Chapter 195: A Journal

Chapter 195: A Journal

Back to the moment when Donovan Valdez departed from the Moon Reflection Mirror, the oppressive, deathly aura that had shrouded the Ancient Stone Well courtyard dissipated like mist beneath the golden warmth of a rising sun. The suffocating dread that had clung to the air, thick enough to choke even the bravest soul, melted away, replaced by a serene tranquility that settled over the place like a comforting embrace. The once-stifling silence now hummed with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant trickle of water from the lily pond, as if nature itself exhaled in relief. The courtyard, which had moments ago felt like the threshold of the underworld, now basked in an almost sacred stillness, as though the very stones beneath their feet had been purified of malice.

Krogh Hanz—the formidable man whose mere presence had radiated an icy, soul-numbing intent—relaxed visibly, his broad shoulders easing as the tension drained from his body. His sharp, sword-like gaze, which had been capable of freezing blood in its veins, softened into something warm and approachable, like the first light of dawn after a long night. The terrifying figure who had seemed a living executioner, a specter of divine retribution, now wore a gentle, righteous smile, his handsome features radiating kindness rather than wrath. His deep, resonant voice carried the weight of wisdom and compassion, like a sage who had walked through fire yet emerged unburned. The transformation was so profound that one might wonder if he had been two different men—one a storm of judgment, the other a beacon of unwavering virtue.

Beside him, Madam Claret underwent an even more astonishing metamorphosis. Her spectral form, once wreathed in a ghastly, corpse-pale aura that sent shivers down the spine, now shimmered into vivid, breathtaking life. Her deathly pallor warmed into a rosy, luminous glow, her hollow eyes brightening into deep, alluring pools of warmth and mischief. Her tall, imposing frame filled out into the voluptuous curves of a stunning, mature woman, her presence no longer chilling but irresistibly magnetic. The terrifying ghost had become a vision of radiant beauty, her every movement exuding playful elegance. She tilted her head, studying Krogh with a mischievous glint in her eyes, her lips curving into a sweet, teasing smile as her voice—like the chime of silver bells laced with honey—filled the air.

"Honey," she began, her tone dripping with playful temptation, "why don’t you just act on behalf of the Righteous Heaven and erase those demonic sect cultivators directly?"

She sighed dramatically, her delicate fingers brushing a strand of raven-black hair behind her ear, the candlelight catching the creamy, luminous perfection of her skin. The flickering glow traced the elegant curve of her cheek, highlighting the softness of her features, so flawless they seemed sculpted by divine hands.

"Since that bad fool who called himself Kinson Wexford is already dead, we might as well wait for more of his wretched comrades to come crawling to our estate. Then, you can simply... dispose of them all at once." Her lips curled into a naughty smirk, her eyes sparkling with wicked delight. "After all, why waste time showing mercy to murderous devils? They’re nothing but pests—why not squash them before they scurry too close?"

Krogh chuckled, his laughter rich and warm, like the deep, resonant toll of a temple bell carrying the wisdom of ages. His gaze drifted toward the shimmering water lily pond, the reflection of the moonlight dancing upon its surface like scattered fragments of silver.

"I do see them as pests," he admitted, his voice steady and calm, yet carrying the unshakable conviction of a man who had long since made peace with his path. "In the vast, blood-soaked expanse of this Devil Domain, cultivation is a brutal forge—one that tempers the righteous and emboldens the wicked. The Righteous Path walks in harmony with the heavens, seeking ascension through purity and balance... while the Demonic Path drowns itself in slaughter, devouring souls and refining corpses in their unholy hunger for power."

The swordsman exhaled softly, a flicker of sorrow passing through his eyes. "We were indeed unlucky to ascend into this world of demons... yet among those bloodstained devils wearing human skins, this Kinson Wexford was... different."

Madam Claret arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her lips parting in intrigued amusement. "Oh?" she purred, her voice a velvet caress. "Do tell, darling. What could possibly make one demon stand out from the rest?" Her eyes gleamed with curiosity, her entire demeanor alight with playful challenge, as if she already knew the answer but delighted in hearing him speak it aloud.

Krogh’s though flicked to the previous encounter. "The young man’s blade art was undeniably evil, a technique forged from the slaughter of countless cultivators at his own realm. His demonic footwork, too, bore the weight of innumerable lives sacrificed in its mastery, and his Dao Artifact weapon thrummed with the echoes of human suffering, its power steeped in blood and sacrifice. And yet..."

Krogh’s gaze softened as he looked at his wife, his eyes brimming with quiet affection. "Yet, his soul remained untouched by the corruption one would expect. There was no trace of the twisted, murderous hunger so common among demonic cultivators—no hidden malice lurking beneath the surface. Instead, behind the guise of a ruthless killer, I had glimpsed something rare in this world: a spirit unbroken, a heart still clinging to righteousness. Those eyes—unyielding, fierce, yet brimming with an almost naive sense of justice—had struck me deeply. Such purity was a rarity in a realm where morality was little more than a flimsy mask for selfish ambition. And more than that... the young man’s spirit had been strong enough to resist the Ju-On’s bewitchment. That alone spoke volumes."

A shadow passed over Krogh’s face then, his expression dimming with sorrow—a quiet, aching regret. "It’s a pity he died," he murmured, his voice heavy. "But before he did... I sensed something in him. Something familiar."

Madam Claret’s playful demeanor stilled, her lips parting in surprise. "Familiar?" she echoed, her voice softer now, curiosity threading through her usual mischief.

Krogh nodded slowly, his gaze distant, as if sifting through memories both tender and painful. "Somehow... Yunny’s aura was on him."

"Yunny...? Yunny Hanzwart?" Madam Claret blinked, then gave a small, bemused laugh. "Well, alright—that little ghost does call you ’Shifu.’ But..." Her amusement faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by a frown. "Isn’t she still under the Ju-On’s control?"

Krogh’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "To be precise... it was Yunny’s humanity I sensed," he said quietly. "That’s why I showed mercy to Kinson Wexford. I don’t know how, but somehow... Yunny’s vengeful wraith has reclaimed a piece of what was lost. Her hatred still burns, yes—but her humanity, long buried beneath layers of wrath and sorrow, has returned to her soul."

He exhaled, the weight of centuries of knowledge pressing upon his words. "In all my years, in all the records of my clan’s thousand-year history... I have never heard of such a thing being possible in this demonic world."

"What?!"

"Indeed," Krogh agreed, his voice low, contemplative. "According to my clan’s archives, a vengeful wraith is malice incarnate. Once consumed by hatred, there is no return—no force in existence that can undo the corruption of a ghost’s deepest grudge and restore what was stolen from them."

With a slow, deliberate motion, he reached into the folds of his storage pouch and withdrew an ancient parchment, its edges yellowed and brittle with age. The letter had been carefully preserved, a relic of the past, kept close through the long years.

The text was a simple, unembellished record—a man’s journey to the Frostbane Sea, chronicled without regard for grandeur or significance. Every detail, no matter how small, was meticulously noted: the crunch of frost underfoot, the taste of cheap ale in roadside taverns, the way the wind howled through the skeletal trees of the northern wastes.

And at the heart of it all was Balder Hanzwart—an old samurai, head vassal and the loyal ten guardians of the long live mighty Hanz Clan, the old man withered by time but unbroken in spirit, marching toward retribution for his fallen master. Just the thought of him made Krogh’s lips curl into a fond smile, the warmth of memory softening his stern features.

The image of Old Balder sprang to life in his mind, vivid as if the man stood before him now: a wiry, sun-baked figure, his skin leathered to a deep mahogany from decades beneath unforgiving skies. Hunger and hardship had whittled him down to little more than bone and sinew, his frame hunched slightly with age, yet still carrying an air of quiet resilience. His bald head gleamed like worn river stone, smooth and oddly luminous under the light, while the deep crevices of his face told stories of laughter as much as struggle.

But what Krogh remembered most was that ridiculous, gap-toothed grin—the way the old man’s lips would stretch wide whenever he found something amusing, revealing the conspicuous absence of his front teeth. It gave him the look of a mischievous child trapped in an old man’s body.

And then there was the sword box. A long, weather-beaten wooden case strapped to his back, housing a few meticulously maintained katanas. It was an absurd contrast—this frail, toothless old man shuffling along like a beggar, yet armed like a relic of some forgotten war. Whether he was a retired warrior or just an eccentric with a peculiar attachment to blades, no one could say for sure.

Although the record was tedious, its entries filled with trivialities: the price of millet in one village, the quality of straw sandals in another. But as Krogh read on, amusement took hold. By the time Balder reached the FrostBane Castle’s administrative region—perched on the eastern cliffs, its towering walls overlooking the churning azure sea—the narrative had shifted. The world’s most renowned sword masters had gathered there, drawn like moths to a flame. Motori Shimura, the Lone Wolf of Mountain Katana, had arrived first, his presence alone enough to silence the murmurs of lesser warriors. Even the reclusive sword saints of the Oni Citadel, who rarely deigned to step beyond their mist-shrouded peaks, had descended from the north, their eyes sharp with anticipation as they waited atop the city walls for the coming storm.

Though Krogh had never witnessed the scene himself, the journal’s words painted it clearly: the oppressive weight of black clouds pressing low over the castle, the howling winds driving sheets of rain against the battlements. And there, amidst the gathering tempest, was Old Balder—stopping at a ramshackle sake shop just outside the main gate, calmly ordering two taels of cheap shochu, half a dish of pickled vegetables, and a plate of peanuts.

This old brat...

Krogh chuckled to himself. Even on the eve of battle, he was still just... a good, simple soul.

Only one final entry remained in the journal, but Krogh wasn’t ready to read it yet. Instead, he let his mind drift back thirty years—to when he was barely fourteen, setting out on his first journey across the world with no one but Old Balder at his side.

The memories came in flashes: bandits lurking on remote roads, desperate refugees turned thieves, the constant struggle for food and shelter.

Born and raised in a rich and powerful clan, Krogh was always arrogant and high-handed. In the beginning, young Krogh had been haughty, turning up his nose at coarse meals and sour wine. But hardship had a way of humbling even the proudest of souls. Soon, he was grateful for warm water, even if it tasted of rust.

PS:

Hey everyone! 😊

Just a quick note—recent updates might be a bit slow or shorter than usual. I’ll be honest, I’m kinda slacking off a bit right now 😅

But it’s only because I really want to nail the upcoming climax! I’m working on a scene that shows the villain’s manly charisma in all its glory 👀💥

Once we wrap up the Hanz Estate arc, I’ll focus on finishing the two ongoing side stories first.

Thanks so much for your patience and support—you guys are the best!