The Third Night

After that terrible night, our journey continued.The following two days passed without disturbance. No beasts stalked our path, no members of Yami o Saku Mono appeared from the shadows. For once, the silence of the road felt almost merciful.

On the morning of the fourth day, the walls of a town came into view—its wooden gates catching the first light of dawn. Henbō Toshi. A quiet, unassuming place, tucked between rolling hills and rivers that glistened like silver threads. Children chased each other through the streets, merchants shouted their morning calls, and the air smelled faintly of incense.

But the calm was a lie—at least to me.

The moment I set foot past the gates, something inside me twisted.A weight pressed down on my chest, heavy, suffocating, and primal. It was not the gaze of soldiers or villagers, nor the unease of strangers. It was hunger—an unseen presence with the purest, most distilled lust to kill I had ever felt. The aura seeped into the streets like invisible smoke, and for an instant I thought my knees would buckle beneath it.

Yet no one else reacted. Annya's face carried relief, Amilia was simply curious about the town, and the villagers moved with easy smiles. Only I felt the suffocating shadow.

So I kept quiet.

Annya led us through the streets with purpose. "There's a healer I trust here," she explained, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "She'll help with your wounds."

We arrived at a small building at the edge of the marketplace. Its entrance was framed with dried herbs, bells tinkling softly when the door opened. Inside, the scent of medicinal roots and oils filled the air.

A woman in her late thirties stepped forward, wiping her hands with a cloth. She was tall, with sharp, intelligent eyes that softened the moment she saw Annya.

"Hikari," Annya said warmly, bowing her head. "It's been too long."

"Annya…" The healer's expression lit up with surprise and affection. She rushed forward, clasping Annya's hands. "By the gods, you've grown."

Her eyes soon fell on me, on the half-healed cuts along my arms, the faded bruises beneath my clothes. She clicked her tongue softly and gestured me to sit.

"I'll tend to these," she said with a practiced calm. "It seems you've been through far too much."

I hesitated, but sat down. Her hands moved swiftly, preparing salves and bandages. Yet when she peeled back the cloth from one of my deeper wounds, she froze.

"…These are already closing," she muttered.

Her brows furrowed. "Almost unnaturally so. You shouldn't even be able to walk, and yet…"

I looked away. I couldn't tell her the truth—that the cursed sword was knitting my flesh back together, feeding me strength at the cost of my humanity.

Before I could answer, her lips parted again. "…Jonathan. Is he with you?"

The question cut like a blade. My throat tightened, but before I could speak, Annya stepped in.

"He… could not come with us." Her voice was steady, but her eyes carried the pain of fire and loss. "We'll speak of it later, Hikari. For now, there are supplies we must gather."

Hikari understood at once, though her eyes lingered on me with quiet curiosity. She said nothing more, only finishing her work with a gentle hand.

"Take my apprentice," she finally said, nodding to a young boy in her service. "He'll guide you to the market."

I left with the boy, while Annya and Amilia stayed behind. Amilia insisted she remain here for a few days to learn advanced healing magic. I knew what would happen in my absence—Annya would tell Hikari the truth of Jonathan's fate at least what she knew about it. A part of me dreaded returning, expecting to see judgment in her eyes.

But when I came back hours later, carrying bundles of supplies, Hikari greeted me the same way she had before. No coldness. No distance. Only quiet understanding.

That night, for the first time in what felt like weeks, I slept on a real bed.

The days passed in Henbō Toshi with deceptive calm.Amilia threw herself into study under Hikari's guidance, eager to master every spell and technique she could. Annya spent most of her time quietly organizing supplies and keeping our path forward in mind.

As for me, I withdrew inward.

I returned to my old practice—meditation. Sitting cross-legged in the silence of my room, the cursed sword resting beside me, I closed my eyes and tried to reach into the darkness where the spirit dwelled.

For two days, there was nothing.

No whispers. No visions. Only the faint hum of something sleeping deep within the blade.

Frustration gnawed at me. My wounds had healed, yes, but at what cost? Was the spirit waiting for me to call it in desperation again? Or was it watching, mocking, refusing to answer until I bent my will?

On the third night, everything changed.

I was again there—the field of ashes with white-red sky.And the sword spirit—tall, jagged, blacker than void, with burning cracks across its skin like molten scars. No face. But this time something had changed. The rage which it wore like flesh—I couldn't feel it. And the bloodlust… it was almost hidden.