The mountain still groaned. Though the giant oni had been dragged into the abyss, its stench lingered in the air—sulfur, blood, and smoke clinging to the pines. The clearing lay in ruin, half the trees splintered or uprooted, the earth gouged into black scars.
The hunters moved with weary precision, grim-faced as they tended to their own. Jiro and Taro heaved the dead into rows, while Aya traced sutras in ash and blood, murmuring prayers to sever lingering malice. Shiba Kenzō planted his naginata in the soil and leaned on it, his gaze cutting toward the sky and treeline, as though another shadow might descend at any moment.
"Do not let your guard slip," he growled. "When a curse of that depth is cast, it lingers like venom. Whatever name was called, it will be heard."
Aya's hands shook as she tied an ofuda across a corpse's forehead. Her voice wavered, ragged yet clear. "And we all heard it. That name, hurled into the night—Hayate. It was not meant for us. It was meant for someone else."
The men paused in their work, exchanging uneasy glances.
"Then whoever this Hayate is," Taro muttered, "he walks with the weight of a monster's hatred. If he is near, he's as dangerous as the beast itself."
Kenzō's jaw clenched, eyes narrowing toward the forest above the ravine. "Then we must find him. If the curse hunts him, misfortune will follow all who dwell nearby. And if he had any hand in the summoning…" His grip whitened around his naginata's shaft. "Then he will answer for it."
—
The hunters followed the trail of broken brush and scorched soil left by the oni's thrashing. It led them up the mountainside, where stone gave way to a jagged cave mouth shrouded in mist.
Inside, seated cross-legged with his katana across his knees, was a young swordsman. Pale-faced, hair disheveled, his body was streaked with dried blood. He looked up as torchlight spilled across the cave walls.
Shiba Kenzō stepped forward first, his voice sharp as steel. "Name yourself."
The young man tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Ranmaru."
Aya's eyes narrowed. "Were you here when the oni rose? Did you call it forth?"
Ranmaru's lips curved faintly, though his eyes remained cold. "If I had summoned that thing, do you think I'd be sitting here, half-dead?" He gestured at the dried blood on his side, the rent in his sleeve. "I was hunting a Jorōgumo in these woods. When the oni appeared, it forced itself upon me. I killed it. Barely."
The hunters bristled at his casual tone, though none could ignore the blood-stained blade resting on his lap.
"You slew it?" Taro scoffed. "That beast could've razed the valley before showing its true self."
Ranmaru shrugged. "Believe what you want. The Jorōgumo's corpse lies below if you doubt me." Rising slowly to his feet, he steadied himself against the wall. "But know this—I had no part in its summoning. I was as surprised as you when it tore its way into this world."
Aya studied him, her intuition sharp as a blade honed by years of shrine craft. "If you speak truth, then the curse it cast is not yours to bear. But the name it called—Hayate. Do you know it?"
Ranmaru's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His eyes lowered, shadowed by torchlight.
"No," he said evenly. "But if the oni cursed that name, then whoever Hayate is… he will not sleep easily."
Silence pressed down, thick and uneasy. The hunters exchanged wary glances. Ranmaru's words rang with truth, yet suspicion remained.
At last, Kenzō spoke. "Then hear me, Ranmaru. Summoner or not, you are entangled now. The curse will spread. If you walk this mountain, you will answer to us."
Ranmaru's faint smile never faltered. "If it keeps the yokai at bay, then by all means—watch me."
But when the hunters filed from the cave, their eyes lingered on his back. And when silence returned, Ranmaru exhaled slowly, his hand tightening on his hilt.
—
The hunters' torches flickered as they descended the slope, boots crunching on loose gravel. No one spoke at first, but the weight of what they had left behind pressed heavy on every step.
At last, Taro muttered, "That man unsettled me. The way he looked at us—like he valued nothing, not even his life. If we pressed harder, I swear he would've drawn steel, half-dead or not."
Jiro spat into the dirt. "Aye. And he'd have taken some of us with him. There was no fear in his eyes. Only something colder."
Aya gripped her prayer beads tighter. "What unsettled me was not his strength, but his lies. He said he didn't know the name Hayate, yet he flinched when it was spoken. And what of the yokai child strung up in his cave? A half-breed, bound like prey. He offered no word of it."
They slowed, glancing back toward the cave.
Shiba Kenzō's voice cut through the quiet. "We do nothing. Not yet."
Taro frowned. "Nothing? You saw it as plain as I. That oni's curse should cling to him like tar. But it doesn't. There's no corruption, no festering aura. Only the wrath of the oni he struck down. How can that be?"
Aya's brow furrowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because he absorbed it. That is why he felt so heavy. Why the air thickened with every word. A man who can take a curse of that depth into himself and still stand—he is no ordinary mortal."
Unease rippled through the group.
Jiro muttered, "Then is he the summoner? Did he claim the curse for himself?"
Shiba shook his head. "No. That much was truth. If he had summoned the oni, it would not have fought him so savagely. The curse was not his doing. But it has chosen him now, whether he willed it or not."
Aya's beads clicked as she whispered, "That is what makes him dangerous. The oni's final breath left all its venom to one name—Hayate. And now, Ranmaru carries it in his veins."
For a long moment, no one spoke. Only the mountain wind stirred, sighing through the trees.
At last, Shiba Kenzō said grimly, "We watch him. To strike now would be folly. If he carries the curse, then killing him may unleash its full might. Better he bears it, contained, until the time comes when we know what must be done."
The hunters pressed onward into the dark, each step heavier than the last.
Behind them, in the cave, Ranmaru sat motionless, blade across his knees, his gaze fixed on the unconscious yokai child in the corner. His hand was steady on the hilt… but his breath betrayed the faintest tremor.
The oni's curse had not left him. It pulsed within, silent and unseen—like a second heart.
And though the hunters vowed to watch him, every one of them knew the truth: they feared him more than the oni itself.