"Rikou-sama! Look out!"
A fist as massive as a boulder sliced through the air.
With a sharp gleam in his eye, Ashiya Douman ducked low just in time. The force-packed punch whistled over his head, slamming into the steel billboard behind him and blowing a hole clean through.
"My, that was close. This humble monk is but a frail onmyōji—if that had landed, I'd be scattered across the pavement like a dropped pumpkin. Squish~!"
Despite his words of gratitude to fate, Douman's face betrayed not even a sliver of panic—if anything, it seemed like he was mocking the situation.
In Japan, a height of two meters made Douman something of a walking anomaly. Yet the man who had thrown that punch was even bigger—broader, stronger.
A hulking monk in tattered robes, with spiked hair and a necklace strung with skulls.
Douman recognized him immediately. A Nura Clan yōkai—Aotabō the Vowbreaker Monk.
Once a warrior monk, he'd fallen into bloodshed. A high priest had told him: "You must atone. Save one life for every life you've taken. Kill again, and you'll become a demon." So he took in orphans and raised them at a temple. But one day, bandits set fire to the temple and killed the children while Aotabō was away. In his fury, he slaughtered them all—and became a true yōkai.
In terms of raw power, few in the Nura Clan could rival him. A straight-up brawler, like Oikawa Tsurara, sworn to protect Nura Rikuo.
No doubt, he'd attacked Douman under the impression that he was an enemy. With Enchō and Ariyuki gone, Douman—with all his suspicious aura—was the next obvious suspect.
Douman, naturally, understood. After all, everyone at Chaldea who'd seen his face gave the same evaluation:
"He definitely looks like a villain. Don't ask—just punch first."
Trying to make his smile look somewhat friendly, Douman opened his mouth to speak—
And was immediately slashed by blades of light.
His arms. His thighs. His ribs. His chest. His neck.
All of them sprayed fountains of crimson.
And then, before the stunned eyes of the group, Douman's head fell clean off his shoulders and rolled several times across the bloodied rooftop.
He looked about as dead as dead could be. Even among yōkai, few survived decapitation.
"Tsuchigumo?! What the hell did you just do?!"
Rikuo shouted at the figure who had appeared silently behind Douman.
It was Kaji Dōji, a type of kamaitachi from the distant Tōno region. A skilled, silent hunter. Back when Rikuo trained in Tōno, Kaji had often been his sparring partner and emergency backup.
He looked like a black-haired youth with a plaid headband and wrist guards. On his back—six gleaming scythes, though he typically used just two.
"I should be the one asking you, Rikou."
Kaji's voice was low and hard.
"Everyone's out there fighting for their lives. And here you are, wasting time? Where's Enchō?"
"He's already dead. I killed him. The fight is over—we won! ...But that's not the point. Why the hell did you kill Limbo?!"
Rikuo clutched his hair in panic, nearly yanking out a few black-and-white strands.
"He's not the enemy! Why would you and Aotabō attack him?!"
"Eh? He's not?"
Aotabō looked completely lost.
"...You sure you're not being duped, Rikou?"
Kaji blinked, then frowned thoughtfully.
"That guy looks evil. Feels evil. Just one look at him and I instinctively wanted to run. If I hadn't known what Enchō looked like, I'd have thought he was the mastermind behind all this. Plus, I only acted because Aotabō struck first."
"So… it's my fault?!"
Aotabō panicked.
To him, Rikuo wasn't just a comrade—he was the heir, the lord, the next leader of the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. So if Rikuo said Douman wasn't an enemy—he believed him.
But Kaji was different. To him, Rikuo was both a trusted ally and still a greenhorn in many ways. He'd watched Rikuo grow from a boy who couldn't even wield fear to the man he was now. That meant Kaji didn't follow blindly—he always applied his own judgment.
"But Limbo really isn't the enemy! In fact, he helped us! A lot!"
Rikuo quickly explained.
"He stopped Enchō from escaping, gave me the chance to finish him. He wiped out dozens of enemy yōkai. Yes, he doesn't exactly look trustworthy, but—"
Hearing this, Aotabō and Kaji exchanged a look.
…Had they just killed a friendly?
"Mmmmmm… Rikou-dono, how touching. I'm moved. Truly I am. If only you'd left out that last sentence."
The voice made everyone flinch.
In an instant, Aotabō and Kaji were back at Rikuo's side, on guard.
"Mmmmmm… please don't look at me like I'm some vengeful ghost. You'll make me blush~"
Under their shocked gazes, the beheaded Douman stood up, dusted off his robes, then used his foot to flip his own head into the air—caught it—and calmly reattached it to his neck.
"Ta-da~! This humble monk returns from the dead! How about some applause?"
He clapped a few times himself. When no one joined in, he shrugged and explained:
"This is just a shikigami body. Feel free to maul it as much as you like—I won't die. Truly, I don't mind."
"A… shikigami?"
Aotabō rubbed his chin. "So, onmyōjutsu, huh…"
"Indeed! This humble monk's arts are… invincible~!"
Rikuo and the others had mixed feelings about onmyōji.
On one hand, they'd fought alongside the Keikain Clan during the Kyoto battle against Hagoromo Gitsune.
On the other hand… their greatest current enemy, Abe no Seimei, was also an onmyōji.
And Douman, with all his theatrical menace, absolutely looked like a final boss.
But he had helped them. That was fact.
So—for now—they'd accept him.
Thanks to Douman's [Malevolent Shrine], all the Hyaku Monogatari yōkai in Tokyo had been eradicated. Enchō, their leader, was dead—cut down by Rikuo himself.
But Enchō's legacy remained: the fear stolen from the Nura Clan, the innocent casualties of this chaos, the human malice now directed at Rikuo...
Even with dawn on the horizon, even with victory within reach…
BOOM!
Tsurara lost her footing and nearly fell—only to be caught by Rikuo.
"R-Rikou-sama!"
She blushed, feeling the warmth of his palm through her sleeve.
But Rikuo wasn't distracted.
"What the hell was that?!"
"An earthquake?"
"Dammit—don't tell me Enchō left one last trick?!"
They were clearly all traumatized by Enchō's schemes. One tremor, and everyone assumed it was him—even though his head was rolling in the gutter.
Which, in fairness, said a lot about how effective his chaos had been.
But this time… it wasn't Enchō.
Though it was sort of his fault.
The earth trembled again—louder this time, as if something massive was rising from beneath.
"RRROOOOOOAAARRR!"
The ground split wide open. From the fissure poured forth pure malice—thick and black enough to blot out the sky.
"Can't see anything… Can't hear anything…"
"Damn you, Nura Clan… I will never be destroyed!"
It was an abomination—shapeless, bodiless, formed from grudge alone.
Like a moth bursting from its cocoon, it clawed out from the depths. Like a ghost crawling from hell, it broke through the earth.
Dust and debris rained from its grotesque body. It was bloated—large enough to crush buildings just by standing.
"What the hell is that thing?!"
Rikuo's expression was grave. He didn't know what it was—but every instinct screamed:
Very, very bad.
"The Demon King, Sanmoto Gorōzaemon."
Rikuo spun around. Douman smiled.
"Three hundred years ago, your father slew him. Sanmoto, the true leader of the Hyaku Monogatari Clan. To resurrect himself, he even conspired with Seimei in hell—used his Left Eye to guide Hagoromo Gitsune and give birth to Seimei again."
"How do you know—?"
Rikuo began to ask, but stopped himself.
It didn't matter.
Whoever—or whatever—it was, it was headed toward Nura Clan headquarters.
They had to stop it.
Rikuo and the others took off running.
Douman watched them go, unconcerned.
After all… he was the one who resurrected Sanmoto Gorōzaemon.
He'd implanted the Brain into the prepared vessel, fueled it with the fear collected in the Hyakki Tea Kettle, and lit the fuse.
The revival had succeeded.
But with all his yōkai bodies destroyed, Sanmoto was a shell.
A big, scary-looking shell—but nothing more.
Even Rikuo, as he was now, could cut him down.
And that was exactly what Douman wanted.
"A calamity-spawning demon king. A hero who slays him at dawn."
"Now, if I just spread the right stories… public opinion will shift. People will stop hating Nura Rikuo."
"Fufufu… Truly, only this humble monk could mastermind something so elegant."
"If only someone could appreciate my tireless devotion. Being the unsung hero is so unrewarding. I'd much rather be the villain behind the curtain. Now that's where the joy lies~"
Sanmoto, meanwhile, stomped through the city like a kaiju on an Ultraman set.
Each step caused tremors. A single swing could topple a building. A roar—lethal enough to kill.
People "died" constantly—crushed by debris, thrown into chasms, vaporized by sound.
Of course… those were all Douman's shikigami.
He'd evacuated the humans long ago.
The dead kept rotating costumes and "roles" so they could reappear elsewhere in the next scene.
"Extras are important, you know. Without them, the audience won't feel the scale. It's like a zombie movie without enough zombies—it just doesn't land."
And just as he predicted, Rikuo rose to the moment.
Unleashing the full power of Hyakki Yakō, Rikuo performed the technique Oni Gari—a fusion between the clan head and his subordinates, channeling their fear into his blade.
Said to have been created by Rikuo's father, Nurarihyon no Rihan, Oni Gari could only be performed by a human-yōkai hybrid.
With Tsurara as his partner, Rikuo launched a devastating slash—and felled the Demon King Sanmoto Gorōzaemon in a single blow.
Naturally, Douman recorded the entire spectacle.
Proof that Rikuo was a hero, not a harbinger of doom.
Of course, Douman wasn't foolish enough to believe this would silence everyone.
There would always be detractors—fools eager to shout contrarian nonsense.
They'd always existed. The internet just gave them a place to gather.
All Douman had to do… was guide the mainstream narrative.
After all, people were creatures of herd instinct. They didn't care about truth—just about venting emotion. They'd latch onto any excuse to justify it.
Consequences? Bah.
If everyone else is doing it, it can't be my fault.
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T/N: so true king