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The completion of the pure white salt, as untouched as an unblemished gaze.

I was hesitant to even touch the pile of pristine white salt, fearing that my hand might dirty its color.

“It reminds me of the story that Takeda Shingen received a salt kettle.”

As Reese gazed at the stacked salt, memories of a historical drama set in the Sengoku period flooded back to her—a drama she had avidly watched when a famous idol appeared in it. The show had cast many idols, especially charming young men, which made it quite popular among the female audience.

In that drama, the idol known for his androgynous looks portrayed Takeda Shingen, and there was a memorable scene where he received a salt kettle from his rival, Uesugi Kenshin, while trapped, leading him to tearfully express his gratitude.

Park Jinseong nodded at Reese’s words.

“That’s somewhat similar.”

He wasn’t familiar with the drama Reese was referring to, but he had a vague understanding of the episode where Takeda Shingen was gifted salt.

“Salt is closely linked to trust. In military terms, it represents the salary earned through loyalty and dedication—a vital supply without which one cannot function. In trade, it maintains a value sufficient to act as currency. And as exemplified by Takeda Shingen, giving salt to an enemy or an ally signifies a strong mark of trust. Indeed, salt itself can be considered a symbol of trust.”

Especially since the salt was pure white, it represented untainted purity.

In other words, it symbolized pure intentions that were free from any wicked or dirty thoughts. Thus, the pure white salt represented pure, steadfast trust.

“This salt bears the emblem of such trust. If it were given as a salary, betraying that trust would come at a tremendous cost, and it could provide adequate grounds for retribution against betrayal. If left as a warning, the salt would turn black to alert me should betrayal occur.”

But that wasn’t all.

This salt was also quite useful as a material for creating other divine objects.

It was ideal for making dolls intended for human sacrifice, and it could be hardened to be used as a weapon.

Being such a valuable material, combined with the symbolism of purity and trust, it was indeed a versatile item.

“My shamaness, I will give this to you, so please distribute it among the shamans you are in charge of, to keep them vigilant against betrayal.”

“Fufu.”

Reese smiled at Park Jinseong’s words.

Swaying gently, her transparent tail flickered with delight, as if the scenery behind her reflected her mood.

“Can this be used for Sae too?”

“Sae….”

Sae-san or Sae-chan, an affectionate name given to some entity wandering this shrine.

While it conjured images of a cute animal or a young girl, the owner of this seemingly adorable nickname was none other than Seitani.

That wicked being was crafted from the girl who was buried beneath the pillar during the construction of the shrine, intended as a source of ink.

Yet despite being regarded as an evil entity, Reese had grown accustomed to Seitani over the considerable time they had spent together and, given her rather eerie personality and appearance, she affectionately referred to her by the cute name ‘Sae.’

It should be noted that ‘Seitani’ was somewhat difficult to pronounce… The name ‘Sae’ had come from the fact that when she first met Park Jinseong, she appeared as a nurse labeled ‘Sae,’ and stretching out ‘Seitani’ would naturally sound closer to ‘Sae’.

“You must not use this on Seitani. Salt also symbolizes repelling wickedness, so using this on her would probably have a significant negative effect.”

“Got it.”

Reese nodded as if she had just been told not to feed chocolate to a puppy or a kitten.

“Give this instead. Since her nature is similar, she will likely enjoy this.”

Instead, Park Jinseong retrieved something from a spot far from the salt and handed it to Reese.

It was a black dumpling, about the size of a baby fist, appearing to be compacted from some powdery substance.

At first glance, it looked like a muddy dumpling.

But upon closer inspection, one could see rough particles within it, with something resembling stiff hair sticking out.

Indeed.

That was a dumpling made from centipedes.

The leftover scraps from making a certain item had been ground up and formed into a dumpling.

As stated by Park Jinseong, it was indeed a thing likely to be favored by a wicked entity like Seitani.

When considering the symbolism associated with centipedes, and the process through which that dumpling was made, it could be deemed a special delicacy for Seitani.

“I’ll give this to Seitani later.”

Reese took the centipede dumpling with a bright smile.

Having spent time with Park Jinseong, she had grown somewhat accustomed to creepy things, so she was now capable of accepting such things bare-handed.

“Sae will devour it.”

“That seems likely.”

*

The operation involving Japanese warriors advanced smoothly, like a ship catching a favorable breeze in its sails.

As with any nation, firearms represented not only military might but also power.

Particularly in Japan.

There was a time of constant strife during the Sengoku period, where the empire was held together under one name but factions fought within, much like a serpent with multiple heads quarreling—a sight of madness unmatched.

For these people, military might and power were two sides of the same coin.

Though civil control has become part of everyday life today… this very fact made the military might of warriors something to watch carefully and control.

However, that was easier said than done.

At this very moment, countless warriors were being born, warriors belonging to various dojos and factions, training in martial arts while dreaming of notoriety. Moreover, they were busy building connections by entrusting themselves to the government, aristocracy, the emperor, and corporations—making it increasingly difficult to impose such controls as time went on.

Despite this, civil control was strictly maintained, even with these underlying risks.

While utilizing warriors effectively, the government ensured they adhered to civil control, often using the reputation of “the best warriors in Japan” as bait to quell dissatisfaction among warriors, making them view other warriors as foes, preventing them from uniting. They even established a ranking system, actively promoting it without concealing their levels. Additionally, to climb the ladder, they employed elegant methods, training those who had learned martial arts within politically influential families to become politicians, thereby marketing the narrative that “warriors were not estranged from power.”

Considering the nature of Japan, where politics often became hereditary, the existence of politically inclined warriors was tantamount to climbing a ladder. Since they belonged to prominent political families, they had no option but to prioritize their family’s intentions. Hence, the likelihood of them stepping forward for the warriors’ benefit was extremely meager, and there were doubts about whether they would even represent warriors’ voices.

Even when warriors sought to enter politics, they could conveniently claim that “there are enough warriors already present in the political realm.”

Thus, it was an understandable situation for warriors to harbor resentment.

Yet, since this atmosphere had become normalized, combined with Japan’s general apathy towards politics—and because opportunities worth the warriors’ attention, in other words, opportunities to achieve great deeds had been scarce until now—there had been no issues thus far.

However, times had changed.

Recently, when they nearly went to war with Korea, warriors began to feel both fear and overwhelming excitement.

In the looming shadow of war with Korea, the desire to raise their reputations through the sword and gain power had firmly taken root in their minds. No, perhaps it was not merely their minds, but rather a feeling deep within their hearts.

Ambition.

Their longing to replicate the tales of historical figures who gained power wielding a single sword.

The ambition to engrave their names in history as warriors.

Thus, the flames of desire began to flare up.

Even after the threat of war had passed.

No, it was precisely because the threat of war had dissipated that the flames burned even brighter.

Had it been better if they had clashed, broken, and been consumed?

If they had flamboyantly burned away to ashes, would that have sufficed?

The issue was that the flame of ambition blazed without properly igniting.

The warriors began to fret amidst their unfulfilled desires and ambitions, with embers sparking to life.

They yearned to swing the swords in their hands, eager to showcase the martial arts they had honed.

The Japanese government was well aware of this atmosphere among the warriors.

Thus, to pacify their discontent, they sent a considerable number of warriors on a joint operation with Korea…

…Yet that became a problem.

The Japanese government had anticipated that some warriors would sustain serious injuries in the fight against evil spirits. No matter how strong a warrior was, they didn’t expect to emerge unscathed from a battle with the great evil spirits.

And if the injured were not Japanese, but Koreans, that might be preferable.

Thinking conservatively, they expected a couple to a few injuries at minimum, and that if the injuries were severe, more than half of them would be hurt.

They thought that if injuries occurred, it would convey the message that opportunity comes with danger, urging warriors to be more cautious and improve their skills.

However, the operation turned out to be a resounding success.

Contrary to the Japanese government’s expectations.

The narrative of Japan and Korea, who had once stood on the brink of conflict, uniting together to vanquish a common enemy—a tale that would likely appeal to the Japanese populace. Capable persons demonstrating their brilliance, and warriors seemingly increasing their skills after the battle, as if they had acquired some revelation.

For the Japanese government, things took an unwelcome turn.

While it was a fortunate event, they couldn’t just celebrate it with glee.

Such an incident had occurred.

Flames.

The warriors were viewed by the Japanese government as flames.

Flames that could become threats if left unattended.

The Japanese government wished to suppress those flames.

They did not wish to see warriors seize power like the Samurai during the shogunate.

“China is siphoning information about capable persons.”

…And then the opportunity has arrived.

A chance to divert the flames elsewhere.

 

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