Anyone familiar with Japanese culture would instantly recognize the eerie tune echoing through the night. It was the Shakuhachi, an ancient Japanese flute—perhaps the oldest of its kind. Traditionally played during sacred rituals: marriages, prayers, and funerals, its mournful notes often carried the weight of spirits and centuries.
But what made this flute troubling wasn't just its sound—it was who might be playing it.
The Shakuhachi in modern times belonged only to elites, spiritual masters, or historical figures of high standing. And according to everything I'd read, if a demon was the one playing it, that demon had to be royalty… or had once served royalty.
Unfortunately, that mystery had to wait. First, we needed to escape this cursed domain.
"This coward sold us out, General Sir," one of the commanders spat on the severed head of a fallen comrade.
"He's already dead," another muttered coldly. "Got what he deserved."
"That's not enough. He should've died a thousand times—burned alive! That's a traitor's death!" the third growled, hocking up a wad of phlegm and spitting on the corpse again. "He shouldn't even be buried. Just butchered and fed to the pigs—"
"Enough!" Michikatsu barked, still mounted on his steed. "Even if he betrayed us, he once fought by our side. We bled together on the battlefield. At the very least, honor him for that."
His words silenced the venom. The three commanders exchanged grim glances before turning away, leaving the traitor's remains behind.
"So," Michikatsu turned to me, "you said we have to kill the one who trapped us in this... inescapable box?"
"Yes," I said, crouching down and touching the ground. "But the real challenge is finding them. This is a domain of high-level craftsmanship. Whoever cast it can mask their presence, possibly even their identity."
They were paying close attention now. That was good.
"If we can't find the caster, we stick together and move as one," Michikatsu declared.
"So we keep walking in circles?" I asked, skeptical.
"What do you suggest? Sit here and rot?" one of the commanders snapped at me.
I clenched my jaw. They had a point. Staying in one place wouldn't help. But moving even if aimless gave a false sense of progress. And maybe, just maybe, that illusion was better than despair.
"We move. Together," Michikatsu ordered, tightening his grip on the reins.
The flute played again.
Its haunting melody drifted over the trees, casting a hush over the entire camp. We froze—every single one of us. As if our bodies had forgotten how to move, our muscles locked in place. A chill rolled through my spine.
Please, not my head next...
I didn't remember being granted any MC level plot armor by the big light guy, so I wasn't exactly brimming with confidence.
The flute stopped. Silence fell like a curtain. Seconds passed. Nothing.
No heads rolled this time. No death. Just silence. Slowly, our bodies remembered how to function again, but the cold sweat soaking my shirt said otherwise.
"Okay… we move—"
Then the ground shook beneath our feet.
A mild quake at first. Most of us braced instinctively. Michikatsu's horse panicked, rising onto its hind legs and throwing him off violently. He rolled across the dirt as his armored horse fled, its instinct for survival overriding any sense of loyalty.
No one blamed it.
We drew our blades in unison. It was strange how our senses synced up—everyone felt it. Something was coming. Something massive.
Another tremor struck this one wasn't mild.
The earth groaned as massive cracks ripped through the soil. The ground split beneath us like it was screaming. The wind roared with fury, trees swaying and snapping like twigs. One tree branch tore through the air, barely missing my face before impaling a commander through the chest.
Gulp.
I swolled thinking, That could've been me.
I stabbed my blade into the ground to stay upright. That's when I noticed gaping chasms yawning open beneath us—bottomless voids that swallowed the light whole.
And then in the next minute...
The earth swallowed us too.
***
My body felt like a mountain sat on top of it. Every muscle ached. I forced my eyes open, blinking repeatedly until my vision adjusted to the faint silver glow of moonlight reflecting off the ground.
I pushed myself up, finding my blade beside me. I grabbed it and stood slowly.
Same place. Same ground. Same eerie silence.
But I was alone.
The others were gone.
"What the hell is going on?" I whispered.
The world felt… wrong. Like I hadn't moved at all, even though the last thing I remembered was being consumed by the earth.
Then the flute played again.
Only this time, it wasn't echoing. It had a direction. A source.
I narrowed my eyes, peering into the dark forest. Something…someone was coming.
Two figures emerged.
The first was a man dressed in white—the ceremonial garment worn by the dead before burial. He held a long katana, his head bowed so low I couldn't see his face.
Behind him floated a boy—levitating midair—playing the Shakuhachi. The melody danced around us like a gentle breeze with razor edges.
I gripped my blade tighter knowing well that this wasn't going to be like the mountain demons. No. This was different. My senses sharpened with every giving second, I could feel it behind me… death claws dancing at neck