Chapter 307
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Chapter 307: The Dish Is on the Table, I’m Afraid You Won’t Be Able to Enjoy It
“The main dish is here!”
With that announcement, two sword witches were pushed out on a wooden cart, bound to a rack. Their heads were covered with black sacks, their clothes torn and tattered, exposing numerous scars. Flesh had been torn open, and blood flowed freely.
In a brothel or a lavish mansion, such a sight would undoubtedly disgust many. But for these cannibalistic monsters, it only fueled their insatiable desires.
“Wow, this leg is so big, so fair, and so tender.”
“This piece of fat looks good, I’ll take it!”
“Mmm, the aroma is mouthwatering, it’s so tempting!”
“Roll down, it’s your turn to have the first bite! Who are you sending it to anyway?”
These were the words of living men, ready to turn this scene into an action-packed horror movie. But for the inhumane creatures surrounding them, the next moments were bound to be pure terror.
The two sword witches weakly struggled, their magical powers exhausted and their limbs dislocated.
The Smiling Buddha, holding two knives in his hands, created a sound of scraping metal.
“These two are tough cookies,” he remarked. “I’ve cut them eighteen times, but they didn’t even utter a sound.”
“If any of you had replaced them, you’d already be dead. These two have killed many resentful spirits and wandering souls.”
“Look, look at my hands, my back, and my knees—I’ve been cut several times. Ugh, just thinking about it hurts…”
The butcher’s face was covered in deep creases.
“These two are high-level shrine sword witches. They have smooth, fair skin, and abundant spiritual power. Eating from them will enhance cultivation.”
“This kind of sword witch is rare. You’re lucky. I was hesitant to give them to you, but today, I’m making an exception to show the Hundred Demons Party’s power.”
“When the hundred demons feast begins, you’ll get the best delights!”
His voice echoed loudly, inciting clamor among the spirits.
“The boss is generous!”
“It’s a sword witch! Hahaha! My distant cousin’s friend’s uncle was killed by one!”
“A shrine’s sword witch captured? I must taste her, I was nearly stabbed to death before—today, I’ll have my revenge!”
“Who do you think you are? With your stomach that’s been gnawed on, no matter how much you eat, it’ll all fall apart!”
The spirits chattered away, but as the Smiling Buddha lifted his hand, they fell silent.
“Alright,” the butcher said, his voice low as he finished sharpening his cleaver. “It’s time to begin.”
He removed the hoods from the two sword witches’ faces. Both were young, with their magical powers peaking in their forties or fifties, though most sword witches met their end in their twenties or thirties. It was unknown how many had died at the hands of evil demons.
Shimizu looked at Ise with difficulty and forced an ugly smile. “We… we can’t escape this calamity today.”
Ise was calmer, almost numb, as she replied, “I know.”
Within the realm of sword witches, there was an unspoken understanding of the high mortality rate. The data on various ways to die had secretly circulated among the young sword witches.
“Have you ever thought about how you might die?” they would ask each other. It was a secret, a way to alleviate the weight of their own fears, to express the sorrow they didn’t speak aloud.
Shimizu had once said that, if she were to die, she would prefer it to be in an illusion, where the desires deep within her heart could be lured out, allowing her to die in a dream.
Ise, on the other hand, never thought about such things. To her, the true spirit of a sword witch was to fight until the very last breath.
“Do you regret it?” Shimizu whispered. “You could have stayed at the Ise Shrine, but instead, you followed me and now… this is your end.”
“Dummy,” Ise muttered, lifting her eyes, but offering no further explanation.
Shimizu’s tears fell freely.
“Don’t cry,” Ise said coldly. “Don’t let them underestimate us. Don’t let them underestimate the sword witches.”
The butcher, gripping his cleaver, chuckled darkly. “Even at the brink of death, you’re still defiant? When I extract your heart and liver, you’ll be crying too.”
“You can try,” Ise sneered, her teeth clenched.
She was known for her great potential among the sword witches. Before Jingūji revealed her hidden powers, her peers had believed she would become one of the Three Instruments in the next decade. But life, as always, was unpredictable.
Ise knew the truth of being a sword witch: death was a constant companion, and one could never predict when their time would come. She didn’t follow Shimizu just for her friend, but because she had longed for the responsibilities of a sword witch, for the hero’s journey, for something more than the ordinary life that lay before her.
Now, standing at the edge of death with a horde of demons ready to tear her apart, she realized with startling clarity that she had never truly desired to be a hero. What she truly hated were these cannibalistic monsters.
She had no regrets about dying here—only regret at not having the power to wipe them out. She regretted that she couldn’t fulfill the shrine’s mission, and the thought of the disaster awaiting Shikoku Town burned inside her. More than the fear of death, it was the regret of what she could not do.
But the next moment, her eyes widened in surprise as the butcher’s sword shifted away from her, turning instead toward Shimizu.
Shimizu felt a tug on her hair, and the butcher’s cleaver was placed against her neck, blood beginning to flow.
Ise’s gaze faltered, her earlier resolve crumbling. “If anyone’s going to be killed, it will be me!”
“That expression is just right,” the Smiling Buddha laughed, his mouth twisting grotesquely. “But I want you to watch as your friend dies first.”
The butcher’s cruel actions were intended to fuel the evil demons’ hunger with resentment and anger, making the spirits’ feast even more satisfying.
Shimizu lifted her neck, the fear in her eyes fading slowly.
The sword witch gazed at her closest friend and smiled. “Don’t bow your head, don’t let them underestimate the sword witch.”
“Enough talk,” the butcher said, raising his cleaver. “Now… it’s time for the slaughter.”
The group of evil demons eagerly closed in, their hunger palpable as they prepared to feast on the fresh flesh and heart of their victims.
Why do demons and monsters devour humans? It is because many of them were once human themselves. The insatiable hunger, the deep longing to reclaim what they once had, compels them to consume the flesh of the living. They know that once their hunger is momentarily satisfied, it will only lead to their downfall, but they cannot resist the impulse.
Without the deterrence of a sword, they would roam the streets at night, devouring all life in their path.
This is the true origin of the grand feast of spirits. What lies before them now is merely the tip of the iceberg, a glimpse of the cruel reality that awaits.
Ise, her heart burning with anger and despair, screamed, “You wicked spirits, even if the shrine’s sword witches shed their last drop of blood, you will pay for your sins! I curse you—curse you even in death, condemned to the deepest inferno, never to be reborn!”
But curses held no weight in this realm—this was already a hell, where demons danced wildly and evil spirits grinned menacingly.
Exerting her final strength, Ise gazed at Shimizu with a trace of calm, embracing death. She concealed her fear, hiding the vulnerability that lingered beneath her defiance.
The butcher grinned, raising his cleaver to strike.
But suddenly, there was a piercing clash of metal.
A flash of sword light burst through the air, cutting a path through the spirits. With a single strike, the blade clashed with the butcher’s cleaver, slicing it cleanly in two.
Startled, the butcher leaped back ten steps, his eyes wide.
In the midst of the cold light, a Han sword appeared, swirling through the air. It landed with a powerful thud in the ground. Then…
Roar!
A fierce, illusory tiger shadow emerged from the blade, its roar sending a chilling sensation through the spirits.
The evil demons scattered in all directions, leaving behind one lone sword-wielding demon.
The other demons looked upon the sword-wielding figure with disbelief, noticing the vertical line splitting his face down the middle, like a watermelon cleaved in two.
“My head… it hurts…” the demon muttered before its head exploded, its soul scattering in an instant.
The spirits stared, stunned by the sudden death of the centuries-old sword-wielding demon. How could this happen with a single strike?
The sword witches watched in astonishment. Someone had come to their rescue—had entered the fray, and dared to act?
“The food is already on the stage. I’m afraid you won’t get to taste it,” a mocking voice echoed.
“Who is it?” Smiling Buddha shouted, his voice tinged with frustration as he scanned the spirits. A fierce, eerie wind swirled around him, conjuring thick fog. “Come out!”
A young man dropped the heads of two demons at his feet, his eyes gleaming faintly with a golden hue.
“Now… who is the one being preyed upon?” he said coldly.
