He took Sakura's hand and pointed it towards Kariya Matou, who was writhing on the ground like a worm, unable to even resist.
"This is for the good of us all," he added, his tone as soft as a lullaby, yet the content was so bloody it was appalling.
"Sakura, are you willing? Are you willing, to protect Uncle Kanjuro... to protect yourself... to end this nightmare with your own hands?"
Jeanne's pupils contracted to the size of pinpoints! She finally understood what Kanjuro's so-called'surprise' was! He wasn't going to make Jeanne do it, nor was he going to kill Kariya immediately. His ultimate goal was to make this girl, whom Kariya had protected with his life, stain her own hands with her protector's blood! To have this 'protection' complete its final, perverse, ironic, and despairing closure!
Kariya Matou's body trembled violently, not from fear of death, but from terror of this outcome, ten thousand times more horrifying than death! He stared fixedly at Sakura, a discordant whimper escaping his throat, as if pleading 'don't... do it.'
Sakura froze. She looked at the familiar yet strange 'Uncle Kariya' on the ground, at his terrifying, worm-covered appearance, then looked up at the 'weakened' 'Uncle Kanjuro' who needed her protection. Immense fear and absolute trust in Kanjuro waged a fierce war within her young heart.
Kanjuro didn't rush her. He simply gazed at her with those deep, soul-sucking eyes, quietly, filled with 'trust.'
Finally, amidst the deathly silence, under Kariya Matou's gaze of utter despair, the confusion and fear in Sakura's eyes gradually transformed into... a twisted kind of 'resolve.'
She gave a slight nod and answered in a voice as faint as a mosquito's hum, yet crystal clear:
"...I... I am willing."
She took hold of a short, bizarrely shaped dagger glinting coldly—wreathed in ominous dark energy—that Kanjuro had produced from somewhere.
Then, this girl, bewitched by a demon, gripped the murder weapon and, step by step, walked towards the man who had once treasured her above all and was willing to sacrifice everything for her.
Jeanne closed her eyes, unable to watch any longer. She knew Kanjuro had won, completely and utterly. He had not only destroyed Kariya Matou's body and will, but had also defiled the last pure sanctuary in his heart, twisting the purest dependence into the deadliest blade.
And Kanjuro, standing behind Sakura, watching her small yet resolute back, finally revealed an undisguised, satisfied, and delighted smile that belonged to the abyss.
In the Worm Den, a deathly silence pervaded, broken only by the faint squirming of Crest Worms and Lancelot's suppressed, death-rattle-like growls. Sakura, holding the dagger wreathed in ominous darkness, walked step by step towards Kariya Matou, who lay collapsed on the ground. She looked at his body, covered in Crest Worms, twitching slightly, smelled the foul, putrid stench, and swallowed hard, fear coiling around her heart like icy vines.
But when she looked back and saw 'Uncle Kanjuro,' 'weakly' leaning against a broken wall, gazing at her with eyes full of 'trust' and 'encouragement,' a twisted courage supported her. She had to protect Uncle Kanjuro! She had to end this 'nightmare'!
Kariya Matou seemed to sense her approach. He gave up all futile struggle, slowly, laboriously closing his eyes. Strangely, on that face contorted with pain and agony, a trace of a nearly serene smile appeared—the calm of one who has reached the pinnacle of despair. Using his last ounce of strength, his voice was faint yet clear:
"Sakura... to die by your hand... seems... not so bad..."
This smile, these words, made Sakura freeze, her hand pausing mid-swing. Puzzled, she looked back at Kanjuro. "Uncle Kanjuro... Uncle Kariya... he's smiling? Has he... repented?"
A meaningful, cruelly playful smile appeared on Kanjuro's face. He looked at Kariya Matou and asked loudly, "Kariya, have you repented? For all you've done."
Kariya Matou kept his eyes tightly shut, but the trace of despairing smile at the corner of his mouth deepened. He sneered coldly, mustering his last shred of pride, "Repent? I... have done nothing wrong... why should I repent...!"
This stubborn, unyielding 'denial' completely shattered the last faint trace of hesitation and inexplicable stirring in Sakura's heart. She lowered her head sadly, tears welling up and dripping onto the cold, filthy ground. "If... if Uncle Kariya knew he was wrong... I wouldn't kill you... I'm sorry... Uncle Kariya..." She wept, as if apologizing for what she was about to do, yet firmly believing it was 'right.'
Then, she hesitated no longer. Her mind echoed with Uncle Kariya's bizarre, incomprehensible dying smile; her heart filled with the resolve to protect Uncle Kanjuro. She closed her eyes tightly, and with her entire body's weight and twisted conviction, she swung down the dark dagger—
Thud!
The muffled sound of the blade slicing through flesh was especially jarring in the silence.
Warm, strangely pungent liquid splattered onto Sakura's face and clothes. She could even feel the sensation of the dagger cutting through something both tough and fragile. The listless Crest Worms on the ground seemed to sense their host's life rapidly fading and frantically tried to swarm towards Sakura. However, they were blocked by the invisible barrier Kanjuro had secretly placed around her and her own unwavering, resolute stance, reduced to futile writhing at her feet.
Sakura kept her eyes tightly shut, not daring to open them. Her small hand gripped the dagger tightly, her whole body trembling violently.
Jeanne watched all this coldly—the small figure standing in the pool of blood, the worm-infested body gradually losing its vitality. Finally, her gaze, sharp as an icicle, pierced towards Kanjuro, her voice devoid of any warmth:
"Are you satisfied?"
Kanjuro slowly straightened up. The feigned 'weakness' on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a lazy, profound satisfaction born of ultimate pleasure. He chuckled softly, his gaze sweeping over Kariya Matou's corpse before returning to Jeanne, shaking his head:
"Satisfied? No, Jeanne, this is far... from enough."
His gaze passed over Jeanne, landing on Matou Zouken, who had been standing by like the most loyal hyena all along. At this moment, the old Magician was staring with a mix of greed, awe, and intense fervor at Kariya Matou's gradually cooling corpse, from which a certain 'origin' was beginning to separate.
"Zouken," Kanjuro's voice carried a lazy, almost bestowing tone, "Kariya is dead. The 'Curse Mark' origin within him, which has fused deeply with the Crest Worms and advanced further, I bestow upon you. It is for you to... inherit and 'carry forward.'"
Upon hearing this, Matou Zouken's withered body trembled violently with excitement. He practically threw himself to the ground, prostrating himself in the most humble, fanatical posture, kowtowing with a hoarse, fawning voice:
"Thank you, Lord Kanjuro! Thank you for your grace, Lord Kanjuro!! This old man... will certainly live up to your expectations!"
Kanjuro looked at his groveling, dust-level humility and revealed a smile that was almost childishly 'innocent' yet utterly chilling:
"Heehee, don't worry~ Once I obtain the Holy Grail, I'll help you resurrect your Saint of Winter! I never break my promises!"
"Lord Kanjuro... You... You are the supreme deity!!" Matou Zouken was so moved that old tears streamed down his face, kowtowing incessantly, even bruising his forehead, as if worshipping a true god.
And Kanjuro, basking in this twisted adoration, turned his gaze once more to Sakura, standing dumbly in the pool of blood, her eyes still tightly shut, and to the corpse that Matou Zouken was greedily approaching, preparing to extract its 'inheritance.'
One nightmare had ended.
But a deeper, more unimaginable darkness seemed to have just begun to unfold, quietly ushered in with Kariya Matou's death and the promised 'Holy Grail' and 'resurrection.'
Jeanne watched the scene woven from fanaticism, death, betrayal, and twisted promises before her and finally understood deeply: Kanjuro's 'game' had no end.
What he pursued was far more than destroying the flesh; it was to drag souls, beliefs, and even hope itself into his bottomless abyss. Everything seemed to have returned to calm. The bloodshed and madness of the Worm Den were shut out behind the heavy Mansion doors. Kanjuro brought Sakura back to a clean, yet still faintly cold, guest room characteristic of the Matou Family. He fetched warm water, soaked a soft towel, and gently, meticulously, wiped away the half-dried, dark red bloodstains belonging to Kariya Matou from Sakura's face and hands.
Sakura's body was still trembling slightly. Immense retroactive fear and a vague, deeply ingrained sense of guilt made her sob continuously.
Uncle Kanjuro... I... I killed someone... I killed Uncle Kariya... I'm sorry... I'm sorry...
She spoke incoherently, tears like broken strings of beads, mingling with the water to trace paths down her face.
She didn't know why she was apologizing—to Uncle Kariya, to the gentle Uncle Kanjuro who was wiping her face now, or perhaps to her own once innocent self?
Kanjuro stopped his movements, cupping her tear-stained little face.
His eyes were filled with 'understanding' and 'acceptance'. He shook his head gently, his voice as soft as a lullaby:
"No, Sakura, this isn't your fault. You don't need to say sorry."
"You were just protecting me, protecting yourself."
"Uncle Kariya... he was bewitched by an evil power. He wanted to hurt us. You just did what had to be done, ending the pain and the mistake."
"You did very well. You were very brave."
His words, like a hypnotic spell, slowly covered and twisted Sakura's original understanding.
Under his 'gentle' gaze, the fear and guilt in Sakura's heart seemed to find an outlet, transforming into a deeper dependence.
She stared at Kanjuro dazedly, as if he were the only light and pillar in this dark world.
Finally, she buried her tear-streaked face deep into his broad, cold chest, drawing in that illusory sense of safety.
"Thank you... Uncle Kanjuro... for coming to save me today..." Her muffled voice carried endless gratitude.
Kanjuro gently stroked her hair, as if petting a frightened animal.
After a moment of silence, he seemed to suddenly remember something important.
He gently pushed Sakura away slightly, a perfectly measured, 'troubled' gentleness appearing on his face.
"Sakura," he began softly, his tone intimate, as if sharing a secret, "actually, Uncle Kanjuro is a Magician. Like the kind in stories, someone with special powers."
Sakura blinked her large eyes, still glistening with tears, looking somewhat confused, but she nodded obediently...
Kanjuro continued, his voice tinged with a hint of 'helplessness': "But, just now, to protect Sakura, Uncle used too much magical energy... Now, Uncle feels very weak and needs to replenish some magic."
"Then... then what should we do?" Sakura immediately grew anxious, her small hands clutching helplessly at Kanjuro's clothes. "Sakura... Sakura doesn't know how to do anything..."
Kanjuro's fingertips lightly brushed Sakura's cheek, a strange light flickering in his eyes.
He whispered, "No, Sakura, you are a natural-born Magician too. Your body contains very precious, very pure magical energy."
"It's just... you don't know how to use it yet."
He leaned in slightly, bringing his lips close to Sakura's ear, and whispered a few words in a volume only the two of them could hear, like a lover's murmur.
Sakura's body stiffened slightly for a moment, her fair little face instantly flushing a noticeable crimson that spread all the way to her ears.
Her large eyes were filled with confusion, shyness, and a trace of bewilderment, barely perceptible, at being asked something so special by the person she trusted most.
She looked up at Kanjuro's gaze, filled with 'expectation' and 'trust', then quickly lowered her head again.
In the end, that almost blind dependence and the thought of 'wanting to help Uncle Kanjuro' overwhelmed everything else.
She nodded lightly and replied in a voice as faint as a mosquito's hum, "...Mm-hmm."
...Time passed quietly. About an hour had gone by.
The room was silent, no different from before.
Sakura sat quietly on the chair in front of Kanjuro, head slightly bowed, her small hands placed properly on her knees, though the blush on her cheeks hadn't completely faded.
Her gaze was somewhat unfocused, not daring to meet Kanjuro's eyes, as if she was still immersed in some indescribable emotion, a mix of shyness and a strange feeling.
In the air, aside from the Matou Family's inherent damp, musty smell, there seemed to be a faint, elusive hint of... a delicate, tea-like fragrance, lingering at the corner of Sakura's lips, adding an unnatural, ambiguous vitality to her pale complexion.
Other than that, nothing had happened.
There were no earth-shattering magical fluctuations, no radiant magical rituals.
It was as if just an uncle had comforted his frightened niece, engaging in a long, private conversation.
Kanjuro looked at the girl before him, whose soul seemed to have been etched with a deeper mark without her even realizing it, a faint, satisfied curve appearing at the corner of his mouth.
Magical energy—perhaps it had indeed been replenished somewhat.
But more importantly, a certain boundary had been silently broken.
A deeper, more hidden bond, in the name of 'magical energy transfer,' had been established.
Sakura's future, at a moment she herself hadn't fully understood, had already been locked more deeply, more firmly, into the palm of Kanjuro's hand.
And that wisp of tea-like fragrance was the only visible, yet truly uninterpretable, mark left by this silent 'ritual.'
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