The Theft

Minamoto no Mitsunaka’s eyes widened in shock. He looked down at the sharp blade that had pierced through his weakened armor and emerged from his chest, blood dripping steadily from the tip. Searing pain surged through his nerves, echoing straight into his brain.

He had been struck by a disgraceful ambush. Because his Tsukumo Demon Armor had been almost entirely demolished by Owl in the preceding struggle, Mitsunaka had lost the autonomous defensive measures he usually relied upon. Normally, the shikigami-infused armor would have automatically manifested a spirit-guard to block threats from any direction. Now, that ability was defunct due to battle damage. The defensive capacity of the demon armor he wore was currently inferior to even mundane plate.

Despite the shock of the backstab, Mitsunaka’s bewilderment lasted only a split second. He immediately reached down with a gauntleted hand, gripping the blade protruding from his abdomen with a death-grip to prevent the attacker from twisting it and further shredding his internal organs. Simultaneously, his other hand drew the rib-slasher short blade from his chest and stabbed backward at the assailant. Whatever else he was, Mitsunaka remained a Senior Secretary of the Onmyoryo and a high-ranking military commander of the Imperial Court; he would not lose his composure in such a crisis.

Feeling the blade sink into flesh, Mitsunaka felt a surge of secret triumph. His counterattack had succeeded. Now, he only needed to capitalize on the attacker’s pain and confusion, twisting the blade inside his own body to...

However, his expectations fell short. The assailant behind him did not waver in the slightest despite the injury.

“A fairly composed response. You haven't disgraced the blood in your veins...”

The voice belonged to an ancient warrior clad in weathered armor. He spoke calmly, holding the hilt of the blade embedded in Mitsunaka. Even with Mitsunaka’s short blade buried in his own abdomen and blood leaking out, the Divine Messenger seemed utterly unaffected.

“Who... are you...” Mitsunaka turned his head slowly. He saw the cold, weathered face of the Divine Messenger.

The Divine Messenger didn't answer. His demonic blade began to pulse with a purple, ethereal glow. Sinister energy was injected into Mitsunaka’s body, causing a sudden, overwhelming weakness. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees. The Divine Messenger took the opportunity to pull his sword free.

The Divine Messenger walked silently to the front of the face-down Mitsunaka. He crouched, grabbed a corner of the helmet to yank Mitsunaka's head back, and ripped off the faceplate. He stared into Mitsunaka’s eyes, which were filled with resentment.

The messenger extended two fingers, pressing them against Mitsunaka’s forehead. A wave of spiritual power, laced with sinister energy, radiated from his fingertips. Mitsunaka’s expression instantly twisted into a mask of agony.

“Ugh... Argh!! What... what are you doing?!”

The pain at his brow scorched his nerves. It wasn't physical; it was a torment of the soul. Mitsunaka could clearly feel his internal spiritual pathways being crudely severed, as if someone were splitting his skull open with a jagged blade.

“I am merely reclaiming something that has been on loan to you for a long time,” the Divine Messenger said tonelessly. Under his power, a white, glowing tiger-shaped mark surfaced on Mitsunaka's forehead. It writhed and twisted as it was forcibly peeled away.

“The... the White Tiger Seal! You damned thief, don't you dare—” Mitsunaka finally realized the stranger's goal. He tried to force his weakened body to resist, but the agony intensified, slamming him back down into the dirt.

Ignoring the feeble resistance, the Divine Messenger continued his work. Soon, he had completely extracted the tiger-shaped mark. He then pointed it at his own forehead. The mark, hovering at his fingertip, was pressed into his skin. In an instant, the White Tiger Seal merged with the Divine Messenger's flesh, flaring briefly before fading into his brow. He then released the helmet, letting Mitsunaka slump back onto the ground.

“Huff... huff... how... how can you... bypass the bloodline protection... to take the White Tiger Seal...” Mitsunaka panted, enduring the residual pain. He turned his head slightly, watching the Divine Messenger stand up. The core seals passed down through the Three Great Clans were not so easily stolen; they were protected by powerful curses tied to the user's bloodline.

“A dying man has no need to know so much.”

Even against a defenseless Mitsunaka, the messenger remained taciturn. He shifted his gaze to Mitsunaka’s waist, where an iron token engraved with the Minamoto Sasa Rindo crest hung. He reached down and yanked it away without ceremony.

In the process, the messenger's movements disturbed a damaged hidden pouch at Mitsunaka's waist. Something tumbled out, immediately catching Mitsunaka's eye.

It was an arrow with golden tail feathers—the trump card Mitsunaka had intended to use against Owl.

“Now, your usefulness is at an end...” After seizing the iron token, the Divine Messenger looked down at Mitsunaka and raised his blade high, preparing to deliver the final blow. Meanwhile, Mitsunaka’s eyes remained fixed on the fallen arrow.

Finally, Mitsunaka focused his mind, communicating with the arrow through his last remaining shreds of spiritual awareness. The golden-feathered arrow, long ago refined into a Tsukumo-shikigami, suddenly took flight on its own. It banked in mid-air and shot toward the Divine Messenger at lightning speed.

...

Night had fallen over the Upper Capital District of Heian-kyo. Within the sprawling Minamoto residence, countless samurai and onmyoji patrolled the grounds, alert for any suspicious activity.

Because both Minamoto no Mitsunaka and Minamoto no Yorimasa were away, the security detail had been ordered to maintain a heightened state of vigilance to prevent any opportunists from infiltrating the estate.

In the backyard of the residence sat a seemingly abandoned dry well. A group of guards stood watch around it, holding torches aloft and scanning the darkness. A massive boulder sat atop the well, sealing it shut.

On a rooftop some distance away from the backyard, two figures stood watching the scene.

They were two young men who appeared to be roughly the same age, both handsome and white-haired. The taller one wore casual robes and carried a flippant, carefree air. The shorter one wore an onmyoji’s kariginu and appeared composed and serene.

“Oho~ It looks like that infiltration route you knew about is out of commission, little brother Seimei,” Nura Rihyon said with a grin, stroking his chin as he surveyed the situation.

“It was to be expected. They wouldn't leave such an obvious oversight unguarded forever,” Seimei replied, smiling, though his expression was much more serious.

“Since your secret spot is useless, where should we look for the dungeon entrance now?” Nura Rihyon asked thoughtfully.

“We can sense the traces of spells. Perhaps we can use them as clues to find our target,” Seimei said, lightly waving his bat-wing folding fan with an air of quiet confidence.

“Spells, eh? Hah, yeah. You onmyoji love to cast a curse on everything. It wouldn't be a proper prison for monsters without a few barriers,” Nura Rihyon nodded in realization.

“Naturally... If an onmyoji’s jail didn't have barriers and seals, you would have solved this alone, Nura Rihyon. You wouldn't have come to me for this operation.”

“Haha, fair enough! Well then, I'll leave it to you, little brother Seimei. Once we're back, the first few rounds of drinks are on me!”