The throne of power is often built upon a mountain of bones, but for Megumi Fushiguro, this throne was stained with the blood of fate.
Kyoto, the former site of the Zenin family estate.
This place was once the home of one of the Big Three Families of the jujutsu world, a prestigious clan with a thousand-year history. Now, only ruins remained.
A faint scent of blood still lingered in the air—the ruthless masterpiece left behind by the second-generation Sorcerer Killer, Maki Zenin.
In the center of the ruins, a temporary tent was brightly lit.
Megumi Fushiguro sat in the grand armchair that symbolized the highest power of the Zenin family, dressed in the formal attire of a clan head, his brow furrowed.
Before him lay piles of documents regarding family assets, inventories of Cursed Tools, and the reorganization of affiliated factions.
Naobito Zenin was dead, and Naoya Zenin had been incapacitated. The high-level combat strength of the entire Zenin family had been almost completely wiped out in Maki's bloody purge.
In accordance with the previous head's will, and under the martial intimidation of Choso and Yoru, Megumi had taken over this shattered family without any opposition.
"Lord Megumi, here is the list of the surviving Special Grade Cursed Tools from the vault. Please have a look."
A surviving elder from a branch of the Zenin family tremblingly handed over a scroll, not even daring to raise his head.
They weren't afraid of the fifteen-year-old boy in front of them, but the monster standing behind him—Yoru, the man who dared to directly overthrow even the General Headquarters.
Megumi took the scroll, scanned it briefly, and tossed it onto the table.
"Distribute the Cursed Tools according to the previous plan. Prioritize arming those sorcerers willing to go to the front lines to fight in the Culling Game."
Though Megumi's voice still held a hint of youthful rawness, the unquestionable authority in his tone already carried the air of a true head of a house.
"Furthermore, withdraw all of the Zenin family's secret funds and hand them over to Principal Yaga of Jujutsu High for unified allocation."
"But..."
Cold sweat beaded on the branch elder's forehead as he hesitated. "Lord Megumi, that is the family's last bit of heritage. If we give it all away, the Zenin family will truly exist in name only..."
"Does the current Zenin family even count as being alive?"
Megumi cut him off coldly, his gaze as sharp as a blade.
"The Culling Game is about to begin. If we can't even save this world, do you plan on keeping those funds to buy yourselves coffins?"
"Do as I say. If anyone dares to disobey, I don't mind having Maki come back for another visit."
Upon hearing the name 'Maki,' the elder shivered all over and scrambled out of the room.
After handling the tedious affairs, Megumi tiredly rubbed his temples and leaned back in his chair.
His gaze drifted through the gap in the tent toward the night sky outside.
His sister, Tsumiki, was still in a coma, and the shadow of the Culling Game hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles.
He hadn't taken over this mess for power or glory, but simply to gain more strength to protect those he cared about.
The weight of all this resting on the shoulders of a fifteen-year-old was heavy enough to make it hard to breathe.
A few hundred meters away from the temporary tent, on a broken wall.
Yoru stood silently in the night breeze, his black hair fluttering wildly in the wind.
He didn't go to disturb Megumi. This was a necessary path for the boy to grow into a truly strong individual.
"That kid... is more promising than I imagined."
A low, raspy voice sounded unexpectedly behind Yoru.
In this world, besides that man, there was no one else who could silently approach Yoru while he had the Transparent World active.
Yoru didn't look back, and his hand resting on the hilt of Shiranui didn't waver in the slightest.
"He's stronger than you."
Yoru looked at the brightly lit tent in the distance, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"At least he chose the right path, unlike you, who chose to live like a stray dog hiding in the shadows."
Toji Fushiguro wasn't angry at this blunt evaluation.
Dressed in his signature tight short-sleeved shirt, he walked slowly to Yoru's side with his hands in his pockets and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
"Yeah, he's stronger than me."
Toji's gaze also fell upon Megumi.
In those eyes, which were usually as cold as stagnant water, a rare flash of pride and relief appeared.
"I used to think that by selling him to the Zenin family, he could at least live like a human being with that talent of his."
"But I was wrong. A garbage dump like the Zenin family only turns people into monsters."
Toji laughed self-mockingly and pulled a cigarette from his pocket but didn't light it.
"But looking at it now, the kid's luck is pretty good. He met a good teacher and a group of companions willing to put their lives on the line for him."
"And more importantly..."
Toji turned his head to look at Yoru. "He met an unreasonable monster like you."
Yoru turned around, calmly staring at the man known as the Sorcerer Killer.
During the Star Plasma Vessel incident twelve years ago, Yoru had forcibly changed history, pulling Toji back from the abyss of death with a peak duel that shook the entire jujutsu world.
There had been a deal between them.
Yoru would save Toji's life, and in return, Toji would act on Yoru's behalf one day in the future.
During the Shibuya Incident, when faced with the Pseudo-Toji summoned by a Seance Technique, the real Sorcerer Killer descended, crushing the puppet with absolute violence and indirectly saving Megumi Fushiguro's life.
"The deal is complete," Yoru said plainly.
Toji fell silent for a moment.
He reached out and grabbed the ugly Cursed Spirit coiled around his neck—
Ushibao.
This caterpillar-like low-grade Cursed Spirit, capable of swallowing and storing a vast number of Cursed Tools, had accompanied Toji through countless life-and-death battles. It was his most trusted armory.
Without any hesitation, Toji ripped Ushibao from his neck and held it out to Yoru.
"Take this."
Yoru raised an eyebrow slightly, not immediately reaching out for it.
"This is how you make your living."
"I don't need it anymore."
Toji forced Ushibao into Yoru's hands.
"The karma you left on me with that deal in 2006—we're officially even now."
Yoru took Ushibao.
The Cursed Spirit, which usually only allowed Toji near it, was surprisingly docile upon touching the faint heat of the Sun Breathing radiating from Yoru's palm. It even rubbed against the back of Yoru's hand as if trying to curry favor.
Inside this monster's body were stored not only a large number of standard Cursed Tools but even priceless Special Grade tools like Playful Cloud and the Chain of a Thousand Miles.
This was more than just a mobile armory; it was the accumulation of most of Toji's life's work.
"You're leaving?" Yoru looked at Toji.
This man was already a dead person to the world.
Whether it was the higher-ups or the Big Three Families, there was no record of his survival.
With the convergence of the timeline, he had become a true ghost.
"Yeah, it's time to go."
Toji turned around, stuffed his hands back into his pockets, and looked up at the starless night sky.
"I've always been a redundant person in this world anyway."
"Since that kid no longer needs a bastard father like me to worry about him, I might as well go live the life I want."
"Where will you go?" Yoru asked.
"Who knows?"
With his back to Yoru, Toji gave a casual wave, his steps appearing lighter than ever before.
"Bet on horses, race boats... go to the world of ordinary people where there are no Cursed Spirits or rotten oranges, and squander all the money I have."
"Maybe dying in some nameless gutter one day wouldn't be such a bad end."
The man's silhouette gradually blurred in the night, as if he were merging completely into the boundless darkness.
Just as he was about to vanish from sight entirely,
Toji's steps paused for a brief moment.
He didn't turn back, but he left behind a sentence in the night breeze, his voice low yet crystal clear.
"Take good care of the kid for me."
It wasn't the command of a tyrant.
It was the final plea a father left behind in this world.
Yoru watched the disappearing back, clutching Ushibao in his hand and feeling the lingering warmth on it.
He looked up, his gaze returning to the boy sitting in the grand armchair in the distance.
"Don't worry."
Yoru's voice was soft, but it carried an unshakeable resolve.
"As long as I'm here, no one will lay a finger on him."
The night wind howled, kicking up dust from the ground.
The legend of the generation's Sorcerer Killer had come to a complete close on this night.
But the storm of a new era had only just begun.
The countdown for the Culling Game was already ticking away in everyone's ears.
[ Author's Note : If you're loving the story, a power_stone, review or comment means the world!
Want 40+ chapters ahead right now? patre0n.c0m/Royal_ink ]