow.
So she stepped back, lowering her head. Fine. If I can't stand beside you now, then I'll wait for the right moment. If danger swallows you, I'll move, and then maybe… maybe you'll see me differently.
She forced a smile and called gently, "Then… be careful, Yukishiro."
He gave no reply. His eyes narrowed on the three-headed Demon as a wave of frost-laden aura erupted from his body. The air thickened instantly; every breath carried the sting of winter. Flowers wilted under the chill, trees cracked as ice blossomed across their bark, and the earth itself turned brittle and white.
Mitsuri shivered where she stood, her breath spilling in white clouds. She realized then why he had kept her away—it wasn't that he hated her presence. The battlefield itself had become a death zone, a blizzard summoned by his will.
To breathe within it was to risk freezing one's lungs from the inside.
Yukishiro drew in a deep breath, both hands tightening on his blade. White mist surged toward him, coalescing around the sword. His voice rang out like the crack of ice breaking on a frozen river.
"Ice Breathing, Seventh Form—Ice Dragon."
He stepped forward, twisting his waist, every muscle in his body channeling into the swing. The blade carved a perfect arc through the storm, dragging with it the very cold of the world. The air shrieked as the friction between steel and frost echoed like a dragon's roar.
From the whirling blizzard, a colossal dragon of ice and snow erupted forth, jaws wide, scales glittering like shards of crystal. Its roar shook the forest as it surged toward the Demon, unstoppable.
The three-headed beast bellowed in defiance, six arms extending, claws tearing at the sky as it hurled its entire bulk forward to meet the attack.
The collision was apocalyptic. The dragon's icy body crashed into the Demon's arms, shattering limbs with each strike, snow and shards exploding in every direction. The forest howled as gale-force winds tore branches from trees.
Mitsuri shielded her face with her arm, clinging to the trunk of a nearby tree. The world vanished into a chaos of snow, wind, and sound—the Demon's screams mingling with the dragon's roar until both rose to an unbearable crescendo.
Then, at last, silence.
When the snowstorm settled, the clearing was a frozen graveyard. The ground lay blanketed in ice chips that shimmered like diamonds. At the center stood the Demon, frozen mid-motion, its body encased entirely in ice. Its six arms lay shattered on the ground, its chest gaping with a massive hole where the grotesque face once sneered.
Mitsuri stepped into the silence, her breath catching. She ran past the immobilized figure and found Yukishiro kneeling, one knee in the frost, his Nichirin Blade stabbed into the ground to support his trembling frame. His left arm hung useless at his side, his body swaying with exhaustion.
"Yukishiro!" Mitsuri dropped to his side, slipping an arm around his back. "Are you hurt? Can you stand?"
Slowly, painfully, he turned his head toward her. His lips moved, voice barely a whisper. "Go ahead… You take the lead. I'll follow."
Her heart twisted at his words. Even now, he refused her help, forcing himself to stagger forward despite his body breaking. Am I so worthless to him that he would rather collapse than lean on me?
She lowered her head, blinking back tears. "Fine…" she whispered, starting forward with small, defeated steps.
Behind her, Yukishiro stumbled again, nearly falling face-first into the snow. Before he could collapse, she darted back, slipping under his arm and bracing his weight with her shoulder.
"Don't—" He tried to push her away, his trembling hand pressing weakly against her arm.
But this time, Mitsuri refused to move. She slid his sword into its sheath, secured it at her waist, and wrapped his arm firmly around her shoulders.
Through the layers of cloth, Yukishiro felt her warmth spreading against him, her presence both steady and soft. His protests faltered.
"You'd better let me go," he muttered, his voice uneven, broken by fatigue—and something else.
"Don't you feel cold? If you get frostbite… don't blame me."
Mitsuri's eyes widened, then softened with sudden understanding. He wasn't pushing me away because he despises me… He's worried I'll get hurt.
Her lips curved into a radiant smile, her heart swelling with warmth.
"Even now," she whispered, "you're worried about me."
Yukishiro looked at her, baffled, shaking his head as though he'd never understand how she could smile like that in such a moment. "You're a strange woman," he muttered, voice faint.
"Smiling like that when I tell you you might freeze."
But despite his words, for the first time, he did not push her away. Together, the two trudged slowly through the frost-covered battlefield, leaving behind the frozen corpse of the three-headed Demon.