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At that same moment, deep beneath the village—the emergency shelter lay packed with children.

Every single one had been evacuated. They sat in huddled silence, knees clutched to their chests, backs pressed against the cold stone floor. Not a word was spoken. Not a whisper stirred the air. Even their breathing had grown careful, deliberate—barely audible.

Most were barely into their double digits. But they were children of the Hero Village and the Keikain Clan. Kids raised on stories of youkai invasions and spirit purges. Even without a full grasp of what was happening outside, they understood one thing:

Battles meant blood. And blood meant death.

There was no such thing as a "safe fight." If this really was something they could handle safely, then why evacuate the children at all? They would've turned it into a live training exercise.

And that demon in the shrine—sealed for decades by the cursed blade Brynhildr, if it could've been killed, someone would've done it by now.

No, the truth was obvious.

The people still fighting out there... probably weren't coming back.

❁❁❁❁

"Um..."

A whisper, so small it barely broke the silence piped up from somewhere in the room.

It came from a little girl, no more than four or five years old, her voice as soft and tentative as a kitten's pawstep. Despite her age, her delicate features already hinted at future beauty—cool, calm, composed.

She used her tiny frame to crawl quietly across the room like a cat, stopping at the Nonaka sisters' side and gently tugging at Yuki's sleeve.

"Kurumi-nee... Yuki-nee... have you seen Bokue-nii?"

"Eh?" Kurumi flinched, startled—but when she saw who it was, the tension in her brow softened into a smile.

"Yura-chan... Bokue-nii dropped us off first, remember? He said he was going back out to help."

"Help..." Yura echoed, thinking hard about the word. Then her eyes lifted, clear and solemn.

"So that means... Bokue-nii is fighting the Demon right now?"

"Uh... yeah." Kurumi hesitated, then forced a reassuring smile. "But don't worry too much, okay? Bokue-nii is the Acting Head, remember? He's super strong. Even Takashi can't beat him, so he'll be fine, I'm sure—"

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

Her words cut off instantly as loud, frantic banging erupted above them, the sharp knock of wood-on-wood echoing through the shelter like a gunshot.

Several children gasped and instinctively covered their ears, curling tighter into themselves.

Thankfully, the elder who had overseen the evacuation stood up. He was far too old to fight, but that made him perfect for this role—keeping the kids calm and safe, far from the battlefield.

"Don't panic," the elder said gently. "If it were the demon, it wouldn't knock. That has to be one of ours."

His calm words settled the room immediately.

He made his way to the staircase, slowly climbing up toward the trapdoor hidden beneath layers of animal hide. With practiced caution, he lifted the edge just enough to peek through.

Several soot-smeared, panting faces met his gaze—bloodied but alive.

"You're back," the elder sighed, finally exhaling the breath he'd been holding.

He pushed the cover fully open and waved them in.

The survivors tumbled down the steps like hunted animals, collapsing onto the cold floor the second they were inside. Their weapons clattered to the ground. They panted like runners who'd just outraced death.

"Elder... do you have any water? Medicine?" one of them asked through gasps. "We need to patch up fast..."

"I'll get it." The elder nodded and turned to fetch the supplies, but asked one last question over his shoulder.

"What about the demon? Did you take it down?"

"No... it went somewhere else. We barely made it out alive."

They exchanged glances—perfectly rehearsed. That was the lie they'd agreed on during the retreat.

It wasn't unreasonable. After all, if the villagers had ever been strong enough to kill the demon, they wouldn't have sealed it in the shrine like a cursed time bomb in the first place.

So no one expected them to win. Just surviving and luring the threat elsewhere? That was already a "win" in the eyes of common sense.

But then—another voice rang out.

A young girl's voice.

"Where's Bokue?" Yuki asked, her tone flat, her eyes unmoving. She'd been watching the door the whole time. Watching. Waiting.

But Bokue never came in.

"He said he was going to help you."

"Bokue...? You mean, Keikain's Acting Head?" one of the men said, feigning confusion.

"Oh. That's weird," another added quickly. "He was with us on the way back, wasn't he? Maybe he just... fell behind?"

He didn't even look at her. Just pretended to scan the room, as if searching for a face they both knew wasn't there.

Yuki's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her pupils shrank. Her whole body trembled.

"You... left him behind?"

❁❁❁❁

BANG!

The trapdoor exploded open a second later—no gentleness this time. The animal hide flew clear off the top as Yuki surged up the stairs, gripping a sword far too large for her body.

It wasn't even hers—just some cast-off weapon someone had dropped. She didn't care.

She didn't listen to the elder shouting after her. She didn't hear Kurumi's panicked cries. She was already sprinting for the training grounds.

And when she arrived—

The world ended.

The earth was soaked red, the corpses piled high. Severed limbs and crushed torsos littered the battlefield in a grotesque mountain of flesh and blood. It looked less like a battleground and more like a massacre—a monument of death.

And at the summit of that grisly hill.

A boy.

Covered in blood. One hand gripped the hilt of Brynhildr, the cursed blade buried in the slope beneath him. The other arm rested on a bent knee, fist still clenched. His chin propped lazily on his hand.

Beneath him, serving as his makeshift throne—was the severed head of the demon.

He was sitting there.

Quiet. Still.

Passed out cold. Because after slaughtering the entire cursed army.

And the demon that led them—

Bokue Keikain had finally fallen asleep.

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