After the bell rang out, an eerie silence settled over the village. It wasn't fear that silenced the people—it was the thought:
What if it's all true?
Many had doubted before, but now, something ancient stirred within them at the sound of that bell.
The next morning, the villagers turned to Haruki and Daiki. They told them what they had seen, what they had felt, and asked what they should expect next. Some of the warriors approached as well, wanting to know how to fight the demons, how to stop them.
Haruki and Daiki gave a simple answer:
"The bell… and these two swords."
The bell repels them. The swords destroy them.
But the swords cannot simply be handed over.
They taught the villagers: if a strange, fast-moving mist descended upon the village, the bell must be rung—without hesitation. From now on, someone must always be there. If the bell remains silent, Kurohana's fate is sealed.
Some still doubted.
But many believed.
And so from that day forward, a watch was always kept at the bell tower.
Once Haruki and Daiki were sure the bell would protect the village, that the children were safe, and someone would always guard them, they began to prepare for their journey. Food, medicine, bandages—everything the villagers could offer was given to them.
They were about to leave when a dense, gray mist began to roll in toward the village.
The sound of demons moving through it could be heard. Their clawed feet rasped against the ground, their talons scraping together like metal on stone—as if sharpening themselves with every step.
But they made no sound otherwise. It was as though the ability to speak had been cut from them.
Haruki and Daiki turned toward the temple at the exact same moment.
It was too far.
They wouldn't make it in time.
Then—the bell rang.
"They believed us," Daiki whispered.
Relief flooded them. At least this village would be spared.
The demons vanished.
The mist dissolved.
And then they appeared.
Ten figures at the edge of the village, cloaked in darkness, their hoods drawn low over their faces. Swords hung at their sides, their movements slow but ominously deliberate. When they spoke, their voices were like water grating through stone.
"Who rang the bell?" one of them rasped.
The villagers froze.
Then, the old woman stepped forward—the one who had always taught, who believed in the legends, who was never afraid of the answers.
"The whole village knows when to ring it," she answered calmly. "We all know."
But she never finished her sentence.
The hooded ones drew their swords.
And the slaughter began.
Haruki and Daiki did not hesitate. The moment they heard the screams, they ran. A few of the village warriors reached the scene quickly, but the attack was already underway.
The hooded figures moved like the shadows of death—fast, silent, merciless. Daiki tried to fight, though he was still clumsy with the blade. He threw himself into the battle with all his strength. What he lacked in technique, he made up for in determination and sheer force of will.
Haruki, however, was different.
She didn't think—her body simply moved.
The dragon spirit was with her. Her movements flowed; her blade lived, cut, defended, danced. Not a single scratch touched her.
The hooded ones weren't strong enough. The bravery of the village warriors, combined with Haruki and Daiki's power, turned the tide.
But victory came bitter.
Two of the village's fighters were lost.
And fourteen innocent villagers were slaughtered before they could be stopped.
Haruki walked the streets with tears in her eyes. Blood stained the earth. Bodies lay silent in the dust. She didn't understand why this had happened. Why they had to die.
She asked everyone—anyone who had survived.
Eventually, she found two wounded survivors who had heard what the old woman had said to the hooded ones:
"The whole village knows the bell's secret."
That was the reason.
That was why they killed.
Then, the dragon spirit spoke within her soul. His voice was deep, disturbed.
"That style of combat… I haven't seen it in over a thousand years. To be precise… twelve hundred."
Haruki froze. She could feel it—the dragon wasn't just surprised.
He was worried.
"This clan was never meant to return," the dragon murmured. "They serve destruction. They stand with the demons. They are agents of darkness."
Haruki clenched her fists. The answer brought no peace—only more questions.
She was still standing among the village's ruins when she suddenly felt the call.
The dragon spirit called to her from within—quiet, but urgent.
"Sit down, Haruki. You need to see something."
She knelt near the temple's entrance, where blood still hadn't dried on the stones. She closed her eyes and let the dragon guide her. The world around her faded into darkness, replaced by other colors, other lights.
This was no dream.
It was a memory—the dragon's memory.
A battlefield opened before her, nestled between mountains, soaked in blood. Humans fought against each other—but something was wrong. Haruki saw it at once. These weren't ordinary people. They moved with impossible speed, unnatural strength, merciless precision. Their blades left trails of black smoke, their movements honed beyond human limits.
"It was them," the dragon spirit said. "Humans who made a pact with demons. Not the lesser ones—but the leaders."
The image shifted. Now she saw shadowed halls, stone walls lined with demonic statues. People knelt before monstrous beings. Blood-written contracts. Demons with burning eyes. Weapons gifted to them. Training. Rituals. Oaths that could never be broken.
"That's why the demon soldiers don't harm them," the dragon explained. "These people sold their souls. They were given techniques, knowledge, power… and one command: when the time comes, they must fight for the demons. They cannot say no."
The vision dissolved.
Haruki opened her eyes.
The village surrounded her once more, but everything had changed. The blood on the ground was not only from innocent victims. It was an echo of the shadows of the past.
"Now you understand," the dragon spirit whispered.
"What's coming isn't just a demon army. It's humans too—those who have forgotten what it means to be human."
Daiki came running to her from the village outskirts, breathless. His face was a mixture of resolve and despair.
"Haruki! We can't leave yet! We have to teach them—teach them how to fight these things… these monsters!" he cried, pointing back at the still-smoking ruins.
"Haruki! We can't just move on! We need to teach them how to fight—how to defend themselves against these… these monsters!" Daiki pointed toward the smoldering ruins behind them. "If we leave now, it'll just happen again!"
Haruki didn't reply. Not out loud. But in her heart, she felt the same. And yet, she couldn't speak—not before the voice of the dragon spirit rang out within her once more.
"There is no time for teaching, Haruki," it said, its voice a low rumble in her soul. "They have appeared in too many places. The demons… and the humans who side with them… are advancing. You must go."
"But—" she began, but the spirit cut her off.
"Even Daiki still needs to be taught," it said more softly now. "But right now, there are others who need saving."
Haruki clenched her fists and shook her head, her voice rising—not to Daiki, but to the spirit within her.
"And what good is saving them," she demanded, "if there's no one left to protect them afterward? What use is knowledge if they're executed—if not by demons, then by the hands of men?"
The spirit fell silent. She could feel it withdrawing, hesitating, as though weighing her words. Then, its voice returned—deeper, more resolute, but tinged with a quiet concession.
"You have two days. Not a minute more."
The weight of those words pressed on her like fire—searing, but also sheltering.
"…All right," she whispered. "But which city are you talking about?"
There was no answer. Only silence. And yet, she felt a strange calm. Though the spirit was far more powerful than her, in that moment, she knew she had managed to win something from it.
Over the next two days, Haruki and Daiki trained relentlessly under the dragon spirit's guidance. And they shared what they learned with the village warriors, determined to make the most of the time they had been granted. The days passed quickly—but not quietly.
During that time, Haruki finally stepped inside Ayame's home—a place that had always been shrouded in mystery, forever closed to her. There, among old scrolls and dusty tomes, she found a faded parchment tucked away on a forgotten shelf. While others might have dismissed the marks on it as meaningless scribbles, Haruki could read them. The dragon spirit's knowledge had awakened her understanding of the ancient language.
The parchment revealed a long-hidden truth: why so few bells were ever made—and why not every village possessed one. The same held true for the dragon swords. The answer lay in the metal. These relics had not been forged from ordinary steel, but from a rare celestial alloy that had fallen from the sky long ago. That metal alone could bear the inscriptions powerful enough to bind a spirit within it. Common steel shattered under the weight of those runes—rejected by the very essence they were meant to contain.
That was what made the swords and the bells so rare. So precious.
As the two days ended, the dragon spirit's urgency returned in full force. They had to head west—and this time, the summons felt different. Haruki could sense it, deep in her bones. The dragon had never pushed them so directly, never with such clarity. But now, there was no question. Something had changed. Something was coming.
And because it had granted them this time to prepare, Haruki and Daiki did not question the call. They obeyed.
They set out beneath a sky that burned with sunset, the west already darkening with the first rise of storm clouds.
They had just crossed the first ridge when the Dragon Spirit spoke again—this time calm, but sharper than ever:
"You are not yet ready for what awaits you there."