In the Type-Moon World, I Have the Holy Evil Simulator

Rinsen Temple, Kai Province – Year 3 of Tenbun (1534 AD).

The snow had melted, and the cherry blossoms had bloomed.

For three years, the silver-haired child known as Yuki had been raised in the temple, far from the world of warlords and bloodshed.

The temple monks believed that by isolating him from the mortal world, they could prevent his cursed fate from awakening.

But fate is not so easily erased.

One winter night, as the monks chanted sutras under the lantern's glow, a violent storm swept across the land.

A visitor arrived at the temple gates.

He was a desperate, wounded samurai, covered in blood and dirt, his armor shattered, his breathing ragged.

"Mercy... monks of Rinsen Temple... please..."

The monks, bound by their vows of compassion, rushed to his aid.

But the moment they opened the gates—

He slaughtered them all.

"Burn it. Burn it all to the ground."

More warriors emerged from the dark, torches in hand.

They swarmed the temple, cutting down the monks who had taken them in only moments before.

The abbot, Tenshitsu, stood before the shrine, clutching his prayer beads.

"This temple is neutral ground. Have you no shame?"

The samurai laughed, his sword dripping with blood.

"Neutral ground? In this world, neutrality is just another word for weakness."

With a swift strike, he cut the old monk down.

As Tenshitsu collapsed, his trembling hands reached toward the sleeping child hidden in the shadows—

"Yuki... run..."

And then, he moved no more.

The flames roared, devouring the temple.

The boy, Yuki, opened his eyes.

He was three years old.

He saw the blood.

He saw the corpses.

He saw the smiling warriors, laughing as they butchered the innocent.

And then, for the first time in his life—

He screamed.

It was not the cry of a child.

It was a wail that shattered the air, twisting the wind and shaking the heavens.

It was a sound that should not have existed.

And then—

The torches went out.

The flames vanished.

And the warriors began to scream.

"WHAT—?!"

"MY BODY— IT'S... IT'S FREEZING?!"

"WHY IS IT SO COLD?!?!"

Their skin turned pale, their breath became visible, and their bodies stiffened, as if trapped in a midwinter blizzard.

The child stepped forward, his silver hair shimmering under the moonlight.

His eyes—once soft and blind—now glowed with a crimson light.

And with a single whisper, his words cut through the night like a blade—

"Die."

And so they did.

By the time the remaining villagers arrived, the temple was in ruins.

The fire had been extinguished.

The warriors who had attacked it were all dead.

Their faces frozen in terror, their bodies covered in frost, their flesh blackened as if from frostbite.

And at the center of the destruction, a child sat alone, covered in blood and snowflakes.

He did not cry.

He did not tremble.

He only stared blankly at his hands.

[Fated Death: Progressing.]Your fate has begun to unfold.The world now knows of your existence.Your enemies will soon come for you.

The villagers knelt in terror.

"A demon child..."

"A monster...!"

"A silver-haired yokai, cursed by the heavens..."

The legend of the Silver-Haired Demon of Kai Province had begun.

And fate had taken its first step.