Amber of its cruelity

Muzoraiko — the hollow, barren dimension.

A sick wind drags green dust across black sand. Kon steps through first — black robe trailing, umbrella resting lightly in his hand. His eyes half-closed, faint smile on his lips. Behind him, Hazo, Victor, and Fuko appear like loyal wraiths.

Kon pauses — listens to the silence.

He breathes out, voice soft:

Kon: "I see… no living creature here. Except a few goblins… and four more, not human."

Hazo (head bowed, calm):

"Then what, my lord?"

Kon tilts his umbrella, rain dripping from its edge:

"Orge, Hazo."

Hazo nods once:

"Orge… by name?"

Victor folds his arms, glancing at the drifting ash.

Victor:

"An Orge — a legendary monster. Large, hideous, human-like — feeds on ordinary people, especially infants and children."

Kon smiles faintly, eyes narrowing on the empty dunes.

Kon:

"Correct. They look human… but they never are."

He shifts his weight, the umbrella creaking gently in his hand.

"As usual, you know what to do, Hazo."

Hazo:

"Seroiku. I see."

His blade slides from his sleeve — silver catching the ghost-light.

Then — the sky splits. Thousands of goblins pour down like flies, screeching. Claws out, jaws snapping.

Kon doesn't flinch. He doesn't even turn his head.

Kon (low, smiling):

"You know what I will say."

Hazo's eyes flicker crimson — he lifts his sword, calm as death.

Hazo:

"Sword Style: Eating of Mouth Eaten."

A red storm — goblin limbs severed mid-air, blood spraying like black rain. None touches Kon. His umbrella keeps him untouched, elegant in the gore.

A huge Orge slams through the dunes — eyes wide, iron chains dragging behind it. It roars — but Fuko darts in, shoulder smashing the beast aside. The ground cracks.

Fuko (grinning, sharp fangs showing):

"Lord, are you alright?"

Kon turns his gaze, voice mild — rain tapping the silk above his head.

Kon:

"Sure I am. Carry on."

He steps forward — black robe trailing through torn goblin flesh. His umbrella tilts slightly. His smile never fades.

Kon (whispers, to the sand, to himself):

"Let this dead place learn… cruelty walks beside me."