Summon the Twelve Kizuki at the Start!

"Bastard!"

Oka was not a man who indulged in pleasures within the Imperial Capital's garrison—he had true power.

After witnessing his subordinate get killed, he immediately drew the longsword from his waist and slashed it at the head of the pink-haired demon.

But Akaza didn't even turn his head. His right hand casually moved behind his head—and blocked it.

"Hmph. Stupid."

"How could a human body block a sword?"

A cold glint flashed in Oka's eyes, and the corners of his mouth curled into a confident smirk.

In his mind, he was already envisioning the scene where he decapitated Akaza with ease.

Yet, even as the heavy blade sliced through the air in a flawless sword arc, the sight he expected never came.

There was no blood splatter.

No severed head.

No victory.

Instead, the massive sword was caught—clamped tightly by Akaza's arm.

Although blood seeped from Akaza's wound, the cherry blossom-haired demon didn't even flinch.

He slowly turned his head and shot Oka a wicked glance.

"So weak. I thought you'd be stronger."

"Is that all your talent amounts to?"

Akaza looked at the sword impaled in his arm and sneered.

He had overestimated this opponent.

Though Oka had a body that nearly rivaled his own in strength, he clearly didn't know how to use it.

With that realization, Akaza's interest waned.

Without warning, he rotated his body and slammed his palm against the blade.

"Bang!"

With a crisp snap, the expensive longsword Oka had treasured shattered like brittle wood.

Before Oka could even react, Akaza's nearly severed arm began to regenerate—rapidly.

Flesh and bone mended in mere seconds before his stunned eyes.

Oka didn't even realize he had clenched his fist.

"Die, trash."

Akaza looked at him with eyes devoid of mercy.

Before Oka could move, Akaza's punch tore through his chest, blasting open a gaping hole.

The light faded from Oka's pupils almost instantly.

Blood splattered across Akaza's chest. He licked a smear of it from the corner of his mouth with visible satisfaction.

But his gaze didn't linger on Oka's corpse.

He turned to the shadows behind him.

"Destructive Death: Annihilation Type—Wanye Shining Willow!"

Akaza exhaled deeply. The snowflake-shaped array beneath his feet glowed, and he lunged forward.

"Boom!"

The earth cracked beneath him from the sheer force of his step. The pattern of the shattered ground resembled fractured willow leaves.

He knew.

From the moment he clashed with Oka, he had sensed another gaze.

Someone else had been watching—hidden, but powerful.

Too powerful to ignore.

"Come out already."

"With that intense killing intent, skulking around like a coward doesn't suit you."

"Aren't you ashamed?"

Akaza's voice was calm, but his eyes were serious.

That earlier move—though unexpected—hadn't injured him. But being dodged so effortlessly still left him annoyed.

"Your words are rather cutting."

A calm voice answered him.

"I'm not a noble warrior. Just a filthy killer who strikes from the shadows."

From the cracked ground, a figure slowly emerged.

The man was tall and broad, clad in silver-white armor that shimmered under the moonlight.

Even without moving, his presence exuded pressure.

Akaza felt it immediately:

A physical strength greater than his own, and a warrior's will more focused than his.

His blood stirred with excitement.

His senses sharpened, and the glowing snowflake array beneath him became even more radiant.

"Relax, relax."

"I have no intention of fighting you. That last blow was already loud enough."

"And more Garrison troops are on the way."

"I just want to ask one thing."

"Since you killed that man…"

"…may I have his head?"

The armored man—Bulat—spoke kindly, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace.

His tone didn't carry a trace of hostility.

But despite that, Akaza couldn't find a single opening in the man before him.

This was the man Rivo had recalled earlier.

A key member of Night Raid—Bulat.

Once a general of the Empire, now a legend in the shadows.

Battle-hardened, unshakable, and nearly peerless.

"Have you ever seen someone give away their prey to a stranger?"

Akaza sneered.

Ignoring Bulat's request, he turned back toward Oka's corpse.

Then stomped on it.

"Splurt!"

Blood exploded beneath his foot. Even Bulat's calm expression wavered slightly.

He felt no malice from Akaza.

And that's what unnerved him.

It was as if the demon before him was openly provoking him, daring him to strike—begging for a battle.

"What a shame. You're a formidable opponent."

"If I were younger, free from responsibility…"

"I might have fought you, consequences be damned."

"But things are different now. Sorry—your provocation won't work."

Bulat sighed.

Not being able to retrieve Oka's head was disappointing.

But it was late. He had to retreat.

His duties didn't allow reckless action.

Akaza, however, didn't take it lightly.

As Bulat's figure disappeared into the shadows, veins bulged on Akaza's forehead—furious that a fight had been denied.