The rice fields stretched across the western edge of the village, their golden stalks swaying gently under a dusky sky. At a distance, it was serene—a pastoral painting of calm and bounty. Yet as Ryuken and Ayame approached, that tranquility quickly shattered.

Smoke curled into the air, mingling with the scent of burnt wood. Farmers huddled at the edges of the field, their faces pale with fear, their cries echoing faintly across the plains.

“It’s them,” whispered an elderly farmer as Ryuken strode past, his sharp gaze already scanning the horizon. “They came out of nowhere…”

“They’re just bandits,” another villager muttered, as though convincing himself. “A little tougher than usual, but—”

Ayame’s sapphire eyes narrowed as she stopped beside Ryuken. “Bandits don’t usually leave villages burning without taking anything,” she murmured. “And they’re terrible at hiding their presence.”

Ryuken nodded faintly, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana. “Something’s wrong here.”

At the far end of the fields, figures moved among the smoke—bandits, a dozen or more. Their tattered clothes and ragged armor made them look like common raiders, but there was something unsettling about the way they moved. Their jerking, disjointed motions were unnatural, as though their bodies resisted every step they took.

“We go in together,” Ryuken said quietly, drawing his blade. The soft shing of his katana slicing through the air sent a chill across the field.

Ayame’s lips curved into a determined smile. “Try to keep up.”

And with that, they moved.

The bandits turned as Ryuken and Ayame burst into the clearing, their movements slow to react—as if they weren’t expecting opposition. Ryuken was the first to strike, vanishing into a blur of speed. When he reappeared, two of the raiders fell with clean, precise slashes across their chests.

Ayame followed with grace, her kunai whistling through the air before embedding in the throat of a third bandit. She spun forward, her movements fluid, her strikes landing with deadly precision. Her sapphire eyes glimmered with focus as another fell, clutching at the gash along his side.

“Too easy,” she muttered, catching a kunai in her hand as she prepared for more.

But then the impossible happened.

The bandits began to rise.

Ryuken stopped mid-step, his sharp gaze locking onto the raider he’d just felled. The man’s body twitched violently before he pushed himself off the ground, the deep gash across his chest slowly knitting back together. Ayame’s kunai-stuck victim did the same, rising with the weapon still embedded in his neck.

“What…?” Ayame whispered, her confident smirk vanishing.

“They’re regenerating,” Ryuken said, his voice low but steady.

The bandits turned to face them again, their hollow eyes devoid of reason, their movements more inhuman than before. One lunged at Ryuken with unnatural speed, his mouth gaping in a soundless snarl. Ryuken met him head-on, blade flashing. This time, the cut was deeper—severing an arm clean from the shoulder. Yet, even as the limb hit the ground, the stump began to reform.

“They’re not human,” Ryuken muttered.

“They’re not alive, either,” Ayame added, ducking under a bandit’s swing and slashing a kunai across his legs. It barely slowed him. “We need to end this quickly!”

“Then we burn them.”

Ryuken’s voice was resolute as he glanced at the surrounding fields. “Smoke spreads, fire kills. If their flesh regenerates, we’ll see if their ashes can.”

“Very dramatic.” Ayame’s teasing tone returned for just a moment, but she nodded. “I’ll keep them busy. You light it up.”

Without hesitation, Ryuken moved, slashing down another bandit to clear his path. Ayame leapt into the fray, spinning and flipping between her enemies, a storm of daggers and kunai keeping the bandits distracted.

Ryuken reached a nearby cart of firewood and oil left by the farmers. He grabbed a lantern, smashed it against the cart, and within seconds, flames roared to life. With a swift kick, he sent the burning wood rolling toward the bandits.

“Out of the way, Ayame!”

She flipped backward just as the flames engulfed the clearing, consuming the regenerating bodies in a sea of orange and black. The bandits flailed as their bodies burned, their inhuman screeches finally piercing the air. Smoke thickened, blotting out the setting sun as the fire spread, licking at the rice stalks.

Ryuken and Ayame stood side by side, watching as the unnatural bandits were reduced to ash.

As the fire died down and the smoke began to clear, Ryuken sheathed his katana, his brows furrowed. “That wasn’t natural.”

Ayame knelt beside the charred remains, poking at them cautiously with a kunai. “Regenerating bodies? That’s not something ordinary bandits can do.” She stood, brushing ash from her hands. “We’ve seen demon corruption before, but this… this was different.”

Ryuken nodded. “We need answers.”

“And I know just who to ask,” Ayame replied, a knowing glint in her sapphire eyes. “He owes us a favor, anyway.”

Ryuken’s brow rose slightly. “You mean him?”

“The one and only,” Ayame said with a playful smile. “Takeshi Kuroya—‘The Hermit of the Black Peak.’”

Takeshi Kuroya was no ordinary man. A scholar, alchemist, and recluse, he lived in isolation at the foot of the Black Peak, surrounded by his books and bizarre experiments. He was an old acquaintance of Ryuken and Ayame, though he only revealed his secrets to those he trusted—if such a word could ever apply to him.

Ryuken sighed softly. “I suppose it’s time to pay him a visit.”

Ayame stretched, her movements graceful despite the exhaustion tugging at her. “Let’s go. The faster we get there, the better. If those things are spreading, we’re going to need every bit of knowledge he has.”