“So back in the forest, when you saved us, you were not in two places at once?” Hiroshi asks.

“No, I threw a rock to confuse them — make them doubt themselves. Are you sure this is the right way?” Hisashi answers briefly, but adds a question.

“Yes, the other road takes us straight to the town. This one takes us to Somukawa, and if we follow it to the end — the sea.” Hiroshi assures him.

The Hour of the Snake has come, and their journey has led them to the plains. The trees that once accompanied them found their limit; Hisashi and Hiroshi crossed the threshold of the tree line, entering the grassy plains that surrounded Somukawa. The land was level, good for grazing and the farming of crops; their journey was smooth and without hindrances. Tilting his head backwards to peek below his circular hat, Hisashi finally feasts his eyes on the settlement ahead of them. Huts framed the dirt road that ran through the community, they sprawled outward with those in charge of paddy fields placed on the outermost regions. Seeing it again has unlocked an old box of memories. As he would recall, there was a river near the settlement that aided in their farming efforts. It was far enough that its currents did not disturb their slumber, but close enough to lull them to sleep — it led out to the ocean, just as the Baker had said.

Despite him being the first to see the community, Hiroshi is the first to speak:

“There it is.”

Hisashi takes note of it, and the facticity of his partner’s information from earlier. Horses were stabled outside in the outskirts of the settlement while samurai wandered about as if the land were their own.

“Hiroshi-san, as my father, I will let you do the talking.” Said Hisashi, adjusting to their plan by relieving himself of his hat and allowing it to rest on his back.

“Mm.” Hiroshi hums in agreement.

The Swordsman and the Baker enter the settlement, moving past the threshold to be welcomed by a samurai standing guard by the entrance — he was marked by Homura’s emblem and sported his navy blue colors. He steps forth to block their path. As much as possible, Hisashi brightens his face to bring about a more hopeful and youthful resolve.

The samurai nods his head to greet them a good morning before speaking:

“What is your business here?” He asks with a light voice. His question was well warranted, seeing as how a bow and a sword were kept on the horse.

Both of them would bow in return instead of nodding. Hisashi made a mental note; the warrior who greeted them was just a young boy, perhaps just a few years older than when he was chosen by Lord Ataru to serve.

“We are bakers. We travel to sell our bread, but because someone forgot to pack the food like I asked,” Hiroshi glared at Hisashi from up on the horse, “we have been traveling on empty stomachs.”

He frets upon the recognition of his failure and lets out a nervous chuckle before repeatedly bowing to his own father. “I am sorry, father— I swear I packed them before we left! This one must have gotten to it somehow.”

Just as Hiroshi glared at him, Hisashi glared at his horse.

“What do I do with you—” Said Hiroshi, beneath his own breath.

“I just hope there is enough for the both of you to eat,” The samurai interjects before Hisashi could receive any more from Hiroshi, “the others have nearly cleaned this place out — rice, meat, millet, drink — and with the festival coming…” he slips the afterthought beneath a hushed breath. “They left to hunt, but I doubt they would share any of the catch with you.. or anyone for that matter. Anyways, you are most welcome to stay and replenish your supplies. I must warn you, please keep to yourselves and leave as soon as you are able.” He said quietly, as if not wanting to be caught giving such warnings.

The samurai nods to them both, and steps back into his post, granting the two travelers passage into the community. He found no peculiarity in the fact that the bakers had a bow and a quiver of arrows on their horse, the roads are treacherous — riddled with man and monster alike.

The Father and Son nod their heads to him in gratitude before moving forward. Hisashi observes their current surroundings, drawing what little information he could from them. There was no doubt that Hiroshi was doing the same.

“A restaurant.” Said Hiroshi, pointing out a place where secrets are birthed, divulged, and kept.

Hayato is led toward the restaurant’s stables, decorated with a tub of water and bales of hay. Considering that the day had just begun, the restaurant was devoid of their usual customers and lively atmosphere — perfect for their espionage. Hisashi retrieves his katana from below the saddle, securing it to his waist whilst he whispers:

“Find out what you can from the clerk. I will see what I can scout outside and meet you back here.” Hisashi offers a quick squeeze of the shoulder to impart his confidence and well wishes before he departs from their tandem and makes his way outside.

Hisashi takes a stroll down the road, following its path through the community. With two testimonies at hand — the Baker’s and the young samurai’s — he had them both to confirm. The early hour was to blame for the lack of a crowded road, though considering the nature of his current task, he would not be complaining. From here and there, Hisashi would spot people opening doors to either their farmhouses or respective places of business. They hang signages, flip tables and chairs in the upright position, dust the floor and tend to other preparations to ready themselves to receive customers. However, something spoke in opposition of this readiness. Every step they took was dragged and partnered with a heavy breath; even as their signages went up, their gaze sank to the ground.

In the far reaches, behind the houses, he finds farmers peppering the paddy fields. They were already toiling in the sun with years worth of sweat on their brow despite the day having only started. Armed with an abundance of sickles, picks, plows that varied in sizes, and hoes with four tines, they tended to the grounds as if tomorrow depended on it.

With the extra unwanted company, Hisashi believes that it does.

The fishermen of Somukawa, identified through their apparel and own unique set of equipment, were spotted exiting their homes. However, he would assume that a few had already set sail before he arrived. They bid their families farewell as they set out to trek the same path to where the land is caressed by the ocean’s touch. With nets, ropes, fishing rods and spears upon their shoulders, they marched. Much like the business owners, they all seem to be lacking in some way. It was as if neither the sun’s light nor their sleep prepared them for the day’s adventures.

Surprisingly, some samurai also came from these huts, some in a daze while others were not. Without signages on display, he could tell they were exiting from homes and not inns.

The further he went into the settlement, the more samurai he came across. And with every passing man, he could not help but wonder as to who among them aided in the destruction of Kumitsukawa. Hisashi grits his teeth just thinking about it; whose blades had tasted the blood of the innocent? Who among them struck down children? Who lit the flames that burned down houses and those living inside them? And who among them have slept soundly afterwards? A heavy inhale was taken, to be followed by an exhale of equal depth to clear his mind and to stay his hand. He would not make the mistake of labeling every fruit in the basket as rotten simply because a few proved to be so — onward he walks.

Eventually, he reaches the very end of the settlement where another tree line presents itself not too far off; if he were to continue an hour or so further into his walk and past the trees, the sea shall greet him with a breeze by the shore. Here, in the empty plains beside the last few houses, he finds the vast majority of the samurai that did not go hunting gathered in formation — training. Here he could roughly confirm three things:

First, that the rest of the forces were indeed elsewhere. He finds it hard to believe that a mere handful of samurai could have depleted the settlement’s resources with ease.

Second, Hiroshi's estimate was most likely correct — no more than a platoon took shelter here. However, there is still too many for him to take out in a single night. And considering the size of Somukawa, there was little space for him to hide.

Third, their arsenal was just as Hiroshi told him. Gathered on the field, the samurai trained the proper forms and techniques to wield swords, polearms, and the firearms gifted to them by a generous clan. Altogether, they swung their blades. Altogether, they pulled their triggers and exhibited proper posture.

The lack of loud gunshots led Hisashi to believe that their ammunition were finite, in that they must be reserved for when it is truly needed. However, he observes that none of them wielded a bow and arrow.

For hunting? He assumes.

Piecing everything together, Hisashi concludes that a different strategy must be put into play. While a few already been conjured up in his mind, a partnership benefits from transparency — he must return to the restaurant.

Hisashi turns on his heel to corroborate his findings with Hiroshi, but finds a peculiar spectacle of two samurai leaving a small farmhouse with a woman falling upon her knees, seemingly begging to the warriors that walk away. Indifferent to her struggle, the two samurai continued deeper into the settlement, leaving the woman in tears, crumpling her hands into weak fists. From the same hut, a man emerges to bring her head against his chest. While the woman watched the samurai walk, the man appeased her sorrow as best he could.

“Come inside.” He said, helping her rise to escort her.

Moving past the threshold of their home, he slides the door behind him to close it. However, the door meets an obstruction in its path; Hisashi’s hand keeps the door from closing all the way. The obstruction alerted the homeowner of an intrusion, prompting him to turn quickly.

“May I come in?” Hisashi asks, his hat now shielding his face from recognition.

“Please, leave us alone...” The Husband says, too tired to provide an excuse to their latest visitor.

“I would like to speak to the both of you.” Hisashi insists.

The man of the house gives the visitor a proper glance this time and finds that he wielded a sword on his side. With a sigh, he opens the door,

“Leave us be. I do not have money to pay for your services. I am a farmer, and I cannot afford whatever it is you are going to offer. My family needs to mourn, so please be kind enough to see and respect that.” Once more, he attempts to close the door.

And yet again, Hisashi’s hand stops it.

“What I offer you will cost you nothing but your time. I do not sell my sword, and I am after nothing of yours. Allow me to ask you questions and I will let you mourn in peace.” Hisashi clarifies.

The straightforward nature of the visitor’s words had stunned him. Unbeknownst to the humble farmer, Hisashi’s concern for them was but a second priority, if it could be numbered as such in the first place.

He grants passage to the stranger with a sword by stepping aside. With the door wide open, Hisashi would be able to glance at the small, yet humble abode that the man had made for his family — a wife and a daughter. While the house was not decorated in luxury, the necessities were well covered. Among their possessions, he recognizes the variety of tools that attested to the father’s profession as a farmer. The Swordsman barely casts his gaze upon the wife, knowing that she would be embarrassed to have been seen pouring her eyes out before a complete stranger; she bows her head and wipes her tears away with the fabric of her sleeve.

“My name is Minato, this is my wife — Aimi, and my youngest — Aiko.” He introduces them, bowing upon the mention of their names. “Can I help you with anything? A meal? A drink?” The husband asks.

“Answers.” Hisashi replied, momentarily glancing at the hearth that sat in the middle of the household. Not a steam nor a single ember came from it, the family had not eaten yet. Standing within the genkan, he closes the door behind him and proceeds to ask: “What were they here for?”

The Husband sits beside his wife at the hearth and takes her hand into his, keeping close to her. He briefly turns to Aiko playing in the corner, believing that their choice of topic was not meant for the ears of children. However, she was safer in here than she was out there with them.

“My eldest—... They came to say that she was found dead near the river.” Minato spoke, treading carefully so as to not upset his wife any further, “They told us she was eaten by wild animals, and that they found only traces of her; she must have been carried down the stream…”

“They are lying!” Exclaimed Aimi, “I know they had something to do with it! Those bastards killed my daughter!” She bursts out of her husband’s embrace weakly.

“Aimi!” Minato shouts in a low volume to warn her that they may be heard, but Aimi continues:

“Aiya would never stay out that late and she had no reason to be at the river!” She explains, struggling to fight back the weakness in her throat as a result of her crying.

“Have either of those two samurai been to your house before?” Asked Hisashi.

Minato and Aimi look to each other, recounting every moment imaginable since the arrival of Lord Homura’s forces. Neither of them could say that they have been visited by samurai before, particularly the two that came by just minutes ago.

“They have been here before.” The small voice of a little girl broke through.

The couple turned their heads in shock to their youngest who played with her makeshift doll. Aimi extended her hand to her daughter, and Aiko would comply with her invitation to the conversation. She walks toward her mother, who lifts her up onto her lap to be embraced.

“What do you mean they have been here before?” Aimi asks her kindly, snuggling her little daughter.

“They came here and asked where Mama and Papa were, and we told them they were at the field.” She replied.

Minato lowers his face into his own hands, coupled with inaudible whispers that Aiko understood to be a sign to stop talking.

“Go on.” Hisashi nods, urging her to continue.

Hesitantly, Aiko looks back to her father, but her gaze is drawn back to the stranger yet again. It was as if she was looking right into his eyes and he looks right back at her, even with the presence of a straw hat.

“M-...mm… me and Yaya were cleaning... and she was singing… they asked where you were and we said you were at the field. Then they asked Yaya if she could sing for them — she said no.” Aiko continued as instructed.

“She could not have gone last night—” Aimi said to Minato quietly, but still audible to their visitor.

“What went on last night?” Hisashi asked the couple.

“There was a feast last night… They said that it was in honor of their new alliance with a powerful lord. So they stormed the restaurants and bars, drank and ate everything—” Minato replies.

“Were any of you there?” He asked.

“N-no! We were here eating dinner together — all of us.” Aimi said, brushing her daughter’s hair.

“Then it happened after, perhaps when you were all fast asleep.” Hisashi thought to himself, but allowed it to be heard to include them in his process.

“She would never have left the house without us knowing! They must have forced her out! They are killers! They killed her, I know it! I do not know how, but I know they did it! They are animals and they would stop at nothing to get what they want!” Aimi reiterated. Her cheeks may distort into an expression of hate, but her eyes drip with sadness. Her tears ride every curvature until they fall onto her lap.

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“We cannot say for sure if it was them, we have seen bears around by the trees. Some of them come by the river.” Minato says to her.

Aimi quickly withdraws her hand from Minato’s, almost forcing her fingers out of his hold. “Do you really believe that?! You really think your daughter wandered to the river by herself at night and got eaten by a bear?!” She spat back at her husband.

“What would you have me do?!” he bursts, “Accuse them?! You would march out there, in front of everyone and challenge their word? What if you are wrong, Aimi? Do you know what that would cost? They could ki—” Minato pauses, holding his own tongue in the presence of his little girl. Like steam from a kettle, he diffuses with an exhale, “Any affront to them and their honor is fatal, especially for people like us and you know that. We are peasants. I would rather be wrong than to lose you or Aiko.”

Hisashi cuts their discussion short by rising up from his knelt position, still keeping his head down. He looks at the couple first, then the little girl who continues to play on her mother’s lap.

“Which way is the river?” He asks them.

“South of here, before you enter the village you have to go straight to the left and into the grass. That should lead you to the river.” Minato replies, being more accustomed to the river as it was his duty to get water for them.

“Thank you.” Hisashi gives them a bow to announce his departure and turns to open the door.

“Wait!” Aimi called, “Are you going to help us?”

Unfortunately for her, the door sliding closed serves as his only response.

The involvement of either factor did not yield a high chance of their daughter’s survival — a bear or a dishonorable samurai. The girl was dead and he had no doubts about it. His silhouette vanishes to leave the family to mourn in peace as promised; his destination was set — the river. Three years has taught him a lot about moving in the shadows, sleuthing and remaining undetected even under the sun’s spotlight. Without a single eye catching onto him, the Swordsman treads past the paddy fields and the neighborhood, through the uncut grass, and to the river of interest. He takes a moment to pause and stare at the river in its bareness, where a young girl’s life had been taken. Judging by the visibility of the rocks beneath the flowing water, he assumes it to be knee-deep at the very least.

Hisashi offers a bow to the departed, a profound atmosphere of harmony renders Hisashi susceptible to his thoughts. When one prepares to become a samurai, one must ponder on the subject of death and its multitude of facets. As both warrior and servant, death had to be conquered in order to fulfill his duties without hindrance; he must welcome it when his time has come and call when it best suits him in accordance with their creed. It was only after that fateful night that he was granted a new perspective on death and its ever elusive value. He makes a conscious effort to quell his diverging thoughts on the matter to properly pay his respects.

In the midst of the bow, Hisashi would notice something strange by the rocks that sat on the wayside of the river. He kneels with one hand on the ground for a better sense of balance, lowering his head down to where the splashes of water cling onto the blades of the bent grass. Just outside the reach of the flowing blue, barely framed by the spiky green, Hisashi looks at what seems to be a drop of red on a small rock; its position keeps the stain from being washed away completely. Hisashi’s puzzlement would be disturbed by the sudden intrusion of a gut-wrenching sound. The weight and depth of it foretold of a powerful beast, one that could rip him to shreds and crush his skull with ease. Ever so slowly, the Swordsman looks up to find a brown bear across the river; it reciprocates with its own gaze toward him borne from curiosity. Even as it stood on all fours, he could tell that the bear was an absolute behemoth — his assumptions drawn from the growl were more than correct.

Hisashi’s position made him extremely vulnerable to a pounce; sudden movements were not an option unless it was necessary. Slower than the speed he used to look up, Hisashi’s right hand inches closer to his left side — to his sword. And yet, as he counted the seconds in anticipation for the bear’s attack, no effort was made by the predator to inch closer to him. He tilts his head in confusion, only to be mimicked by the bear with a few growls in the form of murmurs — their only notable move thus far. After a short while of pure tension, the bear turns and vanishes back into the shadows of the forest in the distance.

Finally, Hisashi could breathe easy again.

And in these following breaths, he pieces together the truth about the girl’s death. The bloodstain and its position raises eyebrows, but the fact that their suspect would not even cross the river absolved the bear of any involvement.

His breaths became stiffer, his thumb combs through his fingers, an act replicated by the breeze’s combing of the long grass.

Meanwhile, at the restaurant…

As soon as Hisashi left, Hiroshi approached the counter to find no one but a lone man who had fallen asleep using his arms as pillows. Hiroshi watches as the clerk, an older woman, approaches the man with a kind hand on his back to wake him.

“Kaito-kun.” Called the old woman, whispering softly. “Kaito-kun, you need to go home. You cannot stay here and you need to get sober.” She shook him slowly by the hand that she placed on his back.

The slumbering man lifts his hand weakly, placing it atop the clerk’s hand to give her a squeeze. The way his hand shook while he squeezed her foretold a false sense of strength, and the clerk could only place her other hand atop of his to communicate what need not be said. She departs back into the kitchen, leaving him to finally raise his head and look at the exact same view he had through last night. His head rang like a bell at the slightest noise and his mouth was as dry as the summer. However, his most notable feature would be the puffiness of his eyes. One may assume that the alcohol was to blame for this, but only one substance could make them look as they are — tears.

His sensitive ears would take note of the footsteps that approached him, but he did not care enough to turn and check who it was. The Old Baker was very careful in lifting the stool, granting himself a seat beside the sorrowful individual; the clerk emerges from the kitchen and approaches Kaito from behind the counter, handing him some water for the dehydration and a special brew of tea for the lingering effects of alcohol.

“Excuse me, my name is Machida Hiroshi and I am looking to get some information.” He introduces himself to the clerk before she could turn away.

“This is a small settlement, not much information to give around here.” She replies, still with a foot facing outward.

“The information I seek is about the settlement, and your… visitors.”

The Clerk and the Baker would be locked in an exchange with their eyes alone. The stern look that Hiroshi gave pulled her into the conversation; she walked closer to him with both feet now pointing toward her newest customer.

“A-are you here to help us?” She spoke as if her choice of words from here on out meant death if they reached the ears of others.

“I am, but I need information if I am going to help. How long have they been here? When did they arrive? How many of them are there?” Hiroshi lays out his questions for her.

“They arrived two days ago. This is their third day here, every day is torment. They spent the day pestering us, our farms, our businesses — our lives.”

While they spoke, the lonely man made use of what the Clerk brought him to aid with his aching head. Hiroshi continues his line of questioning:

“Where are they? There are so few here.”

“Hunting— We do not know how long they will stay, and if you ask me, I do not think they know how long either. We do not know when the hunting party will return, but we believe it shall be tonight.”

“How did they empty your supplies in just a few nights?”

“They held a feast that lasted until morning, right here in my restaurant. My grandsons have been worked to the bone! They asked for all the rice, all the meat, all the fish — everything — to be served. The others have been talking and we believe that they went hunting this morning to prepare for another feast tonight.” She explains, her eyes quickly darting over to a shadow that passed just outside the entrance to her establishment.

The suddenness of her actions sealed Hiroshi’s lips as well, and after a few seconds, he would turn his head to check if they were still in the clear.

“They deserve to die.” It was then that a third voice made itself known — Kaito’s voice. The words were spoken boldly, without hesitation and without an effort to soften his voice.

Hiroshi turns his head simultaneously to the Clerk who was just as shocked as he was. These were the first words that Kaito spoke since he came into the bar last night.

“I will kill every last one of them.” Kaito said after downing the last of his water, nearly slamming his glass onto the counter top.

“Kaito-kun! Be careful, someone might hear...” Said the Clerk in caution, uttering her concerns in shouted whispers.

“Let them hear me, Chiyo-san, let them come. And when they do, I will slit their throats with my hook.” Kaito wraps his fingers around the warm tea, just as he did the saké the night before.

The Baker leans toward the man so as to maintain his low volume, hoping that by doing this, the other would follow suit and secure their means of communication. “Kaito-san, is it? My name is Hiroshi, and I want to help you. What did they do?”

The question required him to recount the painful news of last night; if he grips the cup any harder, it would break and mix his boiling blood with the lukewarm beverage. He takes a small sip from it to warm his chest, followed by bigger sips to loosen his rigid tongue, frozen by his own mortification.

“They took her from me.”

“Who? Who took her?”

“The samurai… They...they...—”

Chiyo extends her hand over the counter, holding onto Kaito’s while brushing his knuckles with her thumb. The sensation was comparable to a mother’s touch, comforting a son in his hour of darkness and giving him the strength he needs to push on. Kaito looks up at her and sees a vibrant smile amidst the dim lighting of the bar. He nods, holding onto her as she holds onto him.

“...They took my wife from me — Nanami.” The name alone shook his heart. “I am a fisherman, and from morning until the evening, I am out by the sea, working — I have to. Ever since Lord Ataru passed away, my father had to work harder. And with Lord Masahiko gone, I must work harder too. While I fish, Nanami stays here to sell my catch, and that was when it happened.” Finally, he turns to look Hiroshi in the eye, “When I got back, she was nowhere to be found. I looked everywhere, but still — nothing. So I came here and asked around while everyone was celebrating, and they told me that they assumed I called for her and asked for help— Never have I asked Nanami to come and help me, she had her own job here and we both had to carry our own weight.” The words began to take a venomous tone, one that Hiroshi was more than familiar with. “I asked them why they thought that, and they told me they saw three of them escorting Nanami down the road with a basket in her hands. My neighbors thought I caught a lot of fish and needed an extra basket — she never came back, but they did.”

Chiyo would feel the sudden ache in Kaito’s hand, an ache that originated directly from his chest.

Much to Kaito’s surprise, tears began to trickle down cheek once more; he thought he emptied his eyes already. The presence of tears only tampered with his hostile tone, creating a painful mixture for his listeners. “...The samurai— Those bastards lied to her.... They used my love to trick her… and now… now—”

“Kaito-kun,” Interrupted Chiyo, “—we are not certain if Nanami-chan is really gone. She could still be out there, we can look for her— Hiroshi-san, if you want to help us, this is how you can do it. Please, look for Na—”

Abruptly, the Fisherman takes hold of Hiroshi’s wrist, pausing in silence,

“...Do not bother. I have never known a man to carry a sword and not use it when it is most convenient for him — My Nanami is gone… If you really want to help us, then I hope you brought your own sword with you—... Did you?” For the first time since yesterday, Kaito’s eyes had a spark of hope in them. Hoping that the stranger brought with him the salvation that befits the turmoil they were in.

“I-...I did not… I am sorry...”

Just as easy as the spark came about, it went away. Kaito relinquishes Hiroshi from both his hold and his gaze, returning them to the hot cup of tea he was given and the empty view of a countertop.

“The only way to save us from a sword is with a sword. Whatever it is you have planned will only bring us more suffering, so save yourself. Take what you came for and leave — you cannot help us.” Kaito sips from his tea.

Hiroshi leans onto the countertop, closer to Kaito than to the clerk,

“Do not lose hope, help has arrived. You will be freed, all of you, I assure it.”

“B-but how? You have no weapon, and neither do we! We are only farmers and fishermen! Are there others with you? Where are they? W-what exactly are you, Hiroshi-san?” Chiyo would ask.

“... I am a baker.” He almost hesitated, knowing how his response would look to them.

And just as he imagined, the two of them turn away from him in a loss of words. Wallowing in their own sense of an impending doom and adherence to proper etiquette drove them away from losing their temper towards the humble baker. While Kaito indulges himself with his tea, Chiyo mutters what one could only assume to be prayers to be delivered from evil.

“N-no! Listen to me… I am from Kumitsukawa.”

The moment the name had been mentioned, they lifted their heads to face Hiroshi in a mixture of awe and pity. Both of them heard of how the samurai burned the village to the ground, leaving no survivors to be found nor scavenged by animals for food. More than their shock toward his survival of the massacre, they found an infallible reason as to why the Baker should be trusted with his endeavor of freeing Somukawa.

“K-...Kumitsukawa—… These men came from the village...”Chiyo held a hand to her mouth in shock.

“I heard them cheering about it — all of them… They retold their stories, laughed about it, drank to it like they hunted down animals... Tch— soulless monsters.” Kaito spat the words, mortified by the horrors that the Old Baker must have been through.

“How did you survive…?” Chiyo inches closer, her voice carrying a softer tone.

“How I survived does not matter. What matters is that I am here, and I am not alone.”

For the first time, Kaito turns on his stool to fully face Hiroshi,

“Who? H-how many of you survived? Who is with you? Who did you bring?” His voice was ridden with great anticipation.

“I brought the Wrath of Hell.”

“The Demon of Kumitsukawa…” Kaito and Chiyo spoke in unison, simultaneously feeling a disembodied breath upon their necks.

“He is real, and he is with me — he will help us.” Hiroshi nods, assuring them of the salvation that they needed, that they prayed for.

The Old Baker watches their eyes fill with a stronger and more resilient sense of hope, brought about by the invocation of the unholy moniker. It is here that he finds concrete proof that the Pillager’s ramblings were nothing more than just that; a legend convinced two people that there was hope for them and that they shall be saved. Legends have power, and like all power, they work in mysterious ways.

“Where is he?” Kaito spoke after the chill subsided. He believes that a spirit may have just passed them, one attached to the Demon’s name.

“He is watching the settlement as we speak, lurking and scheming.”

“The Demon can move during the day?” Chiyo asks, nearly outraged by this sudden discovery.

“Nothing can stop a vengeful creature, especially not him. Not Amaterasu’s light, Fūjin’s wind, Raijin’s storms — nothing.” Hiroshi threw his hand outward to wipe away whatever obstacle they could think of.

“Hiroshi-san… W-what does t-the Demon look like…?” The Clerk would offer another question; she stutters and trembles.

“In the same way that we cannot hope to gaze at the face of the Kami, one must not gaze upon him. One look is all it takes and he shall haunt your dreams until your death.”

It was then that Hiroshi noticed that her gaze was slightly off, like she was looking through him. As a matter of fact, she did not quite meet his eye in terms of level; Chiyo seems to be looking somewhere near his ear. Catching on to the peculiar way that she was looking, he finally looks behind him to see The Demon sitting in the farthest part of the establishment — shadows shroud him in an ominous atmosphere. He sat with his legs crossed, both arms resting on his lap while his straw hat rested on his head.

Chiyo and Kaito both thought the exact same thing: HOW LONG HAS HE BEEN HERE?!

The Demon tips his head upward in the slightest way to indicate that their gaze did not go unnoticed. Kaito and Chiyo would bow instantly upon seeing his black jaw, more so out of fear than respect. They took the Baker’s warning to heart, hoping to save their dreams from being frequented by an unholy presence. With their gaze glued to their feet, they would be forced to listen to the Demon’s footsteps as he approached the bar counter. Chiyo, being behind the counter, was saved from his presence. She could only see his shadow as it cast itself on the countertop. However, Kaito would be forced to close his eyes in its entirety before he could look at the Demon’s foot — he would not be taking chances.

“My Lord,” called Hiroshi, “I have found these two people who share in your vengeful mission. Like me, they have suffered under the hand of the samurai and they seek your aid. We will do as you ask — what is your bidding?”

The Demon of Kumitsukawa watches them tremble before his presence, averting their gaze by means of a bow. He has seen others this way before, some even kneel, but this somehow felt different. He wonders what Hiroshi told them before he snuck in, he looks at the old man from below his hat.

The Old Baker returns the look, mouthing words to tell the other to humor him.

Hisashi’s chest silently deflates as a response. He reaches out and graces the countertop with his deadly hand, offering his response:

“Vengeance.”