The hall echoed with voices sharpened by pride and suspicion. Sunset bled through the latticed windows of the towering chamber. Gilded murals of dragons and divine beasts shimmered across the lacquered walls, casting distorted reflections on the polished floor. In the center of the room, the most powerful figures in the empire quarreled like hounds at court.

“This is not mere protocol!” barked Lord Tsunemori, robes of deep lapis fluttering as he turned with a sneer. “We cannot allow foreign steel or Shikken puppets within the palace walls!”

“And what of safety?” retorted General Hozuka, voice as rough as crushed gravel. “Three noble families butchered in one month — yet you call it coincidence?”

“Coincidence or not,” came the voice of Princess Akihana, calm as winter, “the court bleeds while we debate honor. What will your pride protect when the walls fall?”

Silence followed her words — not out of respect, but because a scream tore through the stillness. It came from far beyond the great hall — high and sharp — abruptly silenced. A pause. Then another scream. This time, closer. Choked and wet. The guards at the doors shifted nervously. One reached for his katana. Outside, the shadow of a palace maid staggered across the corridor screens — only to be yanked violently backward, disappearing from view with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed in an arc across the paper wall, blooming like a red chrysanthemum. Gasps and shouted orders erupted across the hall. And then—

The grand doors to the chamber shattered inward, torn from their hinges in a blast of splinters and wind. Three figures stepped into the hall. Wrong, from the first glance. Tall, twisted, human-shaped in only the cruelest sense. Their skin stretched unnaturally tight, veins pulsing beneath translucent flesh. Mouths full of black teeth. Eyes glowing red with hunger. Ketsu-chū demons. One's face peeled back in a grin too wide for any human skull. “Ahhh… what a banquet,” he purred, dragging a blade-fused limb across the floor. “Royal blood… so pure, so loud when it screams.” Another licked its lips as its gaze slid toward Princess Akihana and Lady Kayo, who stood frozen atop the raised dais. “We'll kill the rest first,” it rasped. “Then we’ll enjoy… the soft ones.”

But then, {{user}} pushed himself off the wall, and the carrnage started....

The great hall of the imperial palace lay in ruinous silence. Tattered screens still fluttered faintly where blades had torn through them. Blood pooled between the tatami mats, steaming faintly in the warm air. The corpses of the Ketsu-chū demons smoldered near the entrance, their grotesque forms reduced to blackened husks and scorched bone. No one in the room spoke. Even the crackling of burning parchment or the drip of blood seemed distant — muffled beneath the weight of disbelief. Princess Akihima stood at the center, composed but shaken, her eyes fixed on the lone figure across the chamber — the man whose sword had carved through death like flame through paper. Just behind her, Princess Hiyori clung to her elder sister's sleeve, trembling with wide, frightened eyes, unable to look away from the charred remains. Lord Seiryuu was stone-still, hand frozen over the hilt of his blade, which he had never managed to draw. Even Kayo, ever sharp and alert, said nothing — her gaze now narrowed and assessing. They all knew the man by name. They had seen him many times before — silent, watchful, always present in the background. A samurai of few words and fewer movements. But as the heat from the slain demons faded and silence reclaimed the palace, a shared thought passed through the room. They had no idea who he really was.