Chapter 3: The Girl with the Black Arrow

"So, dual-wielding, huh?" I said, poking Kizawa in the ribs as we strolled through the town's market. "Getting a little flashy in your old age?"

The market was alive with noise and color. Merchants shouted about their wares, the smell of grilled fish and sweet dumplings hung in the air, and kids ran around chasing chickens. It was a world away from the demon-infested forests I usually prowled.

Kizawa dodged my poke. "It's not flashy, it's efficient. Twice the blades, twice the demon-slaying power. It's simple math."

"Uh-huh. I bet you just practiced in front of a mirror for hours, trying to get the 'cool guy' pose right," I teased.

He just grinned, not denying it. "Maybe. A guy's gotta have a signature move."

We fell into a comfortable silence, picking up the rice and, yes, Grandpa's hair dye. It was strange. Five years was a long time, but with Kizawa, it felt like five minutes. We were already finishing each other's sentences and arguing over which type of dango was superior (strawberry, obviously; he was a heathen for preferring matcha).

As we were about to head home, a commotion near the town's notice board caught our attention. A crowd had gathered, their voices a worried murmur. We pushed our way to the front to see what was going on.

Pinned to the board was a new bounty notice. It described a demon that had been terrorizing the farmlands east of town - a Harionago. Not a super high-level demon, but a tricky one. An advance-level threat. She appeared as a beautiful woman with extremely long hair, which she could control like sharp, metallic tentacles. Her favorite pastime was luring young men to their doom.

"Harionago," Kizawa said, his voice low. "Nasty pieces of work. That hair is no joke; it can slice through wood, let alone people."

"The bounty is pretty high," I noted, looking at the sum. "They must be getting desperate."

An old farmer in the crowd turned to us, his face etched with worry. "It's her speed! She's too fast. By the time the town guard gets there, she's gone. All that's left is… well, you can imagine."

Speed. That was the problem. You couldn't fight what you couldn't catch. My daggers were for close combat, and Kizawa's swords were the same. We could handle her if we got close, but getting close was the hard part.

"We need a ranged fighter," Kizawa concluded, echoing my thoughts. "Someone who can pin her down from a distance."

My mind immediately jumped to one person. Long, flowing black hair. Eyes that saw everything. A laugh that could be either sweet or mocking, depending on her mood.

"Erima," I breathed.

Kizawa's eyes lit up. "You think she's still around?"

"Her family never moved," I said, a new energy buzzing through me. "They own the archery dojo on the edge of town. Come on!"

We practically ran there, the bag of rice bouncing on Kizawa's back. The dojo looked exactly the same - a beautifully maintained building with paper screens and a sprawling practice ground out back. We could hear the rhythmic thwack of arrows hitting their targets.

We rounded the corner and saw her.

Erima stood alone in the center of the range, a longbow in her hand. She was even more beautiful than I remembered, with a calm, focused intensity that was almost intimidating. Her form was perfect. She drew the bowstring back, her movements fluid and economical, held her breath for a half-second, and released. The black-fletched arrow flew with an almost silent whoosh and embedded itself in the dead center of a target a hundred paces away. Right next to a dozen other arrows that were also in the bullseye.

"Show off," I called out with a grin.

Erima lowered her bow, a slow, cunning smile spreading across her lips. "Mizuki. And Kizawa. Look what the cat dragged in. I thought you'd fallen off the face of the earth, Blue-boy."

Kizawa flushed slightly. "Hey, Erima. Long time no see. You've… uh… gotten really good."

"I was always good," she corrected him smoothly, propping her bow against her hip. "Now I'm just better. What do you two want? I doubt this is just a social call."

Erima was always direct. Cunning, agile, and she never wasted words. It was one of the things I loved about her.

I held up the bounty notice. "We need an archer. A very, very good one."

Her dark eyes scanned the paper, taking in every detail. She tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. "A Harionago. Fast. Likes to play with her food. You two can't catch her on your own; you'll just get tired and then she'll pick you apart."

"That's the conclusion we came to," Kizawa admitted.

"So you came to me," Erima finished. She looked from me to Kizawa, then back again. A flicker of the old days, of our three-person team, passed between us. "The bounty's good. But that's not why you're doing this, is it?"

"She's hurting people," I said simply. "That's reason enough."

Erima's smile softened. "Same old Mizuki. Always the righteous protector." She slung her quiver over her shoulder. "Alright, I'm in. It's been a while since I had a decent challenge. Besides," she added, her eyes glinting with mischief, "I want to see if Kizawa's fancy new two-sword style is actually useful or just for show."

"It's useful!" he protested, but we were already ignoring him.

We decided to set our trap that night. The Harionago was last seen near an old, abandoned mill by a creek. We figured she'd be back. Kizawa and I would act as bait, pretending to be a young couple out for a romantic, and incredibly stupid, nighttime stroll. Erima would be our ace in the hole.

She found a perch in a tall, leafy tree overlooking the mill, melting into the shadows until she was completely invisible. "Just lure her into the open," she'd whispered to us before climbing. "I'll handle the rest."

The waiting was the worst part. The moon was high and bright, casting long shadows that played tricks on the eyes. Kizawa and I walked slowly, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.

"So… a couple, huh?" Kizawa mumbled, looking anywhere but at me.

"Just play along, Blue-boy," I hissed. "Try to look… lovesick or something."

"How do I do that?"

"I don't know! Stare at me like I'm a perfectly grilled steak!"

Suddenly, we heard it. A soft, melodic humming coming from the direction of the old mill. A figure emerged from the shadows. It was a woman in a pale kimono, her face beautiful but unnervingly blank. Her black hair cascaded down her back, so long it almost brushed the ground. The Harionago.

"Lost, little ones?" she asked, her voice like honey and poison.

"Uh, no, we're fine," Kizawa said, trying and failing to sound casual.

The demon smiled, and it didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, I think you are. You look so… delicious."

In an instant, her hair shot towards us, not like hair, but like a dozen glistening, sharp-tipped spears. We dove apart, Kizawa drawing his swords and me my daggers.

"Now, Erima!" I screamed.

An arrow, black as night, whistled out of the darkness and pinned a thick lock of the demon's hair to the mill's wooden wall. The Harionago shrieked in surprise and pain, whipping her head around. Another arrow flew, pinning a different section of her hair to a tree on the other side. And another, and another.

Erima's shots were impossibly fast and accurate. Within seconds, the demon was trapped, her own hair pinning her in place like a fly in a spider's web. She thrashed and roared, her beautiful face twisting into a mask of pure rage.

"Nice shooting!" Kizawa yelled.

"Just get it done!" Erima's voice called back from the trees.

The demon wasn't helpless. She still had some free-moving tendrils of hair that she lashed out with, forcing us to stay on our toes. But she was immobilized. Her biggest advantage was gone.

"Together?" I asked, looking at Kizawa.

He nodded, a fierce grin on his face. "Together."

We charged.