The air inside the iron mine was a physical weight thick with the metallic tang of blood, the scent of unwashed bodies, and the low, rhythmic thrum of human suffering.
As Yorimitsu and the Seiwa Genji pushed deeper, the ambient sounds of the cavern shifted from the scraping of pickaxes to something far more sinister: the raw, guttural groans of the broken.
"Ahhhhhhh... mmmmmpht... ahhhhgrrrr."
Muffled cries and agonised moans echoed from the hollowed-out side chambers, punctuated by the wet thuds of a blunt force. Through the jagged stone arches, the reality of the Heishan bandits' trade was revealed in the dancing torchlight.
Men and women, once common villagers, were chained to the damp walls like livestock. Their clothes were little more than shreds; many were fully naked, their skin mapped with the crisscrossing welts of lashes and the dark, necrotising bruising of systematic abuse.
The prisoners' eyes were hollow. They didn't look at their rescuers with hope; they shrank back into the shadows, whimpering, having been broken to the point where they no longer viewed themselves as human. They were being treated as slave fodder for the White Crane guild's dark appetites.
"Disgusting," Gengo spat, his lone eye narrow and burning with a veteran's cold rage. "They aren't even miners. They're just... breaking them for sport."
"How can you even call yourself human?" Yorimitsu's voice was a low, vibrating hum of killing intent.
For a fleeting second, a shadow crossed his mind, memories of the cold, systematic abuse he had endured within the Minikaze family. The familiar scent of a victim's despair sparked a fire in his soul he hadn't realised was still there.
Gengo gripped his heavy-headed Yari. With a roar that shook the stalactites, he lunged. The spearhead buried itself in the chest of a bandit guard, the force pinning the man to the cavern wall with a sickening crunch of bone.
Gengo wrenched the blade free, spinning it in a wide arc that decapitated a second guard before the blood had even sprayed the floor.
Toma was a shadow. He moved through the central chamber with his hooked dual swords, disassembling the opposition with clinical grace.
One hook caught a bandit's throat, while the second sliced through the man's hamstrings in a singular, fluid motion. Every strike was aimed at a vital point, ensuring the bandits died before they could even register that the Seiwa Genji were among them.
"Woahhhh, he moves just like a shinobi," Souta mused, walking through the carnage with his usual lazy gait. Yet the air around him crackled. He didn't even draw his sword; he simply tapped the hilt of his sealed scabbard. Each time a bandit rushed him, Souta's Reiryoku flared through a paper talisman. A shockwave of invisible pressure exploded, liquefying the organs of anyone within five feet.
"Too much noise," Souta sighed. He finally drew his blade, still encased in its seal-covered scabbard, to parry a crossbow bolt, sending the projectile flying back with pinpoint accuracy into the eye of the shooter.
Yorimitsu stepped into the centre of the forge, where the bandit leader, a man whose belly was bloated with stolen wine, tried to crawl away. The leader looked at his slaughtered men, then up at Yorimitsu.
"P-please! We were just following orders! We're just trying to survive!" the leader blubbered.
Yorimitsu stopped, looking down at the man with a gaze of utter disappointment.
"Survive?" Yorimitsu asked, his voice echoing like stone grinding on stone. "You speak of survival while you treat these people like cattle. You are not survivors. You are cowards who lack the will to forge a life in battle. You are absolute trash."
"Yes... yes, I'm trash!" the leader cried, grovelling in the dirt. "I will change, I promise! I will become a farmer; I will live honestly! So please, spare me, at least"
He stepped closer, the pressure of his aura making the bandit leader's nose begin to bleed. "You prey on the weak because you are too weak to face the strong."
"Why, you little brat!" The leader's face contorted as he lunged, a hidden dagger raised for a desperate strike.
Yorimitsu didn't flinch. He raised his foot and crushed the leader's hand into the stone floor. "Tch. You don't even deserve something as honest as a death."
Splat!
....
The bandits were all dead. The Seiwa Genji moved through the cages, shattering the locks with the butts of their weapons. Yorimitsu reached into his indigo sleeve and pulled out a pouch of heavy gold coins.
"Gengo, give each of them enough to reach the next town. Send a message to Father; have our men escort them down the mountain path and ensure they are fed," Yorimitsu ordered.
The prisoners, slowly realising they were free, fell to their knees. They didn't cheer; they wept, their voices a haunting chorus of broken souls finally finding a thread of dignity.
Once the survivors were led out, Yorimitsu walked toward the leader's cooling corpse. He reached down, his fingers glowing with the blue light of the Seal of Ryuu.
The moment his fingers touched the man's temple, Yorimitsu felt a jolt of unnatural energy. It was cold, multi-legged, and slimy.
BOOM.
The leader's head detonated in a spray of gore and dark brain matter. Yorimitsu recoiled, his indigo robes splattered with blood. From the stump of the man's neck, a small, spectral centipede scurried out, dissolving into smoke before Toma's blade could catch it.
"Ōmukade's abilities," Inoe hissed from Yorimitsu's shoulder, his two tails twitching in agitation. "The Great Centipede... That was his parasite seal. The moment you tried to read his mind, the seal triggered to destroy the evidence."
Yorimitsu wiped a smudge of blood from his cheek, his expression darkening. "So, the Great Shaman in the Capital is working with the Ōmukade. Just how deep does this go?"
The mine was silent now, save for the crackling of the forge fires. Yorimitsu stood amidst the ruin, his heart heavy with disappointment.
"Young Master," Gengo said, approaching with his spear cleaned and stowed. "The survivors are on their way. The mine is rigged to collapse. We should move."
Yorimitsu nodded, sheathing Dōjigiri with a sharp, final clack. "This was just a scouting party. The rot in the Capital goes deeper than I imagined if they are willing to use Ōmukade, an ancient demon, on common bandits."
As they emerged from the mine, the sun was beginning to lower over the Weeping Pass. The carriage was waiting, its indigo curtains fluttering in the wind. Yorimitsu looked toward the horizon, where the distant spires of Heian-kyō were nothing more than a smudge against the sky.
"Let's go," Yorimitsu said, climbing into the carriage. "There is no use staying here anymore."
Souta leaned against the carriage door, already half-asleep again. "The Young Master is going to turn the Capital upside down; I can already tell."
Toma took his place at the flank, his hooked blades hidden but ready. The Seiwa Genji rolled forward.
BOOM!
The mine collapsed behind them.