Chapter 210: She Cannot Do It, Only I Can
The solitary oil lamp inside the main hall flickered, casting long, dancing shadows across the tatami mats. The air was entirely still. With the doors and windows sealed tight against the night, the only sound was the faint, rhythmic crackle of the burning candle wick.
Kikyo knelt gracefully before a low wooden table, her slender fingers cradling a simple clay teacup. Steam spiraled upward from the hot liquid, veiling her cold, refined features in a hazy mist. In the dim, warm light, the stark contrast of her pristine white kosode and crimson hakama seemed to soften. The severe aura of the legendary shrine maiden melted away, revealing the quiet, vulnerable side of a young woman she rarely allowed the world to see.
Hikaru walked across the room, his footsteps completely silent, and took a seat opposite her.
At his waist, the red comb remained entirely dormant. That same demonic artifact, which mere moments ago had been brazen enough to try and straddle him—itching to swallow his essence whole—was now playing dead. It acted like an ordinary piece of carved wood. It did not dare project a single glowing word onto his system interface, nor did it emit the slightest ripple of Yao Qi. The sudden, overwhelming burst of Kikyo's spiritual power from earlier had clearly terrified the demoness into absolute submission.
"Drink some tea."
Kikyo pushed the second clay cup across the low table. Her movements were deliberate and feather-light, her fingertips gliding over the polished wood without producing a single scrape.
Hikaru picked up the cup. Although his sense of taste had returned to him, his undead body did not strictly require sustenance. His internal structure was nearly whole, boasting four complete organs, yet he still lacked the Spleen, the center of digestion.
Even so, he brought the rim to his lips and took a slow sip. The scalding water rolled over his tongue, sliding down his throat and tracking a path alongside the newly forged phantom of his Shura Lungs. It left a phantom trail of genuine, living warmth in its wake.
"Four organs now."
Kikyo observed softly, her dark gaze dropping to the hand gripping the clay cup. While his skin retained a pale, ghostly hue, the sickly, deathly gray aura of a walking corpse had completely dissipated. Beneath the surface, the faint, branching lines of veins were just beginning to show, and his fingernails had finally lost their blackened tint, taking on the faint, healthy luster of a living being.
"Heart Fire, Kidney Water, Lung Metal, Liver Wood."
Hikaru set the cup down, his tone characteristically deadpan and pragmatic. "I am still missing Spleen Earth. Once I acquire it, the Five Elements will be in perfect balance."
With the Five Elements complete, the Ten Changes would naturally follow. He never bothered to conceal his progression from Kikyo. There was simply no need.
Kikyo offered a slight nod. She did not ask where he intended to find this Spleen Earth, nor did she question his next strategic move.
Instead, she reached out across the narrow space between them.
Her pale fingers caught the edge of Hikaru's collar, tugging lightly.
Hikaru remained perfectly still. He simply looked at her.
The shrine maiden lowered her gaze, her long eyelashes casting delicate, fan-shaped shadows over her cheeks. Her expression was intensely focused, carrying the same solemn gravity she usually reserved for a high-level exorcism ritual. As she leaned forward, her chest pressed against the edge of the low table.
She did not withdraw her hand. Following the upward momentum, her fingertips slid from his collar to rest gently against his chin.
"Just now," Kikyo murmured. Her voice was a mere whisper, as though speaking too loudly might extinguish the candlelight. "When she did that... you did not push her away."
Hikaru stared at her. '...'
This was a textbook life-threatening scenario. His pragmatic mind calculated the variables in a fraction of a second. If he attempted to deflect or weave an elaborate excuse right now, the most probable outcome was immediate, point-blank purification.
"The tactile feedback was not bad."
Hikaru answered with absolute, deadpan honesty. In this specific situation, the truth was his strongest shield. "It was the silk-like sensation of highly condensed Yao Qi. From a purely analytical standpoint, it was indeed very special., Yura of the Hair has proven to be a highly useful asset."
Kikyo's fingers froze against his jaw.
Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his. There was no overt rage in those pitch-black depths; they appeared as placid as a frozen lake in late autumn. Yet, the intensity simmering just beneath that calm surface burned hotter than a forge.
"Special?"
She repeated the word, the syllables rolling off her tongue with measured precision.
Then, she stood up.
Without a word, she stepped around the low table. Her white tabi socks glided silently over the tatami, the crimson fabric of her hakama swaying with each deliberate stride, tracing the subtle, graceful lines of her figure. The atmosphere grew heavy, thick with a suppressed, deep weight.
She stopped directly in front of Hikaru.
Without a moment of hesitation, she took a half-step closer and leaned down.
It was the exact same posture Yura of the Hair had assumed mere minutes ago. However, where the demoness had exuded a cloying, bone-deep aura of raw seduction, Kikyo's approach was a masterclass in cold, self-restrained dominance. The sheer contrast between this aggressive stance and her normally aloof, pure demeanor was so staggering that the Shura Heart inside Hikaru's chest physically skipped two beats.
"You like this, do you not? Hikaru."
Kikyo planted her hands firmly on the floor on either side of his waist, trapping him. Her long, dark hair cascaded downward like a waterfall of ink, the silken strands brushing softly against his cheeks. It carried the crisp, clean scent of medicinal herbs and fresh grass, the fluffy softness of having just been washed, and above all, the obvious, radiating warmth of a living human being.
Her face was inches from his. So close that Hikaru could clearly see his own reflection trapped in her dark pupils—the stoic Oni Samurai, wearing half a ghost mask, his visible eye slightly widened in rare astonishment.
"I do not necessarily like it that much," Hikaru's Adam's apple bobbed as he stated, maintaining his flat, factual tone despite the proximity. "I simply do not dislike it."
"Not dislike? That means you like it."
The corners of Kikyo's lips curled upward in an extremely faint, fleeting smile before vanishing entirely.
Then, she lowered her head further.
Her lips hovered mere millimeters from his ear, her warm breath washing over his earlobe, sending a sharp, tingling current straight down his spine.
"Then... what if it is me doing it like this?"
Moving with a sudden, fluid grace, Kikyo closed the remaining distance. She embraced the undead samurai face-to-face, pressing her chest and hips flush against his armored frame. She allowed her full weight to settle against him, aligning their bodies so perfectly that the frantic, thumping rhythm of his Shura Heart echoed like a heavy war drum in the silent hall.
"It is beating very fast," Kikyo noted, a hint of genuine amusement bleeding into her voice.
Hikaru shifted his gaze slightly, observing the shrine maiden who had just launched this uncharacteristic offensive. He was not entirely surprised. This was simply who Kikyo was at her core. She possessed an iron will; as long as her heart remained resolute, she never hesitated to pursue exactly what she wanted.
His peripheral vision caught the elegant curve of her red hakama pooling around her slender waist, the winding shadows emphasizing her form. A deep sense of appreciation stirred within him.
Unfortunately, his physical body was still lacking. He was still one step away from true completion.
Kikyo suddenly straightened her posture, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. Her gaze was crystal clear. Yet, that pristine face—which remained entirely impassive even when staring down towering Great Yokai—was now dusted with a very thin, very human blush.
She had never initiated an action like this in her entire life. But over the past month, she had waited. She had yearned for this closeness more than any other existence in the world.
"Compared to the comb from just now," she asked, her tone deadly serious, "how does it feel?"
Hikaru studied her face. Looking at this traditionally reserved girl—who, in the beginning, would flush red to the tips of her ears just from holding his hand—now launching such a direct, physical offensive... the contrast was staggering.
It was deeply moving. After all, even if they had shared intimate moments before, every time Kikyo took the initiative, it caused a strange, pleasant flutter within his chest.
"It is entirely different."
Hikaru raised his hand, his pale fingers wrapping firmly around the wrist she had pressed against his chest. He applied a fraction of his monstrous strength.
Caught off guard, Kikyo fell forward with the momentum, her forehead coming to rest securely against his shoulder. The weight of her body settled over him—a real, solid, grounding weight that belonged exclusively to a living, breathing life.
"She is cold, and she is fake," Hikaru stated, his voice a low rumble. This was not empty comfort; it was a pragmatic fact. The physical forms of most low-to-mid-level Tsukumogami were merely illusions, temporary vessels conjured from Yao Qi to house their consciousness.
Hikaru turned his head, resting his cheek against the crown of Kikyo's hair. "You are warm."
"I am currently half-cold and half-warm, but I vastly prefer the warm."
"I also like you the most. Bar none."
Kikyo did not reply immediately. She buried her face deeper into the crook of his neck. With her imposing, untouchable demeanor entirely stripped away, all that remained was a quiet, absolute reliance.
"Hurry and come back to life," her muffled voice vibrated against his collar. "I do not want to keep holding onto a block of ice."
She wanted more. She wanted to cross that final threshold.
"I believe you are destined to become the strongest entity in this world, to shatter every shackle placed upon you," she murmured, her arms tightening around his shoulders. "But even if you gather many things... many 'people' by your side in the future... I must remain in the first place."
Born into the brutal Sengoku Period, Kikyo was traditional, yet fiercely possessive. She could accept the sheer excellence of the man she loved, and by extension, she could accept the bizarre reality of him gathering artifact spirits and allies. But on this single point, she refused to concede an inch.
What she claimed as hers had to be the largest, most important share.
Hikaru would never refuse such a logical demand.
"It will be soon," he assured her, his tone steady. "It will happen."
His large palm moved in slow, deliberate strokes down the center of her back. Through the thick fabric of her priestess robes, he could trace the slender, resilient lines of her spine. His hand drifted further down, applying a slight, lifting pressure.
The atmosphere shifted, thickening with an intimate, friction-heavy closeness. The rustle of disheveled clothing filled the quiet room, soon joined by soft, hitched gasps.
Amidst the rising tension, Hikaru spoke his final, calculated thought.
"I already have a lead."
Within the cycle of the Five Elements, the Spleen belonged to Earth. It governed transportation and transformation, serving as the absolute source for the generation of qi and blood.
To force his undead body to complete its internal circulation and seal the leaks in his four existing organs, he required a massive, concentrated source of 'Earth' to act as a foundational vessel.
Ordinary soil would not suffice. It had to possess the sheer quality and density of a high-tier Demonic Tool or greater.
As for the passive blessings granted by grinding the 'favorability' of the Kanto Region's land? That was merely borrowing external power, not assimilating it. Fully conquering the favorability of an entire geographical region was a monumental task with no foreseeable end.
Even several centuries of grinding would not be enough. The meager points of regional favorability he currently possessed only made the land slightly more accommodating to his presence; it was nowhere near enough to make the earth actively exert its power on his behalf.
No matter how much theoretical time an undead Oni Samurai possessed, Hikaru could not afford to wait.
And practically speaking, there was no need to wait.
He required a true, high-quality Earth-attribute medium.
He had a definitive lead., that very item was practically within his grasp.
He pictured it in his mind—that legendary heavy blade, infamous for its crushing weight and brutal history. The Thousand Demon Slayer. The greatsword Banryu.
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