Black smoke rose into the sky. Everywhere the eye fell, the earth was blackened, dug up, and poisoned with acid.
Where the Sansa clan's techniques had not yet depleted their prana, colorful fog from their signature acid fumed. Especially repulsive was any biomass that had come under their effect.
Grass, foliage, and even the trunks of trees melted into shapeless clumps resembling a mix of pus and tar. This filth reeked intolerably of acrid chemical odors, clogging the nose and scratching the throat.
In the aforementioned muck, here and there, protruded the skeletons of people in tattered armor with iron weapons. The wooden parts of the spears had disintegrated, but the tips continued to rust next to the corpses of their owners.
For some reason, bones dissolved much slower than ordinary flesh.
But amongst the acidic fields rose other notable objects.
Dozens, even hundreds, of stone spikes, columns, walls, and cliffs marred the land with their grotesque and predatory shapes. On a couple of spikes, dead warmasters found their last refuge, almost torn apart by earth techniques.
Many of the stone shapes were burnt beyond recognition. Some of them were clearly blown up.
Right now, Jishin, crouching from fatigue, looked irritably as their enemies hastily retreated, leaving the battlefield to the Sumada clan.
The victors could only watch their adversaries with hatred, as they lacked the strength for pursuit. Besides, there was a risk of an ambush.
"Despicable Sansa," cursed Jishin, watching the retreating warmasters who attracted attention with their unusual garments. "They buy off everyone they can. They even hired the Rangiku, the executioner's clan!"
The Rangiku that caught Jishin's attention wore black sack-like masks with pointed tops, through which one could only see the eyes and mouths.
Each of them wielded a two-handed weapon. These could be axes, hammers, or two-handed swords.
It was because of their fiery techniques that some of the Sumada would not return home today.
"Master," Shin said, his eyes narrowing slyly, "forgive me if my words seem dishonorable to you. But how else are they to fight a great clan like ours? They squeeze out every ounce just for the sake of survival. Hiring mercenaries is nothing unusual."
Jishin gave his companion an irritated look but turned away without saying anything.
After all, Shin was one of the few he could trust to some degree.
In recent months, Shin has narrowly escaped the jaws of death too often to just be working for his brother.
Whenever Jishin thought about the whole situation, a smile involuntarily appeared on his face.
Though, when Shin understood what the prince was laughing about, his eternally sly expression usually twisted into something unpleasant.
Shin, the son of Naito, head of the Shadow Stone, having saved the clan leader's son, counted on gratitude from Goro-sama.
But what he certainly did not expect was to be assigned as the personal bodyguard to the fallen-from-grace younger prince!
Even in their city, so far off from the clan lands, Jishin Sumada's situation was well known.
Yes, undoubtedly, the appointment of Shin and his subordinate Haru as personal bodyguards of one of the princes was a great honor.
But given the current situation, such an assignment could only be considered a sophisticated mockery.
And as if that was not enough, the younger prince was sent straight to the front. And to his horror, Shin was obliged to follow him.
Is there a need to mention that the Shadow Stone members were more suited to covert operations rather than direct confrontations of armies?
Only because Jishin did not want to lose his newly appointed bodyguard did Shin survive the first clashes, and then he somehow got into the swing of things himself.
After all, even before that, he was far from weak.
The only thing that marred Jishin's mood was Shin's eternal sarcasm in his voice. It seemed he physically could not take anything seriously.
The prince's thoughts involuntarily shifted to the one who actually helped him escape.
News from the Citadel was sporadic, but still, thanks to letters from his childhood friend, he had a rough idea of what was happening there.
The word that Shiro had been taken under the wing of Jun Sumada himself was debatable. On the one hand, a supreme warmaster as a mentor was the best recommendation for further advancement up the ranks, both in terms of strength and authority.
On the other hand, Jishin seriously doubted that the healer was ready to arrive at the front. After all, that's precisely where Jun usually found himself.
And it was only a matter of time before they sent him there.
A wave of anger passed through his body at the thought of the Council. Jishin understood perfectly who was behind this assignment.
The young warmaster just hoped that his first friend would still manage to cope.
"Jishin-sama!" Kensei approached the pair of warmasters, battered but content. His sword was covered with dozens of deep notches, and the weapon's blade was all stained with blood. "What will be your orders?"
Jishin smiled faintly.
If anyone, the samurai introduced by Stas literally reveled in the constant battles. Especially pleased was he by the sixth head of the Sansa, which he lovingly placed in a sealing scroll he had asked Jishin for, so they wouldn't spoil.
'I wonder why he needs those heads?' thought the prince. 'Maybe he wants to send them to some of his enemies?'
"Kensei, tell the fighters to fall back to their previous positions. There's no point in pursuing."
"Yes, master!" Kensei, aiding himself with prana, ran along the battle line towards the surviving Sumada.
On this part of the front, Jishin somehow smoothly became the key figure. The reason, as sad as it is, was obvious.
All who commanded him earlier had perished.
In the end, the prince was appointed leader after he outlived two of his own superiors.
Now he even had two supreme warmasters under his authority, whom he tried not to risk. After all, in case of the arrival of genuinely strong enemy fighters, they were to be his trump card.
The prince also suspected that two such fighters in his sector were superfluous, but most likely, they served as another tier of his security.
In his heart, the young man felt warmth; his father had not forgotten about him.
For despite all his potential, Jishin was still only an advanced warmaster, albeit with a far greater reserve of prana.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Sighing tiredly, the prince wiped his blade on the clothing of the nearest dead Sansa, then, taking his time and avoiding pools of acid, headed towards his camp.
For today, the battle was over, but the end of the conflict was nowhere in sight.
The war had lost its former ferocity and scale, reduced to numerous minor skirmishes, but even so, almost as much blood was shed.
*****
"How unusual," Kaede mused in admiration, looking at her hand, which, although it looked the same as before, felt completely different. "I feel it somewhat... more profoundly."
"Now you understand what I was talking about," Minoru nodded contentedly, rocking on the lake's water. "You have gained a fully viable embodiment in this world. Now, you can influence physical objects much more easily, but if your vessel is destroyed, you will perish with it."
Kaede listened to herself and shuddered. She felt her heart pumping blood through her veins and felt the muscles tighten when she slightly changed her body's position in space.
Moreover, she now had much brighter access to smells, the sense of coolness, humidity, and many other sensations.
The transformation had taken long months. And if for the first few weeks she listened to the nure-onna, not even noticing that her thinking began to slow down, then the rest of the time she lay unconscious, slowly gaining flesh.
"Although you are much closer to humans, you still don't need food," Minoru interjected into her thoughts again. "That is, you won't die without it, though you will feel weaker."
"Minoru-sama," Kaede turned to her mentor. The ancient nure-onna knew so much that Kaede felt like an ignorant girl next to her. "You said I would gain new powers. So far, I've only realized that I can't move as before."
"Hm-m-m," the lamia pondered deeply. "To be honest, I haven't encountered your kind often. You, emotional kinds, are quite rare. That is, rare are those who can gain consciousness and separate from their home."
"What kinds are you talking about?" Kaede tilted her head, copying the movement from the cunning earthling, which, on her part, looked rather cute.
"There are many," the nure-onna dismissed. "And they are called differently. For example, we, nure-onna, are a water kind. The wanyudo, the burning wheels, as you can guess, are a fire kind. And you belong to the emotional ones, because you were born from some emotion. Most likely, from a thirst for revenge, injustice, and anger."
Kaede listened attentively, memorizing.
"As for your abilities and your kind, there are likely two options. First, based on what you were born from, are illusions, and then fire."
"W-why illusions first, and only fire later?!" Kaede protested. She involuntarily imagined herself controlling flames and... Here the yokai's imagination failed her. So far, she didn't want to burn anyone, and she didn't know what to use magical fire for.
"Because you, despite your nature, are a good yokai," the giant lamia smiled tenderly at her, flicking Kaede's hair with the tip of her tail, causing the kuchisake-onna to jump back several steps and start indignantly fixing her hair.
"You don't crave blood and death, even though you were born from negative emotions. And that's okay," she reassured Kaede. "I, too, was born from the feelings of a girl who drowned from a pirate attack, but I don't wish death on all humans. Now, let's try to activate your power. Our illusions differ from human ones. As far as I remember, warmasters, passing their prana into the heads of enemies, make them see what they want. Our illusions are built on spiritual energy, so they immediately appear in reality."
But as it turned out, awakening the powers of the reborn yokai was not so simple.
Nevertheless, the nure-onna knew what she was doing.
"Wish to embody something that you want to see more than anything in the world," she advised the struggling Kaede. "Something that interests you."
"I'm trying," Kaede breathed tensely. "But somehow... Oh, what's this?!"
With her last words, the air in front of the astonished spirits trembled, then leisurely unfolded into a quivering but still recognizable figure of Shiro.
He, as usual, slyly pondered something, along with his constant serpentine smirk.
"So what the one you left your home for looks like," the lamia said coldly, eyeing the figure of the man suspiciously, followed by a smirk crossing her face. "So, more than anything in the world, you want..."
"No!" Kaede screamed, covering her red face. "Stupid magic! Stupid illusions!"
*****
"You look unwell," Stas observed after the greetings, closely examining Kizashi standing in front of him. Dark circles under the eyes and a tired gaze were the first things that were noticeable.
He seemed to have even lost a little weight.
"Well," the alchemist scratched his nape sheepishly. "I've been a bit overworked."
"Is it because of what I said about treating your illness?" Stas narrowed his eyes. "I told you to approach this process gradually. From the lesser to the greater. Or is your grandfather making you?" Stas's new assumption made him frown. "Then that's wrong; I'll talk to him; otherwise, you'll 'cure' yourself straight into the grave..."
"No!" Kizashi interrupted Stas decisively. "Don't do that," he finished much more calmly. "I'm the one pushing him," the lad chuckled wearily. "As it turns out, my grandfather himself is afraid to overload me, so I have to make him. But I already have successes!" he finished with feverish joy. "Come on, I'll show you!"
Kizashi hurried to the laboratory, and Stas had no choice but to follow him.
The alchemist approached something on the table covered with a rag and then briskly pulled off the cloth.
Stas blinked, looking at the sealed glass jar with clearly blood inside. He then quickly looked at Kizashi and shook his head.
Hideo's grandson turned a little pale but, overall, looked normal.
Looking at Stas, he frowned and, picking up the jar, held it out in front of him with extended arms.
Stas noticed that Kizashi was a bit tense, but the alchemist clearly controlled himself.
Apparently, having counted to the right moment, Kizashi put the jar back, then, with a sense of personal dignity, he covered it with the cloth again.
"Well, what do you think?!" Kizashi's breath was slightly erratic, but his eyes were burning with such a fire that Stas understood there could only be one way out.
"You've done well, Kizashi-kun," Stas said, nodding several times to add weight to his words. "In the five months I've been gone, you've achieved excellent results. I take it a large amount of blood is no longer a problem for you either?"
"Yes!" the lad straightened up proudly, then looked away. "Well, not for long, but I'm working on it."
Kizashi hesitated for a few seconds, then briskly stepped forward, hugged the dumbfounded Stas, and immediately stepped back.
Below, Leviathan crawled jealously at their feet, figuring out how to nip Kizashi without poisoning him.
"Thank you," he murmured, too bashful to look at the earthling. "I've never seen my grandfather so happy before. Imagine, he even started to spar with me again and helped me improve my techniques. And I haven't given up on our work on stimulants. There's success there, too."
"I'm happy for you," Stas genuinely smiled with the corners of his lips. "I also have something to boast about. The last few months I've spent productively, and the two bands of robbers we encountered on the way back won't let me lie."
Leviathan, hearing her master's words, nodded in agreement – the robbers were indeed tasty. The only thing that slightly annoyed her was the humans' love of wrapping themselves in unappetizing rags.
She could still understand why humans cover their soft bodies with sturdy metal. But the point of wearing ordinary clothes utterly eluded her.
After all, they only spoil their taste!
*****
A quiet clearing not far from the city. A little to the side, one could hear the muffled sound of rolling stones.
Mei was training there.
On the other side, nothing can be heard, but Ordyntsev knew that Eiji was trying to master the water element.
And unlike the initial conditions, this time, Stas had something to surprise a potential enemy with.
Ordyntsev stretched out his hands in front of him and took a deep breath.
Prana, jolting awake, started to flow faster and faster through his body. The core, feeling the familiar signal, began to heat up.
A mental command, and the muscles gained the necessary hardness, and the world slowed down.
Strike! Dodge! Another strike! Step to the side!
Stas diligently performed the movements shown by Jun, methodically increasing the speed with each second.
His goal was to bring each movement from the katas, a sequence of attacks and blocks designed for fighting an imaginary opponent, to automatism so that in the event of a real attack, he could react immediately.
The most important thing was for each of his attacks to be filled to the brim with destructive energy.
Having finished with the kata, Stas, without stopping the enhancement, rushed to run around the clearing. With each of his steps, whole clumps of forest litter flew out - as if not a man but a racing car was rushing forward.
A sharp pain in his right side protested against the efforts, but Stas, forcing Healing Palm to activate, placed his hands on his liver, with an act of will distributing the blood that had not yet spread further through his body.
Controlling the enhancement of prana, acceleration, watching the road, and the Healing Palm technique was difficult, but Stas managed.
He was driven by the knowledge that strong warmasters treated the first three skills as something akin to breathing, hardly spending any concentration on them.
The earthling strove for the same strength.
But finally, the time had come for the pinnacle of his abilities. Something he had mastered only towards the end of guarding the caravan, which drove their sensei to wit's end with its slowness.
"Healing technique. Bloody Strike!" Stas roared, stretching out his palm towards one of the trees. His hand was cut by the familiar slight pain. And as if from the pores themselves, a dark red sphere began to form on his palm.
The process was so rapid that it could only be somewhat observed under acceleration.
As soon as the technique was fully formed, it immediately flew off his hand, embedding itself into the targeted trunk.
There was a crash, and the tree split into several pieces and, dropping branches and leaves, heavily fell right on the remains of its base.
If such a technique hit even a warmaster, to put it mildly, it would not be pleasant.
Stas clenched his teeth, enduring the sharp outflow of most of his energy.
During the journey, he had indeed reached the level necessary to create the Bloody Strike technique. Moreover, Ordyntsev noticed that the speed of prana core growth had increased, albeit slightly. And that meant he could store even more energy.
The network of prana channels, created by unknown forces, had become much stronger over the past year, merging with him even better.
Nevertheless, the prana expenditure on the Bloody Strike was still exceptionally high.
And that meant it was time to continue training because they still had a month to rest.
And Stas had a couple of plans for what he should do next.