Snowflakes sharp as shattered glass battered the ground, tearing the world into a thousand flickering shards of silver and white.
Two figures—one tall, one short—walked through the storm. The wind and snow seemed almost sentient, curving around them instead of striking.
"Kobayashi-san, you sure about this?" a Black man with dreadlocks asked, chewing awkwardly through his Japanese.
Naoto Kobayashi's eyes were dark and cold. "Why would I lie? It's really March seventh out there."
The man hesitated. "That's…"
"If it hadn't been for that phone call, we'd still be in the dark."
Kobayashi kicked open the door of a house and, in the blink of an eye, slaughtered everyone inside.
The blizzard surged in, sweeping up the corpses of a family of five, dragging them behind him like lifeless puppets.
Across the street, the door of another home burst open, and soon more snow and bodies followed.
"My father said he spoke to me on the phone a few days ago," Kobayashi continued. "I called a few others afterward to confirm—every one of them said today's March seventh. They don't know each other, so there's no way they're lying in sync."
The man frowned. "So you're saying…?"
Kobayashi went quiet for a long time before answering.
"Time's been twisted by some unknown cause. Lord Blizzard sealed the barrier completely to stop too many Devil Hunters from coming in. No one from outside can enter now."
"But if the sacrifices don't reach four thousand, the ritual will fail. 'That One' won't descend. The whole mission's—"
"No one can interrupt the ritual." Kobayashi gave a low, bitter laugh. "The mission might fail, but 'That One' will descend regardless. Everyone in Okura Village will die. That's inevitable. Nothing can change it."
He shifted tone slightly. "The question is how to ensure a complete descent. Lord Blizzard is already communicating with 'Him,' trying to send someone out—to bring in five hundred people from Sagae City."
"Come on," Kobayashi said, turning toward the main road. "Let's finish this. Everyone in the Onsen District dies tonight."
The snow on the main street wasn't too deep—just enough to reach mid-calf, thanks to snow blowers and the residents' shoveling.
They stopped before Zao Inn, the largest ryokan in the Onsen Area. Over ten thousand square meters, enough to house nearly two hundred guests.
Warm yellow light and laughter seeped from behind its tightly shut doors and windows.
Clap clap.
Kobayashi stopped in front of the building, expression blank, and clapped his hands.
The thick snow around them trembled. Within ten seconds, more than twenty snow sculptures—ancient samurai in form—rose from the drifts, standing still in the storm.
"Go."
Boom!
The samurai kicked down Zao Inn's main doors and filed inside, snow blades gleaming.
Screams tore through the air, thin and endless.
Kobayashi walked down the street. At each house, he clapped his hands once. Two samurai would burst through the door, slaughter the residents, and drag their frozen bodies back out in neat white piles.
The Black man never left his side.
Then both of them turned suddenly.
At the far end of a trail of corpses, something stood in the storm—half-silhouetted by the warm light spilling from Zao Inn.
A shape broke away from that shadow and rushed inside. The screams died soon after.
Kobayashi clapped again.
All around, on rooftops and streets alike, over thirty snow samurai appeared. The once-empty street filled with silent killers.
The figure across from them took an uneasy step back.
Kobayashi exhaled, a little relieved.
Still, for some reason, the instant he saw that figure, a strange, suffocating fear had crawled into his chest and refused to leave.
If he's the one flinching, then there's nothing to—wait…
Kobayashi's eyes widened.
Across the street, the shadow raised a massive arm—and clapped twice.
Instantly, came the sound of countless feet crushing snow. A flood of footsteps from every corner of the street.
The light itself seemed to dim. The road grew crowded.
People. So many people. Hundreds.
When Kobayashi recognized one of their faces, his expression broke into disbelief.
"Impossible!!"
"I-Ice replicas?!" the Black man shouted.
No time to think. The ice people surged forward.
The snow samurai swung their blades, but halfway through, the swords jammed into solid ice—and the next wave of replicas trampled them to shards.
The Black man didn't hesitate any longer. His pupils shrank, the whites of his eyes turned yellow, fangs pushed past his lips, and his body swelled.
With a shhhk, his nails extended like drawn blades—over twenty centimeters long, thick and sharp.
He charged into the crowd like a beast unleashed. His claws sliced effortlessly through the ice bodies, shattered limbs flying in all directions.
When Kobayashi finally tore his gaze from the slaughter, the original shadow had vanished.
He tensed, scanning the storm.
"He's gone!" he shouted, but the blizzard swallowed his voice whole.
Ahead on the left, the Black man darted between walls and alleys, carving through the horde.
Shards exploded around him. His eyes were blood-red, his face twisted into a manic grin. Every life that crumbled in his hands seemed to feed that thrill.
"Come on! COME ON!" he bellowed.
More than ten ice replicas surrounded him at once. He stomped the ground and vaulted high into the air, escaping their grasp.
"Short little Asian!" he laughed, spitting the words in English.
As he hung midair, his gaze flicked to Kobayashi—who stood motionless below, eyes sharp, scanning every direction.
A look of disappointment crossed the man's face.
"So even Naoto Kobayashi can't shake the cowardice of his own people," he muttered.
Kobayashi felt it—looked up—and his face went pale.
"Behind you!!!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the wind.
The Black man spun around.
A boy hung in midair before him—hair whipping wildly, arms raised high above his head, body bent like the bow drawn to its limit.
He brought the hammer down with both hands, the swing carving a perfect crescent through the blizzard.
BOOM!
The Black man's skull caved in, bones shattering all the way down his spine. His vertebrae burst out from his lower back in a grotesque curve.
THUD!
He hit the snow with an earth-shaking crash, a white plume exploding around him.
Kobayashi shouted his name, but got no answer.
His eyelids twitched as he lifted his gaze to the figure now perched on the rooftop.
The snow slowed just enough for him to see the boy clearly.
Tall, slender, strikingly handsome. One hand under his chin, fingers forming a lazy checkmark, eyes fixed on the fallen body below—as if deep in thought.
Then, suddenly, the boy's eyes opened wider. He pointed at the corpse and said softly,
"On the road to rebirth, recite my true name. Seek eternal life through death."
"…"
Satisfied, he nodded and turned his gaze on Kobayashi.
"Well, if it isn't Kobayashi—or no, wait."
He switched tongues, his accent crisp and flawless.
"Isn't this Gendun Linzhi?"
The name hit like a slap. Kobayashi's face twisted in shock. "Who the hell are you?!"
"So many years later, and you're still the same—panicked, pathetic. You even lost your old power."
The boy's tone was almost pitying. "Guess you've hit that age where you'd rather take it slow, build snowmen or whatever. Fair enough."
Kobayashi didn't care about the mockery. He just wanted the truth.
"You fought in the battle sixty years ago? That's impossible! You're lying! That was years ago—the participants couldn't possibly look that young!"
"Heh." The boy's grin turned cold.
"Then take a good look at my face—and tell me who I look like."