The deeper the party moved into the ancient cedar forests of Aokigahara, the more the air changed. The towering Sugi trees reached up like the gnarled fingers of giants, their dense canopies blotting out the sun and leaving the forest floor in a state of eternal, moss-covered twilight. Fog rolled between the trunks, thick and smelling of damp earth and rotting pine needles.
Yorimitsu walked at the rear, his frame skeletal and his spirit hollow. The news of Hikaru's death had acted as a final caustic agent, dissolving the last remnants of his hesitation. He didn't care about the cold or the weight of the pack anymore; the pain was a grounding cord, a reminder that he was still tethered to the world of the living just long enough to see his tormentors bleed.
Hidden by his tattered sleeve, he pressed his palm against the jagged, rusted edge of his training blade and pulled. He didn't flinch as the metal bit into his flesh. He simply let the blood drip, mixing it with pinches of consecrated ritual ash he had purloined from the manor's shrine. He was painting a beacon, a scent that would scream to the mountain's predators that a feast was waiting.
Ahead of him, the young retainers sat tall in their saddles, their laughter echoing like the cawing of crows.
"He's useless," one boy whispered, tossing a jagged stone that bounced sharply off Yorimitsu's shoulder. "He's just a shell. Remember how he didn't even fight back when the guards forced his face into the dung heap last time? The Minamoto name is in the dirt where it belongs."
Mai, leading the group on a white stallion that seemed to glow in the dim light, slowed until he was riding alongside the limping boy. He leaned down, his face a mask of bored, elegant disappointment.
"You've become quite dull, Yorimitsu-kun," Mai sighed, his voice dripping with condescension. "You're just like her now. Mute. Empty. You don't even react to the world. You're not even fun to break anymore."
Yorimitsu didn't look up. He just kept walking, his blood-soaked fingers marking the trail for a guest that was already on its way.
The forest's silence was broken by a sudden, skittering sound. From the shadows emerged a Rank-1 Tsuchigumo, a spider-demon the size of a hog, covered in coarse black bristles with eight eyes gleaming like polished obsidian.
The noble boys didn't even dismount. With a casual flick of his wrist, the lead retainer channelled a burst of blue Reiryoku through his blade, cleaving the creature in two before it could even hiss. It was a pathetic display of "strength" that only inflated their egos further.
"Porter! Clean this filth!" Mai commanded.
Kneeling in the dirt, Yorimitsu worked with terrifying speed. He grabbed a jagged piece of the spider's chitinous leg and pressed the venomous shard into his own open wound, humming a low-frequency vibration remembered from his future life.
"Life for a Life. Blood for the Gate."
He smeared the empowered ichor onto the ferns, sacrificing months of his own lifespan to amplify the lure. The air around them began to warp, the temperature dropping until the breath of the horses came in thick plumes of frost. Suddenly, the forest went deathly silent.
From the deep shadows, a Yama-Uba (Mountain Ogre) a Rank-4 Forest Spirit, stepped into the clearing. It was a towering mass of mossy stone and burning malice, its long white hair matted with the skulls of previous victims.
"A Rank-4?!" the lead guard screamed, his face draining of colour. "Impossible! Such spirits shouldn't exist this close to the perimeter!"
The guard turned, his eyes landing on Yorimitsu, who stood by the spider's carcass with a faint, twisted smile. He saw the ritual ash on the boy's fingers. He saw the trail of blood leading directly to the boy's feet.
"You... you did this!" the guard roared, reaching for his sword.
But the Ogre was faster. With a roar that shook the ancient cedars, it lunged. The massive beast swiped a clawed hand toward the group, but it caught Yorimitsu first. The force was like being hit by a falling mountain. Yorimitsu was sent flying through the air, his body a collection of snapping bones and agonising fire. He soared over the edge of a nearby cliff, the world spinning into a blur of grey stone and rushing water below.
As Yorimitsu plunged into the abyss, the clearing became a slaughterhouse. The noble boys panicked, their horses bolting as the Ogre tore through their ranks. But they were the elite; they fought with the desperation of cornered rats.
Spiritual power flared as they coordinated their strikes, their blades glowing blue against the Ogre's stone-like skin. In the chaos, the beast's jagged claw caught Mai across the face, carving a deep, ragged furrow from his forehead down to his jaw.
Mai let out a shrill, uncharacteristic scream of agony. His perfection was broken.
Some of the boys who were with him looked at him with disgust.
"How cana son of a lord act like that..." they whispered.
Eventually, the weight of their numbers and their refined techniques brought the beast down. The Ogre collapsed, its lifeblood staining the moss.
Mai stood over the carcass, clutching his bleeding face, his eyes burning with a rage that bordered on insanity. "The boy," he hissed through gritted teeth, blood seeping through his fingers. "Find him. He doesn't get to die that easily. FIND HIM!"
One of the senior guards performed a quick mudra, summoning a pair of Spirit Hounds, translucent, spectral wolves made of white smoke. "Find the Minamoto boy," the guard commanded. The hounds caught the scent of his blood and vanished over the cliff's edge.
At the bottom of the ravine, Yorimitsu lay broken against a jagged rock. Every breath was a wet, agonising struggle as his lungs began to fail. His vision was fading, the darkness of death finally reaching for him.
He heard the baying of the spirit hounds above. He heard the guards scrambling down the rocks, their voices filled with murderous intent.
With a final, gargantuan effort, Yorimitsu rolled his body sideways. He felt the cold, violent rush of the mountain river beneath him. He didn't fight the current. He let the waves take him, his broken form bobbing like a piece of driftwood in the churning white water.
As the spirit hounds reached the bank and barked fruitlessly at the foam, Yorimitsu was already gone, carried away by the torrent toward a fate that not even the Minakaze could track.