The moment the ball of water surged upward, Yukishiro felt his instincts tighten. Something was wrong. He knew it before the surface broke, but when the transparent, human-shaped figure emerged from the hot spring mist, his judgment was confirmed without question.
The two demons they had cornered on the second floor were not the true culprits of the disappearances.
The real predator was here, rising from the steaming pool itself. That explained why the others had kept their distance last night—why they had chosen not to strike. They had been wary of this one.
Yukishiro inhaled sharply, steadying himself. His grip tightened around the hilt of his Nichirin Blade. With a smooth motion he vaulted the bamboo partition, his body cutting through the vapor like a streak of steel, and landed upon the surface of the women's pool.
Ice spread instantly beneath his sandals, freezing the spring's warmth into a fragile, gleaming crust.
He dropped to one knee, left palm pressed against the water's trembling skin, his right hand driving the blade downward into the depths.
Cold energy burst through the steel.
The frost traveled along the sword's length, spilling into the water, piercing the shadow coiled around Mitsuri's struggling body.
The translucent substance shuddered violently as the freezing current locked around it. Yukishiro reached through the newly-formed ice, hooked his arm beneath Mitsuri's limp frame, and hauled her upward in a single sweep.
The frozen surface cracked as he leapt back to the shore, landing lightly.
Beneath them, the ice began to weep, melting slowly, steam curling upward as the hot spring fought to reclaim itself.
Mitsuri coughed violently, her body convulsing in his arms. Her consciousness was a blur, like a candle guttering in the wind. Water streamed down her face, her lips pale, chest heaving.
Despite her soft, plump figure when dry, her soaked bathing suit clung tightly to her frame, revealing the truth of her form—slim, graceful, her curves defined in the clinging fabric. Each tremor of her cough sent her chest quivering, but Yukishiro's eyes never lingered; his attention was locked on the surface of the spring.
A sound broke the moment—splash… The water churned again, vapor swirling, as the demon revealed itself.
It rose, a transparent figure taking shape from liquid and mist, like a phantom carved from water itself. Its featureless head twisted toward the shore, watching.
Yukishiro lowered Mitsuri gently. She collapsed onto the decking, clutching her chest with one hand, cheeks flushed crimson, still hacking raggedly. Tears pricked her eyes as she gasped for air.
The thing in the pool… yes, this was it.
This was the one responsible for the missing girls.
A ribbon of water, thin but quick as a striking snake, slithered from the pool's edge toward Mitsuri. It rippled across the ground silently, deceptive and sly, seeking her exposed ankle.
But before it reached her, a white blade stabbed into the earth with a sharp crack. Frost radiated outward, freezing the stream instantly into a jagged shard of ice.
The demon recoiled.
In its perception, Yukishiro's gesture was unmistakable—a claim. A declaration.
This prey is mine.
You will not touch her.
Mitsuri tilted her head upward.
Through blurred vision and stinging eyes, she looked at him, breath shallow, lips trembling. Whether from choking or something deeper, tears welled and spilled freely.
"He came for me," she thought, voice whispering inside her own mind. "I knew he would…"
For a heartbeat, the demon hesitated.
Perhaps it had witnessed the power Yukishiro wielded. Perhaps it realized it could not win head-on. Slowly, it sank back into the pool, as if retreating.
But Yukishiro's expression did not soften. He had endured the suffocating steam of this spring for four long days, waiting for the true predator to surface. His skin prickled from the constant heat, exhaustion had seeped into his bones, and his patience had thinned to a razor's edge.
Now, finally, the real one appeared. There would be no escape.
He lifted his blade, nicked his palm with the edge, and let the crimson droplets fall.
Blood fell into the pool with soft ripples, vanishing into the water like scarlet ink.
The surface quivered almost instantly.
Mitsuri's eyes widened as he lifted her once more, carrying her a few meters away to a broader wooden platform.
He set her down carefully, then extended his wounded hand above the planks. Blood dripped in deliberate rhythm, each drop dark against the pale wood.
The bait was laid. The demon would not resist.
Sure enough, the pool convulsed. Ripples surged toward the shore where his blood had fallen.
Soon, the water swelled again, reshaping into a humanoid figure that dragged itself out of the steaming pool, droplets pattering against the deck.
Its faceless head turned toward the fresh pool of blood at Yukishiro's feet. The scent drove it into a frenzy. Its whole form trembled violently, unable to restrain itself.
Then—it attacked.
A spray of droplets snapped outward like arrows, hissing through the steam. At the same instant, the demon's body collapsed into a surge of water that skimmed across the ground, rushing toward the blood with startling speed.
Yukishiro did not flinch. His eyes tracked the fluid form, unwavering. The projectiles hurtled toward him, but the frost in the air seized them midflight. They froze into crystalline beads, scattering harmlessly at his feet.
The real threat was the body racing along the ground. It lunged, desperate, driven by hunger.
But as it neared, Yukishiro's sword flashed. A cold gust swept over the boards, an ice-line slashing across its path.
The water shuddered, parts of it crystallizing into jagged frost.
The demon snarled soundlessly, abandoning the frozen portion, surging around the obstacle. Again, it sought the blood. Again, his blade intercepted, each strike forcing it back.
Something was wrong. Yukishiro realized it even as he parried.
Normally, demons radiated a distinct chill—lower body temperature than any human. He had honed his senses to track that difference, to feel them in the dark. He had felt it in the spring earlier, when its humanoid guise rose.
But now… nothing.
The streams of water at his feet gave off no thermal trace. They were empty. Hollow.
"This isn't its true form," he thought sharply.
"It's hiding somewhere—using these puddles as decoys."
If he wanted to end this, he had to draw it out.
A plan flickered into place. He loosened his stance, letting his guard dip deliberately, feigning weakness. He angled his blade as though weary, allowing one stream to slither closer, closer, until it nearly reached his sandal.
The demon lunged greedily, convinced.
At the last instant, Yukishiro twisted his wrist. The Nichirin Blade spun in a gleaming arc, descending not against the water, but directly into the blood at his feet. Frost erupted outward, freezing the droplets solid in an instant.
The demon surged forward to claim its prize—only to find the blood encased, unreachable.
It trembled violently, rage boiling. The trap had sprung.
On the side, Mitsuri gasped, half-rising. She had been about to cry out a warning, terrified the water was upon him. But now she stared, stunned. His composure, his foresight—it was all beyond her. Her earlier panic seemed foolish.
She remembered his words from before: "Worry about yourself, not me."
The demon's frenzy only worsened. Humiliated, denied its feast, mocked openly—it roared, a soundless vibration that rattled the boards beneath their feet. Its body writhed as though infested by invisible ants, tearing at itself in maddened hunger.
Then, from the puddle nearest Mitsuri, a black blur erupted.
"—!" She barely had time to react before it lunged toward Yukishiro's face.
But the swordsman was already moving. Ice bloomed beneath his sandals, tracing a sharp zigzag. He slid backward across the decking, the frost carrying him in swift arcs.
The shadow pursued, shrieking, claws slashing the air. Twice it pounced, missing by a hair each time. His sleeve fluttered from the wind of its strike, but not a thread was torn. Finally, it landed upon the rocky mound at the pool's corner, clinging like a rabid animal.
The mist thinned, revealing its true form at last.
Small. Barely half a meter tall. Its skin pitch black, slick as oil. Its head was almost bald save for a few pitiful tufts of hair, chin pointed unnaturally sharp.
Its body twitched, hands clawing ceaselessly, mouth opening and closing with grotesque noises—half screech, half groan.
It looked like a monkey stripped bare, an ugly, hairless creature.
No wonder the missing girls had vanished without a trace. This thing had hidden beneath puddles, striking from where no one could sense it.
Mitsuri's throat burned as she swallowed hard, voice rasping.
She lifted a trembling hand and pointed.
"It's… it's that one. That's the one that dragged me under," she whispered hoarsely, eyes fixed in terror.
The water demon screeched from the rockery, body twitching, rage boiling over.
And Yukishiro's eyes narrowed, blade steady in hand.
The real battle was about to begin.