The next morning, the first ray of sunlight spilled across the bedside, casting a faint golden spot.
The four a.m. sun.
Minamoto Soujun awoke right on time, refined his cursed energy, and moved his body around in the courtyard.
Today, he had no plans to go out.
The cursed womb he captured yesterday was still waiting for him to deal with.
After calmly finishing his daily training, Soujun returned to the living room. The cursed womb sat cross-legged on the wooden floor in one corner. Since yesterday, it had remained in that exact posture.
Its locust-like head was stiff and expressionless, showing no trace of emotion. It could no longer display any expression at all.
When Soujun assimilated it, he had already eroded away its spirit and will. Now, its state was no different from a vegetative patient—more precisely, a vegetative curse. It possessed nothing but the quality of being "alive," without any autonomous ability to act.
All of its behavior was controlled by Soujun through the crimson strand of hair pierced into the back of its skull.
Since beginning his research into Flyhead assimilation, this ability had gradually matured.
As long as he implanted his own flesh cells into a living target, those cells would treat the body as a breeding ground, frantically devouring its nutrients, growing stronger, eroding and consuming the host, and finally taking its place.
The host still lived, but would be completely assimilated into Soujun's form—except for the head, which he deliberately left intact.
When even the soul was reshaped, that meant Soujun had completely occupied it. Its cursed energy, soul, and body would belong wholly to him.
At that point, it was like having an external limb—something he could control flawlessly while still retaining its innate technique.
The only flaw was that the two had to maintain close contact. The crimson hair connecting them had to remain active, or else once control was lost, the flesh would collapse and the soul scatter on the spot.
The cursed womb was now in the middle of this assimilation process.
As for the Flyhead, assimilation was complete. It now looked exactly like a scaled-down Soujun. The only difference was that on its back, the pair of gray-white wings remained, resembling chicken wings.
The Flyhead was frail, without any technique or special ability, so Soujun had simply assimilated it entirely. Since he had not erased its spirit or will, the wings remained as its personal symbol.
He watched as the Flyhead darted around in the sky. Though it wore the appearance of a fine-boned young man, its demeanor was sly and vulgar, its expression shifty, and its eyes shone with a calculating glint.
Soujun's face darkened. With a thought, he seized control of the Flyhead's body. He made it circle smoothly overhead, adjusting and gliding with great ease.
He had to admit, the experience of flying was exhilarating. Soaring through the air carried a sense of freedom and joy, as though all paths were open to him.
After flying to his fill, he slowly descended, stopping in front of his true body. The wings flapped occasionally to keep it hovering in place.
Soujun frowned in thought…
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