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Pshhhh.

Like a fountain, droplets burst forth.

That, carrying a rot-like smell, begins to fill the space, scattering like pollen in the wind.

Each branch that comprises the tree.

Each human shape that forms those branches.

From their seven holes, bodily fluids like blood tears pour forth in streams.

That is the sap of the tree.

The blood flowing within the hard shell.

It is the bodily fluid and essence that make up the tree.

A collection of evil spirits.

Yeah.

What they faced was no ordinary ghost.

With a material shell that could withstand a few strikes from a warrior’s blade, draped in malevolent spirits, they were composed of wicked entities that yearned to enthrall and consume anything that approached. Even those spirits, melting together and losing their shapes, would momentarily hold together their dissolving selves in a desperate pursuit of evolution.

Such an entity they were.

It’s akin to a reckless attempt to shove worn-out and mismatched gears back into a machine to make it run. Naturally, the odds of success are slim, and most will end up as just a futile effort, rolling around in a junkyard until they disintegrate into dust.

However, among them, there might be a machine coincidentally operating.

That is the entity known as the Great Evil or Great Evil Spirit.

In this regard, for the capable persons from Korea and Japan participating in the operation, luck and misfortune can co-exist side by side.

The luck lies in the fact that the entity before them is ‘not yet’ ready to be called great.

The misfortune is that, nonetheless, it is a tremendously powerful entity aiming to evolve into a Great Evil Spirit.

Now, they must prove themselves by their own might.

Was encountering this evil spirit a stroke of luck or a stroke of misfortune?

And that proof will manifest as victory or defeat.

* * *

Whoooosh.

Whiiiiing!

It sounds as if the winter wind is passing through the withered branches.

And every time that sound is heard, without fail, a branch bends and curves, trying to strike a person.

A sight resembling a thorn whip being wielded.

As it bends and strikes, one might feel as though it is a merciless executor of justice. Or perhaps, it resembles nature’s mockery punishing a foolish person too close to trees swaying in a typhoon.

If those strikes hit the stomach, the intestines would burst, and if they hit the head, there would be a brain hemorrhage.

If it connects properly with the neck, the vertebrae would break, and if blocked with limbs, flesh would tear and bones would crack.

Those attacks carry substantial danger and pressure.

Strangely, in contrast to the utter stillness that preceded it.

Yet, even such attacks could not afflict the capable persons gathered in this place.

Crack.

The sound of an attack being thwarted resounds.

The light of the sword energy remains as bright as the sun, which will not be hidden from the clouds, and their stance, not yielding an inch even after the impact, conveys the unwavering resolve of the warriors’ swords in their hearts.

Crack!

And in that moment where attack and defense intersect.

The sorcerers, not missing that gap, gather their magic to recreate the phenomenon.

The energy of Yang, which ghosts despise… in other words, fire magic surges towards the spirits.

[ Grahahaha! ]

Fire spreads red as it consumes the air.

Pillars of flames extending horizontally, as if shooting out from a flamethrower.

Like shells, fiery projectiles arc toward the spirits.

Even a fiery monstrosity resembling a wolf, baring its jaws to tear at the spirits.

All of this erupts from the hands of the sorcerers, targeting the malevolent spirits.

And to protect them, the Spiritual Capable Persons, Shinto Priests, Shamans, and Onmyoji unleash their powers.

It is no different from a turtle with a solid shell, reaching out with only its sword-wielding hand to strike.

One side relentlessly attacks.

While the other side imposes damage unilaterally.

The act of hunting, a unique strength inscribed in the DNA of humans, is now being exhibited.

Yet, one cannot say it is unfair.

It is a common occurrence in nature for weak or imperfect beings to band together.

It just happens that today’s prey happens to be ghosts.

For the spirits, who will eventually vanish as the onslaught accumulates, it is a pitiful story, but merely that.

…

…

…

“…Something’s off.”

It’s intense yet peaceful.

According to the plan, the situation is proceeding far too smoothly.

Among this state, the first to sense a sense of incongruity was the warrior.

Kazuo, the warrior of Japan.

Before he traversed the landslides, he bore the grand title of ‘The Dragon Slayer.’

That period had lasted so long that, in the end, he assumed that anyone mentioning ‘Dragon Slayer’ would naturally be referring to him.

He took pride in that title while also training diligently so that it would not be treated lightly, steadily raising his skill through sheer effort.

The sweat he labored with never lied.

Countless sparring matches, duels, and training sessions.

Continuing the painful life of being heated like metal and then struck down hard.

The senses he honed, the level he attained rescued him first from the brink of danger.

“…Incongruity. Something.”

The sensory perception is off.

In countless repetitions of the same posture.

Yet performed with different powers, containing different levels of Qi, varying in speed.

Nevertheless, he cannot dare claim he has comprehended it entirely.

That line, he senses impurities have entered it.

In his mind, it speaks.

It’s just an illusion, merely the battle being too intense.

The ghost before his eyes was so bizarre and strange that he simply made a brief error.

But his body, which had never betrayed him.

After being pounded like iron and tormented, finally tells him with its sharpened blade.

This is not a normal situation.

“….”

The clash of head and body’s conflicting claims.

The battle between reason and instinct.

What should be prioritized?

In this urgent situation of fighting the ghost, what should Kazuo truly trust?

His reasoning in his head?

Or his instincts within his body?

To find the answer, Kazuo lifts his sword.

As branches threaten him, whipping sinisterly toward, he does not think to block as he raises the sword above.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Just as he did during training.

Just as he did when sparring.

And just like he had achieved victories against nature.

From above downwards.

With gravity’s aid, he traces a line.

…

…

…

“Indeed. Effort never betrays me.”

Kazuo trusted his instincts.

And that choice was correct.

What followed from the instincts prompted was truth.

Not the rationality manipulated by the delusions of the five senses, but the reality borne from instinct.

The clear air was nowhere to be found, now filled with nauseating powders swirling about.

With every wave sound, a black forearm emerges, sneaking up from the underwater.

Like pulsating veins, the rotting, entwined limbs cover the shore.

A space darkened by blackish ghostly mist.

And at the center stands a single tree.

What was once deemed ancient looms, now blooming profusely.

Without a single leaf, it merely blossoms lavishly.

A flower resembling the Higan Flower blooms extravagantly, sagging under its own weight.

Bearing a repulsive hue reminiscent of decayed bodies, it possesses a filthiness that suggests the stench of rot, even visually, emanating an ominous odor instead of a sweet fragrance.

Fruits engraved with human faces, piercing with sharp roots, decorate around, displaying the flickering of phosphorescence and the chuckles of laughter, making the flowers stand out. Its movement resembles seaweed swaying with the currents, akin to lanterns tangled with lights, attempting to engulf their prey, leaving one chilled to the bone.

And on the trunk of that tree, there’s a massive crack.

The inside of the tree, as if grasped and ripped apart with hands.

No part of the gaping hole is without finger marks, and nowhere can the hands be unseen.

The cluster of fingers on the surface appears at a distance like a person’s teeth.

As if a vertically torn mouth has slightly parted to swallow its prey in grotesqueness.

Wriggling fingers.

Teeth or maggots?

Just the sight alone stirs up nausea and brings forth bile.

“…We’ve been making a mistake.”

Indeed.

Kazuo realized they were being toyed with by that ghost.

And he also recognized the fact that he alone was in his right mind, knowing there was no way he could use his power to free others from that evil spirit’s seduction.

“…Huh.”

No.

That’s not right.

There is a way to break free from that temptation of the evil spirit.

The one he had done his entire life, the one he excelled at.

“I will cut.”

Cut it.

By slicing, he will eliminate the room for seduction.

Kazuo moves forward for a task simple yet difficult… but one that must be done, lifting a sword in his heart and reality.

 

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