Chapter 138: Spirit Fruit

At first, Whitehunt didn’t believe it. How could he? One doesn’t simply believe anything a mere human says.

He was a great yokai who had lived for centuries—an ancient being who had seen countless dawns rise and countless civilizations crumble to dust. He had battled onmyoji, slain exorcists, devoured spirits, and crushed demons. There was nothing in this world that could truly surprise him anymore. A human claiming they could kill him with a single punch? Laughable beyond reason.

He had heard arrogant boasts before, but this one took the prize.

What kind of dream was this mortal living in, to think words could reach the heavens? To think a mere man could strike him down?

“Ridiculous,” he murmured to himself, sharp teeth glinting under the moonlight. His eyes narrowed into icy slits. “Ignorant fool… I’ll make you understand despair.”

And yet—before he could move, before he could even flex a claw—his world changed.

A fist filled his vision.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

The image of the fist expanded until it became the only thing that existed. The air, the sound, the earth—all of it vanished from his senses. For one instant, the entire world was reduced to that approaching strike.

Then came silence.

Not the peaceful kind, but the eerie, crushing silence that only exists at the end of things.

The insects no longer chirped. The owls stopped mid-call. The leaves froze in the air. Even the wind itself seemed to retreat, leaving behind an unbearable stillness.

“W-What’s happening?!”

“I-I can’t move my body…!”

Whitehunt’s pupils constricted to needle-thin slits. Panic spread like fire through his veins as he realized his body was frozen—completely immobile. His instincts screamed at him to move, but his muscles refused. The punch wasn’t just coming for his body—it was reaching for his soul.

“Move! Damn it, MOVE!” he roared, forcing his will into his limbs. His heart pounded like a war drum, every beat echoing his fear. But it was like shouting at a tidal wave to stop. The power in that single punch wasn’t just strength—it was inevitability itself.

In pure desperation, he summoned all his demonic energy. A deafening roar tore through the forest as an immense aura exploded outward, condensing into a dense barrier of black and silver light before him.

And then—he turned and ran.

It was instinct, not thought. Every fiber of his being screamed for survival.

The ground cracked under his feet as he leapt backward, trying to escape the crushing weight that followed.

But there was no escape.

The barrier—his most powerful defense, one that could block enchanted weapons and deflect spirit bullets—shattered the instant the punch reached it. It didn’t even slow it down. The energy barrier fragmented like glass, scattering into glimmering shards that dissolved into dust.

Then the fist hit.

There was no pain. No explosion. No scream.

Only a fleeting sensation, like sand slipping between fingers, like the instant before waking from a nightmare.

From the corner of his fading vision, Whitehunt saw something impossible—the world behind him folding in on itself. Rocks, trees, soil, and even the air trembled and vanished in a straight line, leaving an empty void stretching far into the distance.

And then everything went dark.

“…”

For several long seconds, the world remained still.

The shrine maiden, the two little girls, and Whitehunt’s remaining servants stood frozen, their faces pale, eyes wide in disbelief. The silence was so deep they could hear their own heartbeats.

The mighty Whitehunt, the feared great yokai of the northern woods, was gone. Not defeated. Not wounded. Erased.

A single punch.

That was all it took.

When Kouya said, “If I hit you, you might die,” he hadn’t been bluffing.

He had been telling the truth.

Kouya let out a slow breath, lowering his hand. “Guess I overdid it,” he muttered. “I thought he looked sturdy, so I went a little heavier…” He frowned, scratching his neck. “Turns out, not sturdy enough.”

He clapped his hands together lightly, brushing off invisible dust, and turned toward Whitehunt’s two surviving underlings.

The two small yokai were trembling uncontrollably. For a moment, they just stared blankly at where their master had been. Then, as if struck by lightning, realization dawned.

They bolted.

Their screams faded into the forest as they disappeared among the trees, their shadows melting into the night.

Kouya didn’t bother chasing. “Not worth the effort,” he said flatly. He turned back, intending to lecture the two small girls about wandering off alone, but before he could open his mouth—

“Master, you’re amazing!”

“Master is sooo amazing-desu!”

Kouya blinked. “…Huh?” He tilted his head, expression blank. “You’re… not scared?”

The two little girls shook their heads vigorously, their eyes gleaming like stars. “You came to save us!” one said proudly. “We knew you cared!”

Kouya sighed. “That’s… not exactly what I meant to do.”

Still, their excitement was contagious. The fear they had once felt for him was gone—replaced by admiration and warmth. They beamed up at him, their tiny hands clutched together like fans watching their hero.

Kouya groaned under his breath and rubbed his temple. “…You two are impossible.”

He turned away, something glinting in the moonlight catching his attention. A small box lay on the ground where Whitehunt had fallen.

It was about the size of his palm, made from some rare wood that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. When he picked it up, it was cold to the touch, unnaturally so.

He flipped it open.

Instantly, a wave of sweet, heady fragrance spread through the air. The aroma was rich and pure—so thick it seemed to sink into the lungs, washing away exhaustion. Inside the box lay a single fruit, glowing faintly crimson. Its surface pulsed with light like a living heart, translucent enough to reveal the swirling nectar within.

The moonlight bathed it gently, causing it to shimmer like a gem. For a moment, the whole clearing seemed to glow. Even the lingering spiritual residue from Whitehunt’s power retreated before that faint radiance.

“Mmm… it smells divine,” the shrine maiden whispered, eyes widening. “What in the world is that?”

“I heard my father mention it once,” one of the girls murmured. “It’s Lord Whitehunt’s precious treasure. Father said he once stole one… and Lord Whitehunt killed him for it.”

Kouya blinked. “…That’s it? Not revenge, not betrayal—just food theft?” He sighed. “Figures. So much for tragic drama.”

The shrine maiden smiled faintly. “Ah, I see now. It’s a Spirit Fruit. That explains why the yokai’s aura was so strong.”

Spirit Fruits were rare, almost mythical treasures saturated with spiritual essence. For ordinary humans, they acted as potent tonics, though most of their energy went to waste. But for yokai and onmyoji, they were miracles in solid form—a means to leap in power, to transform completely.

Kouya turned the fruit over in his hand, watching how the light bent around it. “So this little thing made him that strong, huh? Guess it’s not useless.”

“It makes sense,” said the shrine maiden softly. “He must have eaten many of these to become a great yokai… and this must be the last one.” Her gaze lingered on the fruit, unable to hide the longing that flashed in her eyes.

Kouya noticed. “If you want it, take it,” he said casually. “You earned it more than I did.”

She startled. “I—I can’t! It’s your victory, Kouya-kun. I wouldn’t feel right.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Doesn’t mean much to me.” He’d eaten things far rarer and stronger. Still, seeing her torn expression made him smirk slightly. “Tell you what, I’ll make something out of it later. Easier to share that way.”

She blinked, uncertain. “My grandfather once told me… that before eating a Spirit Fruit, one must fast for a full day, bathe, light incense, and offer prayer. Otherwise, its power can’t be absorbed properly.”

Kouya raised an eyebrow. “So, what, we’re supposed to ask the fruit nicely before eating it?”

She puffed her cheeks, flustered. “It’s tradition!”

He chuckled. “Tradition’s just superstition with extra steps. Don’t worry about it. I’ll make it into cookies later—you’ll see. Easier, tastier, and no praying involved.”

The shrine maiden’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Really?”

“Yeah. When we get back.”

She smiled then—softly, gratefully. “Thank you, Kouya-kun.”

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