Demon Sword Maiden-Chapter 59Volume 11 - Yamata no Orochi: – Bounty list of Takamagahara

Once the foremost strategic mind of a peaceful era, the patriarch of martial families, and the architect of the samurai age, his final stronghold now lay in ruins, its ashes dispersed by the wind into the sky.

Lily and her allies stood atop the quivering, fracturing floating mountains, witnessing this defining moment.

“Lily, this place won’t hold much longer; we need to leave,” Ayaka advised.

Gazing dazedly at the deteriorating, flaming castle, Lily mused, “Minamoto no Yoritomo, I may grasp your obsession, yet I can never condone it.”

With Oborozuki Muramasa sheathed, Lily turned away, her crimson kimono billowing, and departed with her companions.

“Let’s depart… our foe has fallen; it’s time to return,” Shizuka Gozen, her visage illuminated by descending embers, said to Tomoe Gozen, whose armor bore the scars of battle.

“With our kin and foes gone… why do we remain…”

Tomoe Gozen conjured her arts to mend her skeletal steed, previously ravaged by Yamata no Orochi. Astride her resurrected mount, she rode into the clouds, vanishing into the vast expanse.

Following Yamata no Orochi’s demise, the floodwaters withdrew, revealing once submerged lands. Ravaged mountains and forests began to reemerge. Though embers from the fallen castle still descended, they were mere specks of light against the night sky.

They made their way back to the Twelve Nioh King Sedan Chair.

“So, Sister Tomoe has departed…” Lily, positioned on the sedan’s balcony, gazed vacantly into the heavens, sensing Tomoe Gozen might not return.

“Miss Lily, we shall depart now.”

Adjacent to the grand sedan, clusters of mystical clouds drifted off. Michizane, Masakado, Hashihime, and a host of demons took their leave atop these clouds.

“Lord Michizane, Lord Masakado, Lady Hashihime…”

At a loss for words, Lily could only offer a deep bow of thanks.

The formidable spirits reciprocated Lily’s gesture with a salute of their own as they made their way back to Heian-kyo, where their legend persisted.

Without notice, the rain ceased.

“Lily, we should head back to Heian-kyo. There’s still much awaiting us,” Ayaka proposed.

“Don’t fret, Lily; your sisters are all here,” Haihime reassured.

“Huuu…” Lily exhaled deeply, the weight of her thoughts audible in her sigh, “Mmm… ah…”

Lily’s body quivered, her complexion flushing. The heat of battle had masked it, but she had overexerted the purple lunar force, or maybe the dense lunar force intensified her body’s reaction. Despite Shuten Doji and Minamoto no Yoritomo’s demise, their curse lingered potently.

“Lily, what’s the matter?” Her companions expressed concern upon witnessing her abrupt transformation.

“Is she unwell?”

“Or perhaps…”

“Let’s head back to our quarters first.”

“Sister Ayaka…” Lily managed to say between gasps, offering a storage jade ring, “This belonged to Minamoto no Yoritomo, left behind as he entered the castle. I discovered it with my soul world just before the mountains fell. Your treasures might be inside; please, take it first…”

“Lily…” Ayaka accepted the ring, noting the feverish heat of Lily’s touch. Their concern deepened as they helped Lily back into the sedan.

The Twelve Nioh Kings lifted the sedan, advancing into the sky, with the female cavalry and kunoichi in tow below.

Rei, astride the majestic steed Nioh, traversed the heavens on a path of ice. Her remarkable sword, having absorbed the essence of Yamata no Orochi’s tail, transferred its power to Rei, aiding in the assimilation of the raining blood essence.

Rei achieved a breakthrough to the big dipper realm, swiftly ascending to the zenith of the triple-soul big dipper stage. Her divine sword, capable of slicing through Yamata no Orochi’s formidable teeth, posed a lethal danger even to adepts of the quintuple or sextuple-soul big dipper level. Despite her personal strength not matching her weapon’s prowess, the sword’s unmatched edge required only a precise strike at a critical point to be effective.

The group departed, leaving the expansive mountains and seas behind as the remains of the castle, engulfed in flames, plummeted into the sea.

Against the backdrop of dissipating smoke and floating embers in the sky, two spectral figures materialized.

These colossal, translucent entities stood motionless in the heavens, exuding a sense of transcendence and quiescence.

One, a middle-aged man clad in a shogun’s hunting garb; the other, a strikingly handsome youth donned in intricate armor.

“Yoshitsune… it appears you were correct from the very beginning…”

“Brother, perhaps… both of us were right, or perhaps we were both mistaken. The utopia I envisioned doesn’t exist; the future is theirs to shape!”

Far to the southwest of Akitsu Shima, nestled within the ancient, concealed rainforests of the Tsukushi islands…

“Cough… such dense miasma, despite being in the south, why is it so damp and chill here? My aging bones are ill-suited for this…” The cloistered emperor, enveloped in darkness within a cabin shrouded by cold, moist moss, was garbed in worn robes, his coughs frequent, signaling grave injuries. While myriad medicines staved off death, full recovery remained elusive. Beyond his wounds, age was his greatest adversary, as even big dipper adepts faced mortality, and his end loomed near.

At the cabin’s heart stood a copper incense burner, its surface marred by green rust, from which purple smoke wafted.

Abruptly, the incense burner ignited with a brilliant flare, transforming the purple smoke into a dense black fog that enveloped the room. Within this murk, the vague visage of a formidable figure emerged, so blurred it seemed either forged from the smoke itself or merely smoke taking on a facial contour.

Shocked, the cloistered emperor hastened to his knees, bowing deeply in a gesture of desperation, “Master! Master…”

A voice, imbued with an indomitable will, emanated from the black smoke, a presence so commanding it felt as though it could ensnare time and space, dimming the world’s luster as if to deride its aspirations.

“My gaze has not graced Ashihara in days; this development is unforeseen and profoundly disappointing.”

With his forehead pressed firmly to the floor, the cloistered emperor’s voice quivered, “I am unworthy to face you, Master. Aged and failing, I’ve been ousted from Heian-kyo, forced to conceal myself in this miasma-ridden refuge! My inadequacies are all too apparent!”

“Say no more…” The voice, unwavering, declared, “Henceforth, you are relieved from reporting to me.”

“Master?” A cold sweat broke over the cloistered emperor. Was his master contemplating his silence as a consequence of the failed plans? And what of Minamoto no Yoritomo?

“Master! I have dutifully executed your commands, vigilantly overseeing Minamoto no Yoritomo’s every action. The pivotal events were orchestrated by him; my role was merely to assist and collaborate. The predicament we face stems from his defiance of my counsel, his failure to fully enact your directives. He chose his own path, one of malevolence, no less! I, for my part…” The cloistered emperor’s words tumbled out in a frantic torrent.

“Enough! The present circumstances surpass what you can grasp; your excuses are of no interest to me. Heed my words: henceforth, Ashihara shall fall under the stewardship of a new master. Your absolute obedience is required, or else…”

The cabin trembled, enveloped by the tumultuous black smoke.

“A new master? But what of your guidance, Master?”

“Ashihara’s fate is a minor concern I can no longer afford to attend to!”

“And what of Minamoto no Yoritomo? Shall I persist in my surveillance?”

An overwhelming force emanated from the voice, stifling the cloistered emperor’s speech and freezing his very soul, rendering him momentarily lifeless. “All concerns are to be deferred to your new master! He will seek you out imminently. Should you contemplate defiance…”

The cloistered emperor’s eyes widened in terror, mirroring the despair of drowning. He gasped for air to no avail, his silent screams unaided by his immobile lungs, engulfed in agony and despair.

Abruptly, the black smoke vanished.

The cloistered emperor inhaled deeply, savoring the rush of fresh air.

Shivering uncontrollably, the ordeal had left him thoroughly chilled. Despite the smoke’s disappearance, he remained prostrate, too fearful to rise.

Without warning, the cabin’s weathered door swung open.

The cloistered emperor caught sight of two sets of feet clad in wooden footwear approaching. One pair exuded strength, the other grace.

Lifting his quivering head, he beheld two figures occupying the cramped space.

The first, clad in a dark robe, bore disheveled black hair and a visage both handsome and gaunt, marked by a black beard. His eyes, once vibrant and direct, now seemed distant and aged.

“Ash… Ashikaga Kiyoshi?” The cloistered emperor’s voice carried a note of astonishment.

Beside Ashikaga Kiyoshi stood a statuesque woman garbed in black. Closer inspection revealed her kunoichi attire to be of exceptional make, emitting an aura that even the cloistered emperor found intimidating yet undeniably alluring.

The woman’s short black hair framed a white hannya mask concealing her features.

“Greetings, Your Majesty, the cloistered emperor,” Ashikaga Kiyoshi intoned, his voice expansive, bereft of any inclination to bow.

Mount Fuji loomed under darkened skies, smoke billowing from its summit.

Amidst coughs, a paper rope of indeterminate length dangled from the heavens, swaying amidst the smoky gusts. A slender man, his attire threadbare as though a farmer’s, donned a red tengu mask. He trailed the paper rope, its origin obscured by the ash-laden sky.

His voice, hoarse yet piercing, carried an eerie quality, “I yearn to leave this accursed locale immediately upon completing my mission!”

Extracting a diminutive scroll from his basket, it depicted miniature black thunderclouds, intermittently crackling with lightning.

“Atatata! That stings!” the odd man exclaimed, as though jolted by an electric shock, hastily casting the scroll into Mount Fuji’s smoldering embers before ascending the paper rope skyward.

As the scroll descended into Mount Fuji’s abyss, it unfurled, revealing a lengthy tapestry adorned with myriad depictions: malevolent spirits bearing ghastly visages, sublime immortals and celestials beside wind-swept jade trees… In total, ninety-nine illustrations, each sealed with a daunting red stamp.

Notably, the ninety-ninth depicted a striking young female samurai clad in a red kimono, her hand poised on a red parasol. Inscribed below was, “Ninety-ninth outlaw, harbinger of turmoil and allure, Mirror Girl Lily, with a bounty of ten thousand Blood Spirit Magatamas.”

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