Demonic Kitsune

The cold wind, sharp enough to feel like it could cut flesh, blew from somewhere unknown and swept over the Nin roughly. Her nine bushy tails, even though they were well-covered, shivered slightly as her ears flinched in the icy air. Snowflakes whirled and danced in the relentless wind.

The Nin, wrapped tightly in a long-collared cardigan cloak enough to ward off the extreme cold, sighed as she stirred a bit of her Holy mana, shaking off the snow accumulating on her cloak and neatly packed ponytail—the two long bangs cascaded down her forehead swaying gently in the wind. With her well-wrapped weapon strapped to her back, she began moving again, each step heavy as she pushed through the thick snow that hindered her progress.

With every step, she felt the cold seeping up from beneath her feet. Despite the chill, Clare lifted her head to glance at the sky, letting out a deep breath of frost. The sun, hanging high above—signaling that noon was almost over—was obscured by a dense, white mass of clouds, allowing only faint glimmers of light to break through, making the atmosphere shrouded in a light mist. 

The endlessly wide “Great Edge” of Salamander, as it was called, stretched out before the Nin in all directions. As she gazed at the icy white snow expanse, Nin rubbed her palms together and lightly stirred her Holy mana. Not much was needed; just a small amount of heat would suffice. With a bit of yang energy, she could fend off the extreme yin cold that threatened her internals.

As her body temperature rose closer to normal and her mind began to calm, the Nin's thoughts drifted back to three weeks ago. 

“...Hu.”

The Last Trial of the Valkyrie-Blitz had marked the end of the “Test” for the Institute of Arrancars, but wasn't their Final training. In keeping with the tradition of “Wandering World Training,” the young Arrancars were released into the world to undertake special missions.

This experience allowed them to gain hands-on experience and, at the same time, make contributions to the Demon Clan. These contributions were critical, as they would help determine the final ranking and status of the young Arrancars upon their return to the Clan seven years later.

One of the places Clare was sent to was the “Great Edge” of Salamander. She would have preferred to be dispatched somewhere else, but the only options were the “Far Floating East” or the “Great Edge.” Unfortunately, she didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Along with Clare, about fifty other young Arrancars were sent to the Great Edge. The remaining young Arrancars were dispersed to various bases, branches, barracks, or command posts of the Demon Clan, each with missions to complete. They were tasked with resolving these missions in order and reporting their achievements at the designated regions.

There were two types of missions to be completed: individual and group missions. The individual missions varied in difficulty, depending on the achievements within the Institute of Arrancars. Of course, Clare had received a specific command before leaving the Demon Clan. As she mulled over this command, she was about to confirm the goal of the Demon Clan, which until now had been mere speculation in her mind.

‘So, the Demon Clan really is preparing for war,’ she thought.

Like her own, the missions assigned to many other young Arrancars were to subjugate nearby clans. This task would be simple for Clare, who had been unaware of the outside world since her death ten years ago, while the Holy Grail War was still ongoing. The Demon Clan’s strategy was clear: clean up the region of any elements that might exploit the chaos and threaten their rear lines before advancing. It wasn’t certain, but the probability was high.

Clare continued to push through the snowy field, ignoring the wind and the faintly falling snow. She tried to forget about the Demon Clan’s impending war or the chaos of the Holy Grail War—both were beyond her current reach. Instead, she focused on the mission detailed in her orders. There were personal and group missions, and she had to finish her personal one first. A little over a month had been given for the young Arrancars to gather and then complete the group mission, so all individual missions had to be finished within that time frame.

Her mission was to subjugate the “FrostAvalanche Clan.”

This wandering clan, which wielded the power of frost-yin, had recently grown rapidly in strength. Their powerful icy holy magic could summon avalanches, and their agile movement skills made them a significant threat. Several branches of the Clan had settled in the “Great Edge,” causing considerable trouble.

It might have seemed like a simple mission, but it was far from easy. The average young Arrancar from the Institute couldn’t handle this alone, no matter how straightforward it appeared. However, Clare was no ordinary Arrancar. In her previous life, she had been a Heavenly Saintess. Now, as a Viking-class Arrancar and the top-ranked student in the entire Institute, if anyone could do it alone, it was her. The higher-ups, as well as Clare herself, believed she was more than capable. With the use of “Mana of Fossilization” and “Seventh Mind,” without even needing her other attributes or abilities, it would not be difficult.

Clare walked through the snow, leaving a trail of uneven prints in the white expanse. The biting cold gnawed at her fingertips, but she found some comfort as she slipped her hand into the folds of her emerald cloak. Her fingers closed around a bronze badge, its surface cold and solid against her skin. The words "Αρράνκαρ Βίκινγκ" were deeply carved into its surface. It was a symbol from the Demon Clan, guaranteeing her status as an Arrancar Viking. The badge had been handed to her when she left the Institute.

"First, GIMEL, you must locate the base of the Demon Clan..."

To find the hideout of the "FrostAvalanche Clan," Clare first needed to gather information. The Clan was rumored to move like "moles, burrowing through the underground."

“If you want to find help from the bases, remember these places: Lumencis, Trevinia, Eldemeria, Ventamonte, Glacolia…” That was what the Senior Instructor Edgar Le Nigel had said before all the young Arrancars left the Clan. 

Of these, "Eldermeria" was closest. Clare decided that would be her first stop. Her feet trailed through the dense snow and she occasionally rubbed her palms together for warmth.

Eldermeria was known for having one of the coldest, most unforgiving lakes in the Salamander Edge. The lake stretched out like a frozen sheet, bordered by vast snowfields that swallowed the horizon. Around it, the Big and Small States had taken root—settlements that clung to the edges of the lake like frost to a windowpane. Among them, “Meria De Cuma” was the largest state. It offered everything a traveler might need, though it paled in comparison to the grandeur of larger cities.

Clare was headed to a place called "Salmon's Inn." As the name implies, the inn was a traditional establishment in Meria De Cuma, serving fish caught from the cold lake. It had been run by the same family for six generations. The current Steward of the Inn, Salvador—"Salva" for short—was a man of two hundred and fifty years. His skin was a mosaic of pale and brown, toughened by time and the elements. His face, lined with age, held dark eyes that gleamed with the wisdom of two hundred and fifty years.

During his time in Meria De Cuma, Salva had woven himself into the fabric of the community. He knew every rumor and every whisper that passed through the town. Because of this, Salmon's Inn was more than just a place to eat—it was a hub of information. Travelers came not just for the well-seasoned salmon but for the knowledge Salva held, hidden behind his sharp eyes and quiet demeanor. Some sought directions; others sought secrets that could make or break a journey.

Clare, who had entered “Meria De Cuma,” was headed to a particular place. She wasn’t going there to gather information about the Demon Clan's bases in the area. Even if she had wanted that information, it would have been impossible to obtain. No, she was visiting because the inn was the Demon Clan’s secret base.

This base was primarily for gathering information and serving as a deterrent; it had no real combat effectiveness. This was one reason the Demon Clan hadn’t dealt with the “FrostAvalanche Clan,” a group of mere rising stars.

Another reason for the delay was that the “FrostAvalanche Clan” hadn’t been significant enough to warrant attention until recently. Only in the past few years had the group grown to a size large enough to be considered a medium-sized clan rather than just an organized group. If the FrostAvalanche Clan had been preparing for war to take advantage of an ongoing conflict, it might have made sense to eliminate them, even though they weren’t a great threat.

The Demon Clan’s base was disguised as an inn. Clare didn't think it was a bad cover, and her eyes caught sight of the sign: “Salmon’s Inn.” She entered, a light smile on her otherwise indifferent face. The enticing smell of well-seasoned grilled salmon wafted through the air, enough to make anyone drool. Her fluffy tails wriggled in excitement, stirred by the delicious scent.

But Clare quickly calmed herself, gazing intently at her bushy tails, which stiffened in disappointment. She had no intention of slacking off, and besides, she had no money for indulgences, even if she had wanted to. Sighing, Clare glanced around at the other guests seated at the tables, either enjoying their meals or chatting among themselves.

The inn’s patrons were a mix of people dressed for the cold region, none of whom seemed to be warriors or had any connection to the Demon Clan. Beyond that, Clare noticed a member of the Demon Clan, a "Steward" who hadn’t even reached the rank of "Arrancar pawn." It was surprising that the Demon Clan, known for its cruelty, would assign someone of such a low rank to manage one of their bases. Clare thought it best to assume that Salva had been sent here to act as the "base steward."

Clare passed by the long hall of well-aligned tables, each flanked by guests on both sides and approached the Demon Steward.

“May I get the salmon that I pre-ordered?” she asked.

The Nin’s words, spoken with a confidence that seemed to sparkle and attract the attention of onlookers, drew the gaze of the demonic Abuelo. His eyes squinted behind odd-looking glasses as he looked her up and down.

“Do you know the type of salmon you ordered?” he asked, tilting his glasses.

“The Blobs and Deep Seas salmon,” Clare responded calmly.

These were no ordinary salmons. They were dangerous to catch, let alone kill and grill even with skill. But "Salmon’s Inn" had a reputation for taming even the most dangerous catches, surrendering them to Salva's knife and cooking expertise. Despite this, the demonic Abuelo’s eyes trembled slightly at the mention of the order.

“...Quite an interesting order,” he remarked. “I don’t think that’s something that came in recently. Can you tell me when you pre-ordered it?”

Clare closed her eyes briefly at the question, her actions conveying what the old man needed to know. Without the right words or behavior, it would be impossible for him to access the base and retrieve the information. Inwardly, Clare chuckled. It was a good thing she had paid close attention to her Senior Instructor.

“I can’t remember the exact date, but it was about a year and a half ago,” she replied.

“A year and a half? Then such salmon would be in the cold room…” The demonic Abuelo glanced back. Dense, frigid vapor leaked from the partially open door behind the counter, hinting at the cold room filled with all kinds of salmon. “Would you like to come in and pick it up?”

Clare opened her eyes slightly and nodded with a faint smile. The steward rose from behind the counter, slid open the door for Nin, and entered the cold room. Clare followed him inside.

As they ventured deeper into the frigid cold room, which could make most people shiver uncontrollably or suffocate from the cold, the steward’s demeanor changed. A different vibe stirred around him. He removed his odd-looking glasses, and a 12-inch horn protruded slightly from his temples. His dark eyes gleamed icy as he spoke.

“May I see your badge?”

Gramps Salvador, the base steward of the Demon Clan stationed at the remote "Great Edge" of Salamander, was known for his gentle and kind demeanor with outsiders. Although his status wasn’t high, he couldn’t afford to treat a Half-breed Nin on a mission like a mere guest or customer. After all, the wrath of someone greater, whom he served and cherished with all his heart, would find him if he lost his touch or make a single mistake.

Sighing, not at his intimidating words but at the frigid cold of the room, Clare barely noticed the chill that would have been unbearable to others. To her, the cold in the room felt soft against her skin, especially compared to the brutal chill she had felt at "Great Edge.” she had passed through earlier. Her jade-like hand reached into her cloak retrieved her bronze badge, and showed it to him. "This is it," she said.

As soon as Salva confirmed her identity as part of the "Arrancar Viking," his eyes widened, and the gleam in them faded. He shuddered slightly. “I have confirmed it,” he said.

Immediately, Salva became even more polite. “What information would you like?”

“The FrostAvalanche Clan,” Clare replied.

Gramps Salva, now wearing his glasses again, while his horn gradually receded, nodded. “Oh, you mean those Snow Elves,” he said, reaching between a gap in the whitish wall of frozen fish. He pulled out a fist-sized book and handed it to her. “Here it is.”

Clare accepted the book and checked the cover, noting the small font and the size, which was no larger than an infant’s fist. “James Le Wick?” she asked, puzzled. The title seemed unrelated to the FrostAvalanche Clan. Instead, it appeared to be the story of a military man who drove a kingdom to extinction because a high-ranking noble killed his goldfish.

“...Surprised?” the demonic Abuelo asked. “It’s not the confidential information you expected, right?”

Clare nodded, her reaction confirming his words. But she knew the information was likely disguised for security reasons. “How can I check the content?” she asked.

Gramps Salva sighed. If the information were too easy to access, it would mean his death was near—a fate he had narrowly avoided for decades. “You’ll need to take the middle chapter and hold it over a fire to reveal the information you seek,” he explained.

As she exited the Inn, Clare pretended to be disappointed, slumping her shoulders as if her pre-order had been mistakenly delivered days ago. Her ears drooped, and her nine tails dragged behind her as though she had come all this way in vain. But hidden within her cloak was the fist-sized book containing the information she needed.

After walking some distance from Salmon’s Inn, Clare’s composure returned as she made her way to the snow-covered northern forests on the outskirts of the state. By that time, the sun was beginning to set, and a terrible darkness fell.

Clare trudged through the snowfield, pushing herself through the thick drifts. The wind howled, and the snow continued to fall heavily. It was a blizzard. Though Arrancars were resilient, even they had limits against nature’s wrath. Clare looked around and soon found shelter for the night in the form of a dark cave.

She waded through snow piled up to her thighs as she entered the cave, her ears twitching and her tails tensing in response to a potential danger lurking in the shadows. Contrary to her expectations, she found a pair of dense blue eyes staring back at her. Using her “Seventh Mind,” Clare identified the creature as a bear, and it was enormous—about the size of a house.

Clare’s tails bristled in anticipation as she cautiously approached, keeping an intimidating yet wary gaze on the creature. The giant bear didn’t attack. No, it wouldn’t. Instead, it seemed to shiver slightly, maintaining a cautious look. Most animals and monsters were neutral toward Arrancars; unless provoked, they wouldn’t initiate an attack.

Both instinctive animals and intelligent monsters could sense murderous intent or bloodlust from anyone who approached them. But Clare, at this point, was more stressed than eager to fight an innocent bear.

Thanks to this, the bear remained neutral, eventually dozing off. Clare walked past it to the back of the cave, where she stumbled upon some wood and leaves—enough to make a fire.

She soon lit the fire, the flames reflecting in her eyes. The shadows danced on the cave walls as the fire flickered, occasionally sending sparks toward the ceiling. Leaning against the cold cave wall, Clare was reminded of complex thoughts.

If she left Eldemeria and headed to the Middle States, she could confront them. Yes, she could face her enemies. With her considerably changed body, they wouldn’t recognize her, and she could deal with them effortlessly.

Was she wasting her time here?

Wouldn't it be better to go now and aim her death-brimming scythe at the necks of her enemies, like a Grim Reaper?

Clare felt that way.

But she shook her head, her fist clenching. No, she wasn’t wasting her time here.