That was a sliver of moonlight refined to its utmost limit.
The moonlight grazed the edge of a sharp blade and split it in two. It seeped into cold, rigid armour and dismantled it entirely. When it illuminated a face twisted with fury and malice—
—it lit the path to their demise.
Squelch!
The movents of the heavily armoured knight froze as his armour split cleanly apart, mirroring the fountain of blood erupting from his severed head.
The horse draped in black cloth shrank back as if cowering. Yet the boy simply stroked its mane before patting its leg, signalling it to flee.
Tilting his head upward beneath the dim moonlight, the boy's azure-blue eyes shimred with a heart-stopping gleam.
Reflected in those eyes was a fragnted world.
Sinuous, ominous lines flowed across human bodies, walls, and even the air itself—ethereal threads that shifted incessantly yet always anchored themselves to specific points on every entity. These lines seed to ooze a compulsive fixation on "death," binding the mind and conjuring illusions.
It was just like what he had seen with Caren back then—the once-adorable girl now fissured with cracks not only along her neck but across her abdon, chest, legs, and arms, as though she were a shattered porcelain doll.
This was a world no living being should witness. To recklessly step into it would only lead to madness or a gradual transformation into a monstrous abomination.
Blinding oneself would be futile. What was "seen" would still be "seen." This curse was a vengeful wraith that would haunt its victim relentlessly, even if they tried to abandon it.
Yet the boy was not driven to madness. Instead, his smile carried a tinge of bloodlust.
During his slaughter of the sea demons, his eyes—resonating with the distorted realm—had glimpsed faint traces of these lines. Now, in this valley where life and death intertwined, he finally confird the existence of his Mystic Eyes.
Days of relentless training and countless acts of slaughter had borne fruit in this mont.
Dong... Dong... Dong...
The distant tolling of bells echoed once more as a slender figure traversed the mist-shrouded path, a tarnished dagger glinting silver in his hand.
Then, three warriors erged from the brush, entering the boy's field of view.
Moonlight manifested before them.
So long as a living being "existed," the lines of death would ceaselessly shift. The ability to precisely "perceive" these lines granted Sakatsuki power nearly equivalent to Mystic Eyes that could snuff out life with a re glance.
A flash of silver moonlight—foreign to this world—streaked past, reducing the vibrant lives before him to dust.
After annihilating three foes who had once pushed him to his limits in a single strike, the boy blinked, blood suddenly trickling from his eyes.
"Ti's up after just a few minutes, huh..."
Unlike Shiki Ryougi or Shiki Tohno, he had not sacrificed his "self." He had rely occupied another's body, inheriting the concept of "sacrificing the original host's life." At his core, he was not the sa as the "Great Hero." That he could deceive the rules and possess these eyes was already a miracle.
"Not quite." A grave voice answered Sakatsuki's mutter.
Every hair on his body stood on end as Sakatsuki slowly turned, blood still seeping from his eyes.
Before him lood a towering figure shrouded in a black robe, its face concealed behind a skeletal mask.
The tattered robe could not obscure the azure radiance emanating from its form—a light purified through the execution of countless lives, the slaughter of innurable sinners. It was proof of an apostle of God walking the mortal plane.
To call it "more terrifying than death" was an understatent. Here, in this place, only the Angel of Death tolled the vesper bell.
"Old Man of the Mountain..." Sakatsuki gulped, his voice parched as he uttered the old man's title. Ignoring the searing pain in his eyes, he discarded his dagger and summoned twin spears—one crimson, one golden.
With the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception now his, he no longer needed a small blade to hone himself. And against such an opponent, Sakatsuki's pride would not allow excuses of "inferior weapons" to justify defeat.
The primordial Assassin waited silently as Sakatsuki steadied himself. Only when the boy was ready did he raise his rusted greatsword:
"What is the purpose of a thousand trials, a thousand growths? To erect towers for insatiable greed?"
By the ti Sakatsuki reacted, the robed elder had already closed the distance like a phantom, his blade slicing toward the lines of death on the boy's body—
"Fool. Surrender thy head."
Dong... Dong... Dong...
The distant bells tolled once more, then fell silent.
***
The next morning, Caren watched as Sakatsuki erged, clutching his side with a pained grimace. She blinked in mild confusion.
"Visit the red-light district? I won't even ask if you were foolish enough to go there dressed as a priest. But with that frail body of yours... could you even perform?"
"Want to test whether I can or not?" Sakatsuki shot back irritably, the phantom pain still lingering.
To assu King Hassan only knew how to kill and devour monsters was a grave mistake—that greatsword moved with brutal simplicity, yet its strikes were unpredictably precise. Defending blindly would only lead to gradual suppression and lost opportunities.
Even more perilous was his ability to perceive lines of death. As the progenitor of the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, he had long mastered combat techniques integrating his eyes and swordsmanship. Every strike targeted a line of death—a single failed parry would reduce Sakatsuki to splinters.
No, even blocking was futile. That was how Sakatsuki had been bisected.
As if weary of Sakatsuki's defensive tactics, the Old Man of the Mountain first cleaved through a B-rank Noble Phantasm, then split the boy diagonally from hip to shoulder.
Injuries from that death-tainted blade were no trifling matter—upon waking, Sakatsuki found necrotic tissue where the dream-world strike had landed. Even with a dragon's vitality and the separation of dream and reality, the concept of "death" had been carved into him.
This ant battles against the First Hassan could not be taken lightly. Without absolute preparation, engagent was folly.
If his skull were split, Sakatsuki doubted even his regenerative cells could salvage it.
Yet opportunities to fight a Grand-class Servant were rare. He could not afford to retreat.
"A blatant trap coated in sugar... All I can do is hone my skills further." Sakatsuki sighed, then turned to Caren. "Any word from headquarters?"
"A ssage arrived a few hours ago." Caren reported flatly. "The Pope comnds your actions and orders you to promptly clean up other sses. He adds that such trivial matters shouldn't trouble him in the future."
"Summarize less, just read the report verbatim next ti." Sakatsuki massaged his temples. "Anything else?"
"Yes." Caren lifted a docunt, monotone unwavering. "Addendum: The Mage's Association has volunteered to manage the leyline repairs, dispatching two prodigious magi to assist. They request... Bishop Sakatsuki..."
"Continue." The boy-priest plucked a grape from a fruit tray, chewing lazily.
"Tch. They request Bishop Sakatsuki to fulfill supervisory duties over the two magi. End of ssage."
After reviewing the details, Sakatsuki tossed aside the grape and stood.
"If there's nothing else, handle the church affairs. You're free until evening, when you'll accompany to inspect the leyline anomalies."
"And where are you going now?"
"For a walk." As the voice of his companion, Danzou, whispered in his ear, Sakatsuki smirked. Bathed in sunlight at the doorway, he stretched luxuriously.
"Also... to claim so family ties."
***
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