Uraume didn't know where he was. Driven by the will to live, he trudged forward.
Another fall, and this time, his strength failed to lift him from the snow.
Flashes of the cabin filled his mind. He had to find Sukuna, tell him everything.
"… "
Uraume propped himself up, only to collapse face-up. Snow fell… Time stretched, as if he'd wandered through hell. Snow buried half his body, nearly swallowing him.
A figure loomed.
Who… Sorcerers?
Uraume blinked stinging eyes, recognizing the man above him.
Sukuna stared down, expressionless, making no move to help the battered Uraume.
"My lord…"
"Where is he?"
"… "
Sukuna listened to Uraume's account, his face unchanging until Uraume finished. Only then did his gaze settle on him.
"I told you to protect him, Uraume."
Uraume dropped to his knees, head bowed low. Yukiori's fate with those sorcerers was clear to Uraume—and Sukuna. A glint of killing intent flickered in Sukuna's eyes.
Yet, knowing Uraume was his sole follower, saved by Yukiori's sacrifice, Sukuna restrained himself. He knew Uraume wasn't entirely to blame.
The sorcerers had lured Sukuna away, ambushing Uraume's position. Had they doomed Yukiori by keeping him?
No one knew Sukuna's thoughts. Only Uraume, kneeling, felt the murderous aura radiating from him.
"My lord, let's go now—bring Yukiori back!"
Uraume's rare fervor faltered at Sukuna's next words, leaving him stunned.
"Do you think he'd really go with them?"
Sukuna walked on, hands tucked, directionless, leaving Uraume rooted.
Would Yukiori go with them?
"… "
No. Yukiori loathed those with ulterior motives. He'd escaped them once—why return willingly?
Unless… He never planned to live.
He should've died with Uraume, descending to hell together.
No… Someone as pure as Yukiori belonged in heaven. Hell was for Uraume.
"Since he traded his life for yours, make it worth something."
Sukuna paused, not turning, his voice final.
Uraume wouldn't defy it. He'd owe Yukiori forever, atoning for leaving him behind.
Yukiori's fate was too horrific to imagine. Uraume had to live—and avenge him. Sorcerers deserved death.
"… "
//
A bitter, pungent herbal scent filled the room, the medicine pot simmering with gurgles over the hearth.
Servants watched the brew, missing the faint twitch of the figure's fingers on the bed.
Yukiori opened his eyes to gauzy curtains above. He tried to move, but his body felt alien. Heavy as stone, only his mind was clear.
He should be dead… The wound was deep enough to make him wince at the memory.
This wasn't hell—hell wouldn't cradle him in bed. He hadn't died.
Even this failed?
Sorcerers were formidable. Yukiori shut his eyes, dreading what awaited, unable to try again.
Footsteps approached. He feigned sleep.
Something touched his lips, bitter medicine trickling in, most spilling from his mouth. To avoid detection, Yukiori swallowed, enduring the taste.
After what felt like ages, the person left with the bowl, silence returning.
Yukiori dared to open his eyes. He could now turn his head, his body shifting slightly.
The movement drew a pained hum—his neck was bandaged, the wound too deep. He'd nearly not been saved.
Lifting his hand, he saw his blade-sliced palm wrapped in white cloth, aching when bent.
After a moment, Yukiori sat up slowly. His clothes were the same bloodstained ones from that night, unchanged—a small relief.
How long had he been unconscious?
Despite the medicine, his throat was parched. Clutching the curtains, he stood shakily, inching toward the door.
At the threshold, an invisible barrier stopped him. Yukiori touched it—intangible but solid.
To prevent escape?
They overestimated him. Wounded and weak, he could barely leave the room, let alone flee.
Uraume must have escaped. Yukiori recalled the last sound before fainting—not Uraume's.
His face had served its purpose.
Yukiori reached the table, grabbing a ceramic cup and smashing it. He picked a sharp shard, aiming for his wrist.
He didn't want this face or this life.
He blamed himself—if not for him, his parents wouldn't have died, nor would his kin face cursed spirits.
But as the shard neared his wrist, Yukiori froze.
It wouldn't touch his skin, blocked by an unseen force preventing self-harm.
Another sorcerer trick…
"Yukiori, isn't it better by my side? Why escape, choosing death over staying with me?"