Chapter 4: Blades and Bullets

A black limousine glided silently to a halt before the ornate wrought-iron gates.

As the heavy door swung open, a girl’s slender, shapely calves emerged. Before her loafer could touch the ground, a man in a black tuxedo had already opened a large black umbrella, bowing slightly to shield her.

The black iron gates slowly parted of their own accord. As she strolled through the rose-lined path, the garden—bathed in the dying light of the lamps—seemed like a blurred, shimmering dream behind the veil of rain.

This century-old estate, a fusion of Western architecture and Japanese aesthetics, was once a baron’s residence. Its sheer scale made it loom over the landscape like a highwayman, claiming tens of thousands of square meters of private territory in the heart of Tokyo, where land prices were exorbitant.

Sakiko had grown up here. Having bid farewell to this place just weeks ago, she found herself circling back to this familiar environment, her heart growing heavier with every step.

A middle-aged man stood under the portico. Dressed in a black suit with his arms folded across his chest, his neatly combed hair revealed streaks of white, giving him the imposing, silent authority of a Buddha.

Toyokawa Sadaharu, the current head of the Toyokawa family and Sakiko’s grandfather.

After the car accident that claimed her father, he had rushed to the hospital, only to witness Sakiko’s unstable mental state. Without a shred of sentiment, he had issued a cold command: "If she cannot return to normal, let her stay in the hospital indefinitely."

No one knew his true thoughts. Even members of the Toyokawa family felt he was being overly ruthless; having lost both her mother and father, Sakiko was at her most vulnerable and in need of care, yet she had been left alone in the ward.

But that was in the past now. The tug-of-war between the adult and the child had ended in Toyokawa Sadaharu’s victory.

Recent reports from the hospital indicated that Sakiko’s emotions had stabilized and she had accepted reality, no longer stubbornly resisting or speaking nonsense. It was time to bring her home.

Sadaharu did not fear that this would irreparably damage their relationship. There was always a communication gap between generations, and besides, who hadn't gone through a rebellious phase? Sakiko was only fifteen, the peak age for defiance.

At that age, everyone viewed the adults around them as enemies.

The purpose of an adult was to correct such adolescent delusions and point the child toward the right path. Eventually, Sakiko would understand that everything he did was for her own good.

The man in black led Sakiko to Sadaharu and bowed before turning away.

The two generations stood there. The wind and rain occasionally intruded, dampening their hair—hers long and slender, his streaked with gray. They stared at each other for a long time, neither speaking, like two rocks standing in the middle of a stream.

"I’m home," Sakiko finally broke the silence.

She used to hold her grandfather in high regard, always prefixing her words with "Grandfather." Now, she omitted the honorific entirely.

"Are you feeling better?" Sadaharu asked, his tone still condescending.

"Yes."

"Still caught up in fantasies, refusing to accept the truth?"

"No."

"Was Seigo’s accident really just a car crash, or was it a 'spirit away'?"

"It was a car crash."

Her grandfather’s tone was severe, almost like a judge in a courtroom. Sakiko kept her head down, her bangs swaying in the wind to shield her eyes. Each answer was meek, like a lamb ready for the slaughter.

"I know you have lingering resentment. No one wanted this tragedy to happen, but the past is the past. What the living should do is not mourn the dead, but settle their minds and strive to meet the tomorrow that lies ahead."

Sadaharu looked out into the rain. "Forget your father. From now on, you are my daughter. You are the child Mizuho left behind; I will not let you suffer."

Toyokawa Sadaharu, like Toyokawa Seigo, was an adopted son-in-law. Originally, the heir to the Toyokawa family was meant to be Seigo.

But after Seigo’s business failures caused the family massive losses, and his subsequent accidental death, a vacancy opened in the succession.

The Toyokawa family was a large one, and many coveted that position. If he wanted to prevent the power from falling into other hands, the best strategy was to make Sakiko his daughter in name. This would grant her the right of succession to the Toyokawa estate.

This plan had been proposed long ago. Back then, while Seigo was still alive, Sakiko had stubbornly insisted on living with her father and had left the family.

Now that Seigo was dead, she had virtually no reason to refuse, and Sadaharu was naturally bringing the matter up again.

"I understand," Sakiko did not refuse this time.

"Rest well at home for a few days before returning to school. As for whether you stay at Haneoka or return to Tsukinomori, make your decision once you’ve thought it through. I personally suggest you return to Tsukinomori. The classmates and resources you would have access to there are incomparable to Haneoka’s. It will be very helpful for your future."

"Regarding that... I have a request."

"As long as it isn't more nonsense." Sadaharu looked into her eyes, frowning slightly.

"I want to learn Kendo. I want a good teacher," Sakiko finally looked up, speaking with earnestness.

"Kendo?" This request caught Sadaharu off guard. "You have always studied music."

"Although the doctors say I am fine, I know my own body. I feel much stiffer than before, and I don't know if there are any lingering effects. So, I want to... do some exercise to get my body active again."

She had prepared this excuse well in advance. Whether it was Tsukinomori or Haneoka, most students were from middle-class backgrounds or higher, and both were girls' schools. Neither had a Kendo club, as it was considered unfeminine to sweat too much or wear protective gear. The young ladies didn't like it.

If she expressed interest, the only solution was a private tutor.

This was why Sakiko was willing to return to her grandfather’s side. The Dead Servants, Odin, those things would find her again sooner or later.

She had to be prepared with the means to retaliate. To that end, Sakiko decided to temporarily yield to her grandfather; she needed to use his resources to improve herself.

"It is indeed good for a girl to get some exercise." After a moment of thought, Sadaharu nodded. "I will hire an excellent teacher for you."

"Thank you. If there is nothing else, I would like to go and rest." Sakiko bowed slightly and turned to leave.

Sadaharu watched her slender back, feeling a strange sensation. She seemed like a different person since her return.

Though she appeared delicate on the outside, she was strong-willed on the inside. Sadaharu had prepared for a long, grueling talk to explain the stakes, but she had been surprisingly compliant, as if all her sharpness had been ground away.

Perhaps his hard-line approach had worked?

A wine cellar, a library, a media room, a gym, a sauna, even a bowling alley—the basement of the mansion was partitioned into many rooms dedicated to various entertainments.

Sakiko rarely visited these places. Having studied music since childhood, she excelled at the piano—a talent meant for performance—so there was no need to venture into the basement. Her practice room was in the sunroom on the second floor.

But today, she walked straight to the basement, heading to the deepest, most spacious room.

The door opened. Sakiko turned on the lights, and the cold luster of metal gleamed across the walls.

These were all real firearms: an Alpha 2261 revolver, an M4 Super 90 tactical shotgun, a WA 2000 sniper rifle...

Sakiko took down a Smith & Wesson M500 revolver. It felt heavy and cool in her hand, but it didn't weigh on her—since her bloodline had awakened, her strength had increased significantly, and she had always been a girl with decent athletic aptitude.

Still, with her small hands, it might be difficult to control while firing.

This was the world’s most powerful mass-produced revolver, with a caliber of 12.7mm. In the days of World War II, that caliber was used by the Soviet army for machine guns to strike aircraft and armored vehicles.

Its power was staggering. Due to the massive propellant charge, it held only five rounds. Among enthusiasts, this was called a "hand cannon," not a pistol.

She then took down an Uzi submachine gun.

With a theoretical rate of fire of 1,500 rounds per minute, the magazine was integrated into the grip, allowing it to be compact without sacrificing firepower—it could even fit into a school satchel. It was the number one micro-submachine gun favored by terrorists worldwide.

The knowledge her mother had taught her flooded back as she looked at each weapon. When her mother spoke of these things, she would be radiant, the light in her eyes like a woman seeing jewels the size of pigeon eggs.

Toyokawa Mizuho, Sadaharu’s daughter, Sakiko’s late mother.

Sakiko had always felt her mother was a strange woman.

Mizuho had a quiet, serene appearance with fluffy, shoulder-length hair. On the surface, she was the quintessential lady whose smile could melt hearts.

By all accounts, she was a top-tier socialite who had everything. Her days should have been spent eating, drinking, and shopping, swiping cards until clerks fell to their knees like pugs just to have her stay a moment longer in their shops.

But Mizuho didn't love shopping; she didn't even care for the latest seasonal fashion.

She loved bungee jumping, exploring deep mountains, and sailing across the sea. She lived for danger, but her greatest hobby was shooting.

And not just airsoft; she played with real guns, live ammunition. That was why this shooting range had been prepared specifically for her.

In elementary school, when the teacher assigned an essay on their parents' affection, other children wrote about trips to amusement parks, restaurants, or art galleries.

Sakiko had thought for a long time, realizing she couldn't write about how her mother loved to drag her father along to blast things away, so she made up a story about a visit to an aquarium.

Unlike her mother, Sakiko had never inherited that adventurous spirit. She knew the range existed but had never tried it herself; she would only sit on a small stool, watching her parents lean against each other while they shot.

Now that they were both gone, she finally pushed open this door on her own. But this time, no angel kissed her forehead; only cold steel and bullets remained to answer her.

Could guns be used against Dead Servants and gods? Sakiko didn't know.

But these were the most powerful things she could conceive of and obtain. She figured that even those demonic creatures wouldn't find being hit by such bullets pleasant, even if it didn't kill them.

With that thought, she put on her noise-canceling earmuffs, took a bullet from the box, and, imitating the way her mother used to show off, pressed it into the chamber of the M500.

Gripping the handle with both hands, Sakiko stood with her legs apart, aiming at the target 50 meters away—the furthest distance in the room.

She imagined a Dead Servant there: black cloak, twisted golden eyes, limbs mutated into bone claws. Such things were like bloodthirsty demons; when they caught the scent of a human, their skulls would split open, and they would rush forward, crying out with snake-like maws.

Spirit, will, and the machine in her hands fused in that moment. With her five senses heightened by her awakened bloodline, the path of the killing bullet took shape in her consciousness.

A hunting pistol, a world of fading rain, a Maybach on an overpass, a god at the end of the road. If only she had had such a thing back then! If she had, perhaps her father might still be alive.

Murderous intent crept into her brow. Dragon blood surged and roared within her veins. Without her knowledge, her dragon bone underwent a silent, subtle shift.

Sakiko pulled the trigger. The flat-nosed, large-caliber bullet spiraled out of the barrel at high speed.

"Ah!"

Simultaneous with the bullet striking the bullseye, a sharp cry of pain escaped Sakiko. She stumbled backward, clutching her reddened brow, squinting to find the pistol that had flown from her grasp.

It was her first time firing such a powerful hand cannon; she had been completely unprepared. This was nothing like watching her mother.

Mizuho had been incredibly steady. No matter the weapon, recoil seemed non-existent; the muzzle never wavered, and her accuracy was flawless—every shot hit the 10-ring at 50 meters.

This had given Sakiko the illusion that firearms were easy to handle.

The result was that the M500’s massive recoil had caused it to spin out of her hands, the searing muzzle slamming into her forehead. Her arm was numb, and her fingers couldn't even close.

Sakiko held her arm, eyes wide with shock, unable to speak for a long while.

What kind of monster was her mother? Even an adult man would be injured by this thing if caught off guard, yet she could fire five rounds in a row without blinking! She had never realized her mother was that terrifying!