Chapter 17: Welcome to the Sacred Mountain Realm
Ichijo walked down the rice paddy path with his shoulders
cutting through the air, looking thoroughly bored as he kicked an empty can
lying on the roadside forward along with its clump of dirt.
His sweat-streaked face was twisted in displeasure, telling
the story of his rock-bottom mood.
That insufferable, talented colleague of his, the loaded
glances from everyone around him—even the still-vigorous summer sun blazing
down from overhead seemed to infuriate him, despite the peak season having
passed.
Taking his anger out on an empty can wasn't nearly enough to
settle his irritation.
He clicked his tongue sharply, and when he caught up to the
can he'd kicked several meters ahead, he stomped down on it with all his might.
Behind him, a thin woman his colleague and childhood
friend watched his childish behavior with a cold expression.
Same as always, she thought, waiting nearby for it to
end.
She swallowed the sigh that threatened to escape deep in her
throat.
Finally, the sound of kicking dirt ceased.
Ichijo, still standing on the can now buried in the soil,
glared hatefully ahead.
At the end of his piercing stare stood a single modern
Japanese-style house, nestled at the foot of a mountain thick with greenery.
It blended seamlessly into the mountain landscape, existing
there as naturally as if it were living in symbiosis with its surroundings.
This was their destination. Ichijo clicked his tongue.
"Why the hell do I have to come all the way out to this
godforsaken countryside!"
A swarm of mosquitoes launched a kamikaze attack straight at
his face.
"So damn annoying! Go bother him instead of
me!"
He waved both hands frantically, trying to shoo them toward
the woman.
The woman silently watched the man in his disheveled summer
suit as he spouted unreasonable complaints and continued his ridiculous antics.
She frowned slightly and clenched her fists tight.
The woman belonged to a branch family of the Ichijo clan.
Unable to oppose Ichijo, the heir to the main family, she
could only follow along with whatever he said or did.
Truly a relationship of master and servant.
Her hell had begun the moment they met in childhood.
Though he at least refrained from physical violence, she
spent her days at the mercy of a tyrant whose default mode was sarcasm and
mockery.
Naturally, their relationship was far from good it was
twisted and unhealthy.
Ever since she had abandoned Ichijo when he was captured by
an evil spirit the other day, his treatment of her had grown even worse than
before.
"Damn it, one got in my mouth!"
She inwardly mocked the unsightly man who kept spitting on
the road.
The crude gesture of wiping his mouth with his sleeve was
the epitome of disappointing behavior, despite supposedly being born into a
distinguished family.
Reluctantly, she offered her handkerchief, only to be
dismissed with a glance and a snort: "Don't need it."
She felt relieved that she wouldn't have to throw away a
favorite item and returned it to her pocket.
Being careful not to be noticed, she let her sigh flow away
on the summer breeze, letting the constant irritation she felt pass through
her.
Ichijo jerked his chin toward the house.
"Come on, let's go. Slowpoke."
Without waiting for a response, he turned his back and
walked away.
After a brief pause, the woman forced her reluctant feet to
move.
A stylish single-story wooden house with a black exterior,
surrounded by white walls.
Outside the walls, several massive trees towered
protectively around the home, stretching their branches in all directions to
create shade over the front gate.
The canopy provided welcome relief from the merciless
sunlight, though the incessant chorus of cicadas rained down from overhead.
It's like a shrine, the woman thought.
Passing over the gravel path, the two stood before the front
gate.
The traditional sukiya-style gate looked quite new a rarity
these days.
"Making me waste my time," the man ahead muttered
with another click of his tongue.
The protective charm that Harima the colleague Ichijo
unilaterally despised—had used during their recent mission had exorcised evil
spirits with abnormal speed and power.
Having witnessed that terrifying effectiveness firsthand,
Ichijo was determined to discover the source of those charms and had tried to
monitor Harima's movements with familiar spirits.
But they were immediately detected and reduced to charcoal.
After several crushing defeats, he hired a private
investigation agency.
Yesterday, they finally tracked down the home of the charm
creator, and he had rushed over immediately, taking whatever he could get his
hands on.
The nameplate mounted on the gate pillar was carved with the
characters "Kusunoki."
Ichijo straightened his collar in a token gesture and
cleared his throat lightly before pressing the intercom button. He waited for a
while.
No response.
Press, press no response. Press, press, press no response.
Not a peep came back.
The front door visible through the lattice gate showed no
signs of opening either.
He should wait a bit longer, the woman thought, but
her mouth remained tightly shut and wouldn't open.
If she dared offer advice, there was no telling what he
might say to her. It was best not to say or do anything unnecessary.
But even a woman whose spiritual sight and power couldn't be
called excellent could perceive this house's otherworldly nature.
This was absolutely a place that shouldn't be trespassed
upon carelessly.
A place that shouldn't be approached thoughtlessly her
instincts were sounding alarm bells at maximum volume.
Why didn't Ichijo notice?
How could he behave so presumptuously?
She couldn't understand it at all.
She'd been breaking out in cold sweats since earlier.
She wanted to flee from here immediately.
She held her naturally retreating feet in place through
willpower alone, remembering the content of the recent scolding and threats: if
she ran away again, her family would suffer the consequences.
Beside the pale woman, the man who had pressed the intercom
button to the point of abuse spat out:
"Hey, hey, don't tell me he's actually out."
According to their investigation, Kusunoki Minato lived
alone, rarely left home, and only went out for daily necessities shopping.
The tyrant who had decided he must definitely be home
roared:
"You've gotta be kidding me! I came all the way out to
this backwater for this! Come out here!"
His raised foot swung forward. Just as his worn leather shoe
was about to touch the lattice gate—
—Chirin.
The clear sound of a wind chime reached only the ears of the
woman who had stepped forward to stop his outrageous behavior.
◇
His foot, having cut cleanly through empty air, threw him
off balance with its centrifugal force, and his body tumbled spectacularly to
the ground.
His temple, shoulder, and hip struck the damp earth hard.
How utterly pathetic.
Feeling humiliated, Ichijo immediately sprang up and stood
unsteadily.
"What the hell was that supposed to be..."
He was struck speechless. The scenery around him had
completely changed.
Mountains.
Somehow, he was among a vast number of trees.
All he could see were numerous thick-trunked conifers
growing freely on gentle slopes.
"Huh?"
He looked around nothing but massive trees.
It seemed like he was somewhere on a mountainside.
Mouth half-open, he looked up at the sky. Far above, thin
strips of pale blue sky cut between branches and leaves. It was a scene
difficult to believe.
Stunned and briefly dazed, he lowered his chin from the neck
pain.
In the eerily quiet mountain depths, still dim even at
midday, there was no one.
Not the cicadas that had been so noisy before, not even his
childhood friend who had been right beside him.
"Wh-why? But just now, I was in front of the gate! This
has to be a dre—"
Only his trembling voice echoed through the deep mountains.
He touched his aching cheek with shaking hands.
The vivid, rough texture of soil told him unmistakably that
this was reality, not a dream.
He tried to reach into his pocket for a protective charm to
summon familiar spirits, but there was nothing.
The lifeline he had definitely put there was gone. Not a
single one remained.
Panicking, he pulled out all his pockets and searched
thoroughly, but it was futile.
Then he tried forming the hand seals he wasn't good at,
struggling to activate a technique, but that too was useless.
Nothing happened he couldn't manipulate spiritual power.
Somehow, he had been reduced to nothing more than an
ordinary person.
Why? How? He repeated these questions like a broken machine,
tearing at his hair. Before long, he began to calm down.
There was no sound.
Only the sounds he himself made.
He couldn't sense any sign of life from anywhere.
Animals, insects he couldn't feel the breath of a single
living thing.
Could this place not be part of this world?
A shiver ran down his spine.
The man cried out desperately and broke into a run.
But he immediately tripped over one of the many roots
crawling across the slope.
He fell prostrate, turning only his head back. Blood
streaming from his forehead, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the hateful root
protruding from the ground.
He let out an inhuman cry as he got up and kicked the thick
root with his heel.
Again and again. Even after the root was torn up from the
soil.
Finally, he kicked the root whose bark had peeled off and
broken, slamming it against a trunk.
Breathing roughly, he started running again.
Scattering the sweat that dripped from him, he descended the
slope. Stumbling and falling, scattering fallen leaves, losing his shoe, he
rolled down toward the foot of the mountain like he was tumbling downhill.
◇
The mountain interior, where crimson was covering the green
mountain range, had grown significantly darker.
Ichijo, leaning against a thick trunk on a relatively gentle
slope with his shoeless foot stretched out in front of him, was completely
exhausted.
No matter how far he descended, the slope never ended. The
scenery never changed.
He couldn't get down the mountain.
No matter how much time passed, he never reached the foot of
the mountain. When he noticed the sunset, his feet finally stopped.
How much time had passed since he'd been frantically running
down the mountain?
The sun sliding down between the mountains, framed by trees.
They had arrived at the Kusunoki residence before noon.
He had probably been wandering for more than seven hours.
Hugging one leg with his hands scratched from pushing
through grass and leaves, he just stared at the sun.
Even if it wasn't the sun he knew.
Though he was extraordinarily tired, he felt neither thirst
nor hunger. Unable to accept this impossible situation, even his brain refused
to think.
He covered his blood-crusted cheeks with both dirty hands.
"N-no, no. I've had enough."
The moment his anguished voice ended, the sun set. The
entire area was enveloped in darkness.
—Chirin.
A faint sound came from somewhere.
In the true darkness, fear flickered in his stagnant eyes.
—Chirin.
The sound grew louder.
He pulled in his outstretched legs and lifted his hips.
—Chirin.
Louder again. A light, cool, out-of-place sound.
Little by little, it was getting closer.
His feet in torn socks kicked at the ground.
He stumbled into a run and soon tripped over the spreading
roots.
Thrown into the air, his hair and clothes whipped by the
wind pressure, the sensation of his organs floating his desperately flailing
hands grasped nothing.
In the split second before his entire body would be slammed
against the solid trunk—
That's the sound of a wind chime, flashed through a
corner of his mind.
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