The next morning broke bright over Kasei, the royal fortress of Majokawa. No one stirred in the courtyards until the sun stood well above the horizon; all were spent from battle’s labors the night before. Near midday, a company dispatched by King Goritsu XI (Level 50 Warlock King), arrived at the fields outside Kasei to gather up the spoils of war. They bore away the fallen—Majokawa Majo, Oni from Onikawa, and the Yōkawa alike—and gave them a shared burial on the right bank of the Dorima River, half a mile downstream, raising over them a single mound.

The sun’s heat grew fierce, but the shadow of Kasei’s tallest tower still fell across the terrace just beyond the western palace wall. The terrace of red jasper gleamed: flowers of draconic teeth, and bitter moon-seed grew in the cracks. Arbor vitae shrubs stood in neat rows near the balustrade, squat and round like sleeping dormice, with clumps of choke-pard aconite between them. The terrace stretched hundreds of feet. Flights of black marble steps at each end descended to the ward below, ringed by an ancient battlement.

Benches of green jasper, piled with velvet cushions of every color, lined the palace wall. Upon the bench nearest the Iron Tower of Kasei, a lady took her ease, breaking her fast with cream wafers and a quince tart. She was the Lady Mizurana (Level 35 Moonlit Enchantress) class, famed for her special skill, “Lunar Bind.” Tall and slender, she was endowed with a lethal grace, her tawny hair pinned by silver pins topped with anachite diamonds. Her cloth-of-silver gown, embroidered in black silk and decked with moonstones, shimmered beneath a mantle dyed the greenish-gray of a wood-pigeon’s wing and shot through with silver threads. Her skin shone white, and her green eyes glowed with an under-flicker like flame. Her waiting-women served her in pale gold dishes, while one maiden sat at her feet, strumming a seven-string lute, singing softly,

“Ask me no more where Jove bestows…”

With a graceful wave of her hand, Mizurana signaled an end to the lute song. “No more. Your voice cracks this morning, and you’re entirely too sweet for my head. Is no one stirring who can tell me what truly happened last night? Has everyone gone to attend my husband’s gate while I’m here left with rumors?”

“Someone approaches, my lady,” said one of her maids.

Lord Gurou (Lv 43 Arcane Tactician), stepped along the terrace dressed in a dun velvet mantle, collar embroidered in gold over silver purl. He smelled of orange-flower water and angelica, a light perfume that hinted at cunning. Haruto Watanabe—though none present quite knew his place—observed from the far end of the terrace in silence, as though a lost traveler in these dangerous lands. He took in every word, his gaze curious yet unreadable.

Mizurana dismissed her women so she could speak privately with Gurou. “My lord, I’m ravenous for tidings. I slept as though in a tomb until dawn stained my windows. My dreams were of torchlight and clashing steel. I awoke to find my lord, Korudo, stumbling to bed, refusing to speak, only dropping into slumber like the dead. He’s scratched here and there, nothing more. I’d not wake him, for his wrath at being woken is seldom pleasant. But the rumors swirl: some claim Oni from Onikawa landed at Tenmyō, that King Goritsu and Koren led a night assault that left the Oni annihilated. Others say Lord Jūsō used a vile charm to lure the entire Majokawa fleet into treason; that Kinryu and Daigo were all slain save for one or two survivors. Or—I can hardly speak it—that it was my brother Rairaku turned traitor against King Goritsu, uniting with Katsuragi from Yōkawa, and both have been taken prisoner. Which rumor, if any, rings true?”

Gurou’s smooth voice was tinged with a sorrowful amusement. “Your thirst for knowledge is well founded. There was indeed a great conflict last night, my lady. And yes, the Oni had a hand in it—some four or five hundred strong, led by Katsuragi of Yōkawa. But the King’s fury overcame them all.”

Mizurana leaned forward. “Korudo—did he truly achieve this?”

“He contributed mightily,” Gurou said, “though Koren claims much of the credit. Yet one must allow that Korudo commands respect in any fray. The King himself was at the height of his power—his special ability ‘Blood Seal Dominion’ can sap the morale of entire armies.”

“Were there no one else but Oni?” asked Mizurana, quiet menace creeping into her tone.

Gurou paused. “The Oni only—so rumor claims.”

She scrutinized him. “But you, my lord, you have kin in Yōkawa, do you not?”

He smiled darkly. “Indeed. It fell to me, standing at King Goritsu’s side, to feign delight while our own warriors butchered my brethren from Yōkawa. Such is strategy in the game of dominion.”

“Unfortunate,” she murmured, her eyes stormy. “What of Katsuragi?”

“Word says Koren struck him down. Though we uncovered no sign among the dead. Perhaps he’s escaped. There are conflicting accounts, as is usual.”

She offered him a dish, “You must eat, my lord. I see you’ve come from a long morning. Let me hear every detail.”

He recounted all: the Oni landings, the midnight ambush, the terror that ended with Oni corpses strewn outside Kasei. When he finished, she asked, “And Lord Jūsō? Lord Daigo? Are they locked away?”

Gurou’s face darkened. “Aye, locked indeed—if you can call that pitiless contrivance a lock. The King has pinned them in the Iron Tower’s old banquet hall, hung them spread-eagle against the wall, shackles and all. They’re a trophy for him. The King took savage joy in commanding all to mock them.”

Mizurana rose from her seat, slender fingers curling around the stone parapet. “A great king might kill swiftly, like a lion. This is more a cat’s cruelty.”

Korudo (Lv 50 Iron Bulwark, Signature skill: Adamantine Roar), emerged from the tower behind her, calling for wine. Mizurana filled his goblet from a sparkling bottle. He drank deeply and then spoke, “In truth, it’s simplest to cut their heads off, no? Sleep is precious, and I’d not lose it over enemies rotting in a cell.”

She eyed him. “You should have been at that council, not abed.”

He scoffed. “If that’s the worst of my omissions, I’ll sleep easy. The King’s solution is short work—though apparently he’s opted for theatrics with shackles and banquets.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “But, my lady, as I rode from my vantage tower, I saw a train of horsemen approaching from Hiyori lands—some sixty or more. We must be prepared. That may be your brother, Prince Rairaku, that faithful and volatile soul.”

Mizurana’s expression flickered. “He must not discover we hold Jūsō and Daigo in these dungeons. You know his life-debt to Jūsō.”

Korudo gave a grim nod. “The King gave strict orders that none speak of the Oni, nor mention the true nature of last night. Let them believe only that Katsuragi’s Yōkawa attacked and were beaten.”

They found King Goritsu XI atop Kasei’s battlements, scanning the horizon for Prince Rairaku. The King—tall and clad in black chain mail with dull gold plating set with obsidian—stood in cold command, the iron crown of Majokawa shaped like the claws of a colossal Higan Kani curling above his brow. When Korudo hinted that Rairaku must be kept in the dark about the Onikawa captives, the King waved a dismissive hand. “My men have it under watch. He will hear no mention of Jūsō and Daigo.”

They turned to see how many riders approached. Korudo narrowed his eyes. “Sixty. No fewer.”

A shadow passed over the King’s face. “He is early. Koren, how many remain in fighting trim?”

Koren (Lv 43 Blade Captain, Signature skill: Dragon Fang Thrust), was still stiff from the night’s combat, his arm in a sling. “Fewer than fifty. The rest wounded or scattered. Even I’m short-handed.”

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King Goritsu chewed his lip. “One of Korudo’s sons must ride to muster reinforcements. Go, and go swiftly.”

***

Late that afternoon, Rairaku and his retinue—sixty cavalry, all battered from traveling but fresh with the possibility of action—arrived. They brought tribute from Hiyori and were duly welcomed. That evening, the King hosted a lavish feast in the great banquet hall of Kasei, an imposing seven-sided chamber of dark green jasper flecked with spots of red, each corner supported by a towering caryatid carved like a three-headed giant bearing an enormous sculpted Higan Kani on its shoulders. Weapons and trophies from conquests abroad adorned the walls, including the bleached remains of those who dared challenge the King in bygone days.

The King took his seat at the head table, flanked by Korudo and Koren. Opposite him sat Rairaku in the seat of honor on the lower bench. Alongside Rairaku’s retinue, the Majo lords and ladies—Kosu (Level 39 Heavy Bruiser, Signature skill: Bone-Shaking Blow), and others—jostled for place. Mizurana, radiant and contained, dined with them, her eyes ever watchful.

The thralls served food as the guests drank a honey-hued sparkling wine from large golden ladles. Koren, who’d grown bold with drink, eyed Rairaku with a crooked smile. “Well met, Prince. The roads from Hiyori must be dull indeed if you’ve time to ride with sixty men merely to pay courtesy calls.”

Rairaku smirked. “Hiyori must pay homage, and pay it well. But you, my lord, appear to have greeted other guests last night. I see the bandages on your wrist. Perhaps those ‘guests’ left a memorable impression.”

Koren bristled. “A minor scrape. The real question is why you’d arrive with an escort of that size, especially if peace reigns.”

A hush fell as King Goritsu, half-lidded eyes glowing from behind his crown, tapped the table for silence. “We have peace indeed. I root out small threats as a gardener prunes weeds. If any dared to break that peace, they’d find Majokawa’s retribution swift.” He drank, then addressed Rairaku with forced cordiality. “I trust you find Kasei’s hospitality to your liking, dear Prince.”

“I do,” said Rairaku, leaning back, “though I expected fewer bandages at your table if all was as peaceful as you say.”

They continued in that uneasy tension, but fresh trays of lobsters and roasted kid provided diversion. Soon, Kosu reeled under the table’s weight of wine, chanting half-songs about devils and monstrous illusions he once saw in Imaraku. Others engaged in forced revelry, uneasy about the talk of last night’s violence.

Amid the swirling talk, Haruto Watanabe stood by a pillar, silent as a ghost.

As the night deepened, Rairaku questioned the King. “What is truly new in Majokawa, Your Majesty? Word from Onikawa seems dire.”

“I’ve heard no tidings,” said the King, sipping from his carved ruby cup. “Though I did hear that Katsuragi of Yōkawa was fool enough to strike at my gates last night. He paid dearly.”

Rairaku’s brow twitched. “Strange he’d attempt that. Unless…he thought you kept Oni from Onikawa locked away?”

Koren laughed too loud. “Katsuragi always was a rash fool. That’s why he’s lying in the dust, and we’re enjoying prime cuts of goat. Some men never learn.”

Mizurana, uneasy, tried to divert him: “Katsuragi is known for his reckless leaps. It’s always flamboyant. Next topic, perhaps? Or is talk of Higan Kani more appealing?”

Kosu, so deep in his cups his eyes were nearly closed, blurted, “They all get swallowed in the end, just like those—” But he trailed off into a drunken murmur.

“Charming,” muttered Rairaku. He cast a sharp glance about. “Majokawa prides itself on cunning, but I sense something else. You test me, perhaps?”

The King’s voice grew heavy with warning. “When you speak of cunning, Prince, watch your own tongue. You ride here accompanied like a threat, you cast suspicious eyes on your hosts, and you speak of Oni illusions. I prefer a simpler custom of conversation with my sworn…friends.”

Rairaku’s face colored. “Friendship, yes. Though your brand of hospitality feels brittle.”

Suddenly Koren, who had drunk far more than was wise, slammed his cup down. “Enough illusions. Perhaps the Prince would like to see how we treat Oni who come to Kasei uninvited. We have two special guests pinned to the wall—”

“Koren,” growled the King in abrupt fury, “stop.”

But Koren staggered upright, eyes blazing. “I see no reason to hide Jūsō and Daigo from him. Didn’t we swear just last year that Onikawa was beneath us? Enough playing nice. We have them, Prince. And by now, they’ve lost at least half their HP.”

Rairaku rose from his seat, knocking over his goblet. “Lies.”

King Goritsu’s voice turned to iron. “Koren is drunk and speaks nonsense.”

Rairaku remained unmoved. “I was there when Lord Jūsō, using his Sky-Piercing Blade, saved me from the savage Imaraku hordes. And I owe a debt to Lord Daigo, who orchestrated our victory in the Koshita Hibaraku pass. If they are caged here, rotting at your pleasure, I demand you release them.”

The King’s eyes glinted like embers. “You cannot demand a thing, Prince. My sworn foes are mine to do with as I see fit. They will remain in torment, hung like trophies. Rot is too pleasant a word for their fate.”

Rairaku’s rage erupted. “Then you have my answer,” he said, and hurled his crystal cup. It struck King Goritsu’s forehead with a sharp crack, the fine glass shattering, the blow dropping him senseless. Blood trickled from beneath the crown.

Like thunder, the hall exploded in chaos. Korudo drew his broad-bladed sword with a roar, Koren staggered forward, cursing, and Kosu—sloshed beyond reason—toppled face-first into the spilled wine. Rairaku, through level-headed skill and the advantage of sobriety, whirled to direct his Hiyori men, all around Level 25–30 “Hiyori Scouts” with a shared group buff “Wind-Whisper Coordination.”

Koren advanced, but he was wounded, unsteady from drink, and lost his footing in a puddle of wine. He crashed backward, striking his head against the table. Kosu, in a stupor, slid into him, and both collapsed. Korudo, though formidable at Level 50, could not fully rouse his usual strength. He too had drunk freely, and the wine clogged his veins, dulling his reflexes.

Rairaku, mindful of his sister Mizurana’s love for Korudo, shouted orders: “Hold them, but kill no one if you can avoid it! No lethal strikes, not on Korudo or any Majo!” He commanded some men to douse the drunken Majo lords with jars of cold wine, soaking them until they blinked helplessly. Within minutes, Rairaku’s sober cavalry controlled the great hall.

“Kiru! Guard the doors!” Rairaku barked to one of his captains. “No one leaves until we find Jūsō and Daigo!”

Kiru (Level 28 Hiyori Spear Adept), saluted, and Rairaku led a small band through Kasei’s corridors, flaming torches in hand. At last, they forced open the doors of that dismal old banquet chamber, discovering Lord Jūsō and Lord Daigo shackled high on the wall, arms and legs chained and spread apart.

Daigo, half-lidded yet defiant, gave a soft laugh. “Well, if it isn’t the Stormblade Hiyori himself. This day is looking up.”

Jūsō, though pale from hunger, offered a small nod. “Prince. I feared you would rush blindly into the King’s jaws. Perhaps I should have known better.”

Rairaku’s men snapped the chains, freeing them. Rairaku spread out his arms. “Friends, I’ll get you out. But we must flee now, or we drown in Majokawa’s vengeance.”

Daigo, though stiff with pain, grinned. “I’m in your debt, Rairaku. But let’s not leave empty-handed. This place teased us long enough with its extravagant spread. I’m half-starved.” With that, he grabbed a side of cold turkey from a loaded platter and wolfed it down, regaining a trickle of HP. Jūsō contented himself with a few plovers’ eggs, only smashing the shells in caution against curses.

When they were armed again, Jūsō said, “Prince, you risk everything to rescue us. Know that from this night forward, your enemies are ours. That is the code of Onikawa.”

Daigo raised a copper flagon. “We’ll drink a proper toast once we’ve cut King Goritsu from his throne—and it won’t be from a vantage pinned on a wall.”

They sped into the courtyard, where Rairaku discovered Mizurana above on a balcony, nightgown fluttering. Like an apparition, she hovered in the torchlight. “Brother, your illusions are undone. You have chosen the Oni over Majokawa. Is that truly your wish?”

He called up to her. “I choose loyalty. Let King Goritsu be told: I never sought to draw blood, but my hand was forced.” He paused, voice low. “Forgive me, sister. I pray we remain on speaking terms.”

Her voice quivered. “Then go. Now. Hakmon rides from the south with reinforcements. If you don’t vanish into the night, you’ll be caged by dawn. I fear we stand at the edge of a calamity for all of Suisei.”

Jūsō bowed to her. “Lady Mizurana, your brother’s cause is ours. I vow on the blade of Onikawa, we will stand with him.”

She drew in a trembling breath. “He was right to save you. But from now on, the lines are drawn. May you outrun Hakmon. And may you outrun fate, though I doubt either is possible.”

Rairaku saluted, his men close behind. They thundered onto the Way of Kings under the coppery moon, the Oni lords astride stolen mounts, forging ahead into the darkness. In a far corner of the courtyard, Haruto Watanabe, who had watched all in silent perplexity, followed after them.

Long after the hoofbeats vanished, Mizurana stood at the window of Korudo’s chamber, gazing at the horizon and the rising moon. When new hoofbeats rattled the bridge, she knew it was Hakmon and his force returning to Kasei. She closed her eyes, recalling the hush that fell after Rairaku fled with Jūsō and Daigo, and how the illusions of harmony had shattered. All she sensed now was the swirl of powers racing toward inevitable conflict.