Thick snow outside the outpost had finally begun to ease. The breaking clouds let moonlight spill down, turning the ground into an expanse of frosted white.
"Awwooo."
"Awwooo."
At the entrance of the cave the Dog Demons traded the midnight guard shift.
One of them lay at the entrance, away from the warmth of the fire. A gust of wind and snow ruffled his fur and sent a chill through him; he howled once.
"Even bad weather isn't a guarantee the enemy won't try something. Stay sharp, keep your guard up."
A hushed voice came from farther in, and the dogs held their breaths, flattening themselves to the ground. They sniffed the air while their eyes watched the wind-swept distance.
The world around them was washed in white; bleak and lonely.
Tōga had spent time honing his demonic power and, after a new understanding of its nature, was close to reaching the rank of middle-level yōkai. He rested a hand on the sword at his waist—a fang-forged blade passed down by the elders of his clan—and stood at the cave mouth.
This was a border outpost; some things still deserved earnest attention. Yōkai could not be judged by ordinary rules.
Heavy snow could stop low-level yōkai, but it was no match for a mid-level one.
Dog Demon outposts, except for hidden sentries, were built in plain sight.
Tōga's post had been set midway up the mountain, directly opposite the territory of the Leopard Cat Tribe.
Thick woods lay under the snow; in moonlight their swaying branches looked like a crowd of dark, dancing shadows.
Below the mountainside, the dog clan had cleared a patch of ground so the outpost's view would be unobstructed—nothing for cunning Leopard Cats to sneak through unseen.
"There's the feeling someone's watching me from the dark… is that a Leopard Cat?"
Tōga twitched his nostrils. Scents drifted in the air as usual; his sight found no anomalies.
"Maybe farther out?"
He showed no expression, reminded his subordinates a few plain things, then stepped back into the cave.
After that, Kujaku—still training, slipped away through a hidden exit at the back of the outpost.
From the deep woods, Tōran—who almost blended into the snow, watched Tōga walk into the outpost until his figure vanished, then she turned and slipped back to her own post.
"Big sister, do we attack their pups now?" the small, brown-haired Shunran asked inside the outpost, her flower hairpin bobbing as she leapt into Tōran's arms.
"Not tonight."
Tōran cradled the child-bodied Shunran and sat by the fire.
Around them the leopard-cat warriors, already ready for battle, crouched on their haunches, silent and attentive to Tōran's command.
"Why not? The worse the weather, the more it should help you, right?" Shunran asked, puzzled.
Tōran's nature leaned toward icy power—she fought best in snow and cold. The storm outside could nearly double her strength; among middle-level yōkai she would confidently stand in the lead.
"True," Tōran said, "but that dog called Tōga always gives me a very dangerous feeling. It's like—" she frowned, struggling to put the unease into words.
She shifted the subject. "We can kill the dogs any time. No need to rush. Wait until Karan and Shūran arrive, then we'll strike together and teach those dogs a lesson."
"Shunran, practice your illusions. Try to make it so we can sneak right under their noses."
"Don't worry, big sister."
Shunran, whose power bent toward trickery and illusion, lifted her small head in Tōran's lap, bangs bouncing slightly. Her big eyes sparkled with confidence.
"That's better. No matter how strong that odd Tōga is, he's at most a middle-level yōkai."
Tōran waved her hand in the air with finality. "They'll be here within seven days at the latest. When the four of us join forces, we'll wipe those dogs out."
A long, excited cry rolled out—"Meow!"—and carried into the wind, then was swallowed by the howling snowfall.
Hidden in the shadows, Tōga stood as the wind tossed his hair. His amber-gold eyes watched the unguarded entrance of the Leopard Cat outpost with a thoughtful look, a faint, amused curl at the corner of his mouth.
"What a proud bunch of cats."
Historically, the Leopard Cat Tribe had the upper hand in the Cat–Dog wars. When their lord once led the western provinces, he poured the nation's resources into strengthening his clan—giving them an explosive rise in power.
Across high, middle, and low tiers, the Leopard Cats outnumbered the dog clan several times over.
If not for the Dog Demon Tribe's alliances with other yōkai tribes, they would have been crushed long ago.
So leopard-cats were often the instigators in these wars. Dogs mostly fought back in self-defense, and they were at a disadvantage.
In each cat–dog clash the dog clan paid with heavy bloodshed; every time their momentum was halted by the Leopard Cats.
Even yōkai with blunt motives could see the Leopard Cat lord's intent—slice off the Dog Tribe's young, draining their blood slowly with soft steel.
Over fifty years of war, both tribe' leaders had fought multiple times.
After each battle, the King of the Dogs showed himself to his people for shorter and shorter spans—something the dog elders understood only too well.
Skill could fail you; but the dog tribe's pride and toughness left every one of them burning with a stubborn pride.
Better to die honorably than to live as a broken thing.
Then Tōga came to the Dog tribe.
"With a king ahead and a general behind, the Leopard Cats' days are numbered."
Listening to the Leopard Cats' laughter merged with wind and snow, Tōga's eyes turned cold.
Seven days from now, let the future Four Heavenly Kings [Panther Devas] of the Leopard Cats be buried beneath the dog clan's mountain snows.
The wind still howled. Tōga vanished, and the traces of his presence were swallowed by fresh drifts.
On his way back, Tōga didn't use a hidden path. He tempered his breath and masked his scent, and crept silently down to the foot of the outpost. Only when he was about to climb up was he spotted by the Dogs on duty.
He noticed two of the dogs huddled together for warmth.
Their guard—such slackness, left Tōga unsure how to judge it.
Should he praise his own presence as a source of safety that made his pack careless? Or rebuke his fellows for being too lax?
If it had been anyone else at the door, what would the fate of the outpost have been?
Thinking of Tōran and the others, Tōga fell quiet.
Four young dogs lined up trembling before him. The storm at Tōga's back could not match the chill on his face.
A wordless silence pressed down, forcing the pups' heads lower and lower.
Only when a voice from inside the outpost called out in relief did the icy atmosphere break, and the dogs felt a rush of joy that they were still alive.
"My patience isn't infinite. Incompetence I can accept, but sloppiness is a matter of attitude. If I hear of this again, I'll have you all neutered!"
"Awwooo!"
The frightened pups drew their legs in and, facing the wind and snow, took their posts at the outpost entrance in precise directions.