'Miko' looked at Asakura, and after remaining silent for a long moment, the latter asked.
"What is Miko's current condition?"
"Regarding that, although you might not believe it, I actually performed the possession only after receiving her consent. Right now, her consciousness is merely sleeping, and once everything is over, I will return control of her body to her."
Clearly, 'Miko' had not expected that the issue Asakura cared about most would be this one, but she still answered seriously: "A child so brave and empathetic should not suffer calamity."
"That's good."
Asakura nodded.
He didn't really doubt her words; after all, she had previously described what Miko experienced in her own home, which presumably was mentioned when the girl was possessed.
Although there was also the possibility that she could read memories or something similar, Asakura nevertheless prepared contingencies so that he would not be caught too passive no matter what happened.
He looked once again at the Asura statue and those sutra banners in front of him—honestly, no matter how one looked at these two things, they had the appearance of something belonging to a villain—and asked 'Miko': "You said that even burning this wouldn't help, so how exactly can we stop the ritual from proceeding? Since you specifically came in with us and didn't cause trouble along the way, it shouldn't be just to say this one line at the end, right?"
"Of course."
'Miko' nodded: "Right now, the exchange of the Ritual of Ryūri has passed the 'shadow' phase, and the deceased souls have begun to make sounds in the present world. Although for now most are just meaningless sound effects (Asakura recalled those dark blue shadows that kept making popping noises), this means that even if they have not yet materialized, they already possess the ability to interfere with reality."
"Skip."
Asakura said: "Put long-winded explanations of principles into collectible text logs in the corner that can be explored later, I'll read them in the future (truly). For now, just tell me which one to burn and how to burn it."
"An efficiency addict, huh." Chika nodded solemnly—she had finally found a place where she could butt in.
The corners of 'Miko's mouth pouted, and she looked at the couple in front of her with a helpless and aggrieved expression. She seemed somewhat speechless, feeling the frustration of having choked back five hundred years' worth of explanatory text and finally finding someone to dump it all on, only to have the other party not want to listen at all.
In the end, 'Miko' let out a sigh and said: "I will control the divine statue here to minimize the number of deceased souls leaking into the present world from this space, preventing the situation from escalating out of control. As for Mr. Asakura and Miss Fujiwara, please return to the present world to deal with some more important issues."
More important issues."
Asakura thought for a moment and felt something was slightly off.
"In other words, after taking all that trouble (not really) to charge all the way here, it turned out to be a useless effort, and the purpose was just to deliver you here?" He frowned and looked at the young girl: "Didn't you say this shrine was created by yourself? Why did you still need us to bring you here?"
"After the Ritual of Ryūri resumed operation, I was judged as a foreign body and banished to the outside by the Core Room—that is, the room in the center of this shrine."
'Miko' explained with a bitter smile: "My power was insufficient to return here, but stopping the Ritual of Ryūri requires regaining control over the divine statue to restrict the escape of deceased souls, so I had to find a way to return here... and that method was you, Asakura-kun."
"You were so sure I could help you?" Asakura asked curiously.
"...Asakura-kun certainly doesn't realize what kind of existence you are in our eyes, right?" 'Miko' revealed a polite smile that was slightly on the verge of breaking, but was ultimately held together without losing its elegance.
It seemed this person had indeed been a shrine maiden who received proper etiquette education during her lifetime—unlike modern times, ancient shrine maidens seemed to be raised carefully from a young age as 'wives of the gods'.
However, Asakura was not prepared to press further, as judging from her reaction, asking further here would be somewhat impolite.
Chika: "What kind of existence?"
It seemed an impolite person did exist.
'Miko's mouth twitched slightly.
She originally wanted to ignore her just like before, but holding back a stomach full of unsaid words made her feel uncomfortable again, so after considering for a moment, she said: "Miss Chika, do you remember how you felt the first time you watched a monster movie?"
"The first time watching a monster movie? If it's Tokusatsu, then it was probably something like 'So fake, I want to go watch romance anime'."
Said Chika, who preferred romance topics over monsters.
Looking at 'Miko's darkened face, Asakura—who had once been questioned with 'Isn't Tokusatsu for children?'—patted her shoulder with deep empathy.
'Miko' composed her feelings before continuing: "When I saw a so-called monster movie for the first time, I was once shocked by the giant monster inside."
Asakura nodded: After all, she was an ancient person from five hundred years ago, understandable.
"But if I had gotten to know Mr. Asakura first before seeing that movie, I would probably feel that the monster in the movie was far too cute compared to Mr. Asakura." 'Miko' continued.
Asakura: ...
So I look even more shockingly mind-boggling than a monster?
too cute." 'Miko' continued.
Asakura: ...
So I look even more shockingly mind-boggling than a monster?
Chika looked at Asakura, then silently collapsed onto the ground, clutching her stomach and pounding the floor with force.
"If you can't hold it in, feel free to laugh out loud." Asakura said coldly.
"Chi... Chika here has undergone professional training, I won't pfft so easily... HAHAHAHA..."
"...(Anger)"
"Aww wah wah, don't pull my face..."
☆
Shrines in Japan, just like temples, frequently handle matters related to funerals and burials.
Under normal circumstances, shrines and temples possess ownership of the land around them—much like how a large portion of the famous Mount Fuji belongs to Sengen Shrine located above.
In most shrine properties, a portion of the land is used as a graveyard to bury guests who pay high funeral fees.
People believe that being buried near a shrine or temple will allow souls to rest in peace (from this perspective, having the deceased souls buried in this shrine in Chiba collected by the Ritual of Ryūri ended up feeling somewhat like a dark joke).
After dusk, the night slipped downward rapidly, thickening until it could no longer be parted, like a heavy, moist curtain hanging over the mountain forest, isolating the lights and drumbeats of the distant Obon Festival into another world.
The wind traveled through the mountain forest, yet could not truly enter this slope behind the shrine—not the rear where Asakura and Chika took a detour earlier, but even further back, approaching a wild, desolate patch of mountain woods.
The red lacquer on the torii gate that had gone unmaintained for a long time was already mottled, and even its wooden posts were somewhat tilted. Stepping through the torii gate, one could feel a stale smell in the air even more strongly, as if an invisible boundary split the air on both sides apart.
Desolate graves were scattered on the slope, stone pagodas tilted, moss clinging to them, and inscriptions blurred by time and moisture, as if even the names of the dead were being devoured bit by bit. Withered leaves accumulated thickly, covering the mounds; stepping on them produced no crisp sound, only sinking down, like stepping on something currently rotting.
It was evident that no one had come here to pay respects for a long time.
If it had undergone careful renovation, one could probably see the birth and death dates of the deceased on the gravestones here.
Most were buried here during the Tenbun era.
Converted to the Modern Era, that would be between 1532 and 1555.
Nearly five hundred years ago.
One of the grave mounds suddenly bulged slightly for a moment.
That change was far too subtle, akin to some underground creature (like a hamster or something) turning over at night, making it hardly noticeable.
Yet immediately following that, the soil swelled once more, cracking open a thin seam as withered leaves were pushed up and slid off, revealing the blackened, moist dirt beneath.
Then, a hand slowly probed its way out from the soil.
That hand no longer belonged to a living person; the skin was pressed tightly against the bone, its color nearly grayish-blue, the knuckles prominent, and the fingernails blackened, looking as though it had been soaked in damp chill for far too long—bizarrely, this made no sense, as five hundred years of time should logically have gnawed away the corpse's skin and all soft tissue, leaving behind only stark white bones, yet right now, aside from being excessively withered, emaciated, and dark in hue, that hand did not look at all like a corpse that had been dead for ages.
It attempted to grasp the ground, yet appeared clumsy and unfamiliar, its fingertips repeatedly digging into the mud and slipping out, as if even the movement of 'gripping' needed to be re-understood.
Then a second hand burst forth from the earth, bringing with it more caving dirt and gravel, as well as some nearly indistinguishable wood remnants—likely whatever became of a coffin completely rotted away across five hundred years of time.
That body struggled beneath the ground, the soil layer being pushed up and collapsing with a muffled, viscous sound.
That person's (if it could still be called a person) chest revealed itself first, the fabric and armor plates already decayed, clinging tightly between bone and flesh like the outer shell of some insect.
His body was stuck in the earth, unable to break free smoothly, able to move upward bit by bit only in an extremely slow and contorted fashion.
Then, the face came into view.
It was a face processed by time and death.
The skin was dark, clinging tightly to the skeletal structure, the corners of the lips dry and cracked, and teeth looming indistinctly through the gaps, looking as if they might peel off from that face at any moment.
The eyes were closed, the eyelids withered to the point where one questioned whether his eyeballs even existed, like a thin membrane covering a void.
That face bore not a single trace belonging to 'life', remaining merely a wreck forgotten in the dirt (as was indeed the case), which by rights should never undergo any further change.
Yet in the next instant, those eyes snapped open abruptly.
There was no transition, no struggle, as if forcibly propped open by some power coming from within.
The slightly withered eyeballs were murky, yet the pupils contracted to the absolute limit, fixed dead onto some invisible focal point.
This was no proper awakening; it was more like being summoned forth by some power, something not belonging to 'life' taking up position inside this empty shell.
The corpse twitched violently, as the power representing immortality began to flow within the body; a dry, cracking sound issued from his throat, his vocal cords seemingly rotted away long ago, making the current sound resemble bones grinding together.
No air was drawn in, nor was there any sign of breathing, yet a certain 'operation' indeed commenced at that moment.
He abruptly arched his back, pulling himself forcefully from the soil.
The soil layer collapsed, gravel rolled down, and that body broke free from its original resting place in an almost brutal manner, tumbling onto the ground.
At that moment, he resembled a corpse that had just been dug up—stiff, heavy, lacking any semblance of coordination, finding it difficult even to support himself.
He lay there face down, motionless, yet soon enough, his fingertips moved once more, followed by his joints starting to flex one by one, emitting crackling sounds as if some ancient mechanism were being restarted.
He slowly propped up his body, kneeling atop the grave mound, his messy long hair falling down, mixed with mud and decaying leaves, veiling his face.
His movements gradually grew smooth, transitioning from the initial stiffness to a peculiar fluidity, as though this body were being re-calibrated.
He raised his hand, staring at his finger bones and skin, slowly opening it, then closing it into a fist.
Then he pressed his hand against his chest once more, pausing.
There was no heartbeat there, nor any sign belonging to a living creature.
Yet deeper inside, between the ribs and the cavity, within organs that had long lost their meaning, something indescribable was flowing.
It was not blood, not breath, nor even any known form of 'life', but a more miraculous—or rather, bizarre—power slowly circulating inside this corpse.
—It was a 'miracle'.
In that moment, he seemed to realize something.
Laughter spilled from his throat.
His vocal cords seemed to gradually recover as well.
At first, the laughter was very low, like a tiny sound grudgingly squeezed out after being suppressed for far too long.
Then, the laughter gradually expanded, losing control and becoming intermittent and sharp, sounding exceptionally jarring in the quiet of the mountain forest.
He raised his head, his face stained with mud and withered leaves, yet a strange light flickered within his chaotic eyes.
That was the reaction of consciousness confirming a certain fact, the acceptance and possession of a certain 'impossibility'.
He slowly stood up, his movements no longer stiff, becoming even cleaner and more decisive than those of a living person.
He looked down at the grave mound beneath his feet; that was his endpoint, his conclusion, a fact that ought to have been irreversible.
He raised his foot and stomped the grave mound into collapse.
The soil caved in, the structure crumbled, stones tumbled down, and the marker originally serving as the end of life lost its meaning under this single footstep.
In this moment, he finally confirmed it.
Death had not ended him.
Time had failed to corrode him.
He no longer belonged to anything that would fade away.
Five hundred years ago.
The ruler of Chiba, Chiba Katsutane, had finally returned from death once more!
His laughter suddenly soared at that moment, reaching the brink of madness.
World, are you ready to welcome your immortal king!
Just then, a somewhat helpless voice sounded from not far away.
"Hey there," Asakura looked at the man in front of him who looked eager to make the world feel pain, rubbing his temples: "Are you done laughing?"
"Whatever, even if you aren't done, it's fine. I'm in a rush."