After further discussion about the Humanization Method and the Sankon Tessō, the three Dog Clan Elders unanimously agreed they must not be taught carelessly.
This was not because the Elders wished to monopolize them, but because if such techniques were gained too easily, the young dog-demons might take them lightly.
On the other hand, their greater worry was that if these core arts fell into the hands of outsiders, they might refine them into techniques of their own—such a loss would be disastrous for the Dog Clan.
The saying goes: One true teaching outweighs ten thousand false scrolls. Though the Elders had never heard the phrase, they instinctively lived by it.
"I'll ask Tōga later if there's any way to improve upon them."
As the Great Elder and Second Elder laid out a rough charter for the clan's future inheritance, seven out of every ten words seemed to hinge on Tōga. The Third Elder, Ziyan, felt the heavy weight pressing on that little guy's shoulders. Just listening made her scalp tingle and her tail tremble.
When their small council finally ended, Ziyan let out a long sigh of relief.
Back in her own quarters, she at once shed the stern dignity of an Elder. Humming a light tune, she dove straight into her soft, spacious bed.
Her voluptuous body rolled lazily across the mattress. With a practiced motion, her right hand slipped into a hidden compartment beside the bed and drew out a Tōga Body Pillow.
Without hesitation, she buried her face into it and inhaled a deep draught of 'Tōga energy'. The pressure of the day melted away in an instant.
"Those two, old and middle-aged really can talk. If they'd just leave everything to Tōga, everything would be fine. Instead they tire themselves out with needless worrying."
"To be born in an age like this… what good fortune."
Ziyan muttered contentedly, basking in her leisure.
With the Great Elder and the Dog General shielding the clan above, and promising youths like Tōga and Shirayuki brimming with potential below, she needed only to follow orders, raise her blade, and cut down enemies.
"By Tōga's words, I suppose I've achieved the perfect 'lie-flat' life."
Lifting her head from the pillow, a blissful smile spread across her lips.
Her tail swayed cheerfully, curling around the pillow as though sharing her joy.
As for fighting to grow stronger and dying in glory on the battlefield—that was the destiny of some fearless Dog Clan Elder.
But for Ziyan, who only wished to enjoy life—what did that have to do with her?
While this voluptuous enchantress replenished her energy atop her bed, an official order fell into the Great Elder's hands.
A squad of twenty dog-demons, led by Seiten and Kujaku, was immediately recalled to the clan's heartlands.
At that time, Tōga himself arrived at the treasure vault beneath the clan's Tenshukaku.
"You're already a mid-level yōkai. Why do you still need Fang Swords of the same level?"
Walking ahead to lead him, Shirayuki glanced back at Tōga curiously.
"Once your current fangs stop growing, you can pull one out and forge your own Fang Sword."
"Don't say something so terrifying in such a casual tone."
Tōga instinctively touched the corner of his mouth. The memory of that bone-drilling sensation still haunted him, leaving him with a lingering reflex.
It wasn't the pain—it was the image of the process that refused to fade.
"Speaking of Fang Swords, Shirayuki—when will you fuse your own fang into the Fang Sword the General gave you?"
Tōga eyed her small mouth, grinning as he teased.
"What's the matter, afraid of the pain?"
"Or maybe you don't want me to see you missing a fang?"
The thought of the girl with a toothless grin almost made him laugh aloud—
"What do you think?"
Shirayuki's sharp gaze cut through his levity, her emotionless words forcing Tōga to straighten his face at once.
Behind him, the girl touched her lips and glared at him with a hint of reproach.
They passed two guards along the way, but were waved through without question. After all, Naraku—the master of disguise—had yet to appear in this world.
The treasure vault was not vast: a square chamber lined with four display counters, each bearing Fang Swords passed down through the clan's history.
Only thirteen remained. Their shapes resembled Tang Dao blades, well-maintained and gleaming as if newly forged.
Tōga inhaled deeply. He could still scent traces of lingering demonic energy—two belonging to the Second and Third Elders, the rest to mid-level yōkai.
As for the Fang Swords of the Dog General and Great Elder, their spares had long since been entrusted to chosen successors.
"I'll take one to test. If all goes well, these blades will serve our clan in a new way."
Selecting a wind-aspected Fang Sword, Tōga returned to a sealed study under Shirayuki's doubtful gaze.
Though the essence of demonic energy varied among yōkai, most fell within the Five Elements and their derivatives.
In the Dog Clan, only two stood apart: Shirayuki, with her lunar demonic energy, and Tōga himself.
In the original story, the Great Dog General's Tessaiga possessed the power to absorb demonic energy from other yōkai and evolve.
Reborn, Tōga now sensed within himself not only the ability to devour the very essence of demonic energy, but also to bestow that essence upon others.
Sitting cross-legged, he laid the wind Fang Sword across his knees. Demonic energy surged from within him.
As his hand touched the hilt, a fierce backlash struck at once.
It was as though the blade possessed a will of its own, desperately resisting its devouring fate.
In a daze, Tōga seemed to see the image of a dog-demon raising its head and howling at him.
The lingering wind energy within the Fang Sword erupted, bursting forth as sharp little wind blades that spun furiously around the weapon, hissing through the air.
At once, Tōga swept his hand to cast a net of demonic energy around the sword, sealing the blades within and shielding the surrounding bookshelves. He lowered his eyes and smiled.
"Come. Let me carry you into eternity."
He poured more demonic energy into the blade. Like ink spilling through water, his power wrapped around the Fang Sword entirely.
Its outline blurred. The body of the blade was torn apart by an unseen force, unraveling into countless tiny motes.
As it dissolved, the wind-aspected demonic energy within it was fully released.
With each thread of energy devoured, Tōga felt his own fusion with the power of wind deepen.
His body grew lighter, his speed and agility rising in step.
But the process was not without peril.
The wind's ferocity, along with the lingering will within, battered against his own spirit, straining to break free.
"So this is the difference between devouring demonic energy directly, and using a weapon to do so?"
His brows furrowed as both spirit and power drained rapidly.
At last, the residual will was erased. The wind energy turned docile, slowly merging with his own demonic force.
When the final strand of power was consumed, Tōga opened his eyes.
Raising his hand, he gave it a gentle wave.
A soft breeze coiled in his palm.