"An anomalous yōki signature." Imagawa Yoshimoto repeated those words. Her voice was not loud, yet it etched itself into the air of the great hall with perfect clarity. Then, as if merely making idle conversation, she asked, "To which part of the Kantō do you refer?"
Tsuchimikado Kokoro's fingers tightened around the bamboo scroll on her lap. Her large amber eyes fixated on the tatami before her.
"The entirety of Suruga Province… as well as portions of the surrounding provinces of Musashi and Sagami. The observatory of the Onmyōryō detected an anomalous surge in yōki density emanating from the Kantō a month ago. Signs of yōkai congregations have appeared in multiple locations. And moreover—" She hesitated. "Moreover… I have seen them. There are shrines. Shrines specifically dedicated to the worship of yōkai."
Her voice grew smaller and smaller, but her meaning was unmistakably clear. The Onmyōryō knew. They knew that shrines to yōkai were being constructed on a large scale across Suruga and Sagami.
They knew that someone was using official authority to push humans into worshipping demons. They knew that osore was being systematically gathered.
Imagawa Yoshimoto's expression did not change. Her folding fan spread open once more, concealing everything below her nose, leaving only those refined, astute eyes exposed.
"Kokoro, may I call you that?"
"Y-you may."
"Kokoro, how long did it take you to travel from Kyōto to Suruga?"
"Twelve days."
"The road must have been difficult."
"It… it was manageable…"
"And your meals and lodging? How did the Imagawa waystations treat you?"
"Very well… there were rice balls and grilled fish at every meal, and on the third day they even provided a hot spring—" Tsuchimikado Kokoro caught herself mid-sentence and snapped her mouth shut. She had been led astray.
Imagawa Yoshimoto's expression remained unchanged. "Twelve days. From Kyōto to Suruga, twelve days. How many provinces did you pass through in those twelve days?"
"…Five."
"Of those five provinces, in how many were yōkai running rampant?"
"All of them."
"Correct. All of them." Yoshimoto's voice was unhurried. "In Tōtōmi, mountain spiders once seized entire villages. I dispatched troops to exterminate them. In Mikawa, kappa have plagued the riverways, driven off by the local lords. Owari—Owari is not under my jurisdiction. It belongs to the Oda clan. But I hear it is no more peaceful there. Yōkai are everywhere. The Kantō, most of all. When the Uesugi swept south under the banner of yōkai extermination, where was the Onmyōryō then?"
Tsuchimikado Kokoro's mouth opened, then closed.
"And Kyōto's outskirts are hardly tranquil, are they?" Yoshimoto continued. The gaze behind her fan softened, a gentleness far harder to withstand than any sharp glare.
"Your esteemed office can scarcely manage the troubles on its own doorstep. Yet you find the leisure to concern yourselves with Suruga's affairs?"
"That's not—"
"Then what is it?"
"The Head of the Onmyōryō's intent was—"
"Your father's intent." Yoshimoto corrected her. "Spare me the official phrasing. Your father sent you here. What, truly, was his purpose?"
Tsuchimikado Kokoro was silenced by that single sentence. She lowered her head. The lamplight flickered in her amber pupils. Silence lingered. Then, at last, with great difficulty, she opened her mouth.
"…The Shikon no Tama." She finally said it. Her voice was very soft, as though afraid of being overheard. "My father said that the aura of the Shikon no Tama has manifested in the Kantō. The Onmyōryō must confirm its location and its current state. And if possible, it must be taken into the custody of the Onmyōryō."
Silence fell over the great hall. Imagawa Yoshimoto's fan slowly folded shut. The exquisite fan returned to her lap, revealing her face in full, a girl of sixteen or seventeen, delicate as porcelain, a smile resting at the corner of her lips.
"Kokoro, do you know where the Shikon no Tama is?"
"…Not with certainty. That is why I came to investigate."
"Then allow me to tell you." Yoshimoto's voice shifted abruptly, becoming startlingly forthright. "The Shikon no Tama is indeed in the Kantō. In Kaede's Village, in Musashi Province. It is guarded by a miko. That miko's reiryoku, I say this without exaggeration, is the greatest in this age."
This was the fruit of her own investigations.
Tsuchimikado Kokoro's eyes widened.
"The Shikon no Tama is perfectly safe in her keeping. There will not be the slightest problem for ten years. A hundred, even." Yoshimoto tilted her head, her tone laced with what seemed to be genuine curiosity. "The Onmyōryō wishes to take custody of it? Do you have the strength to hold it?"
Silence.
Yoshimoto's voice was neither loud nor soft, yet every word seemed to hit the ground with weight. "The Shikon no Tama lies in Kaede's Village. Guarded by a miko. Protected by a Demon God. If it were placed in Kyōto, how many days do you think it could be held?"
Tsuchimikado Kokoro said nothing.
Imagawa Yoshimoto rose to her feet. The hem of her twelve-layered kimono rustled softly across the tatami, the layered fabric whispering with each movement.
She walked before Tsuchimikado Kokoro and bent down. Close, almost brushing the young onmyōji's ear, she murmured low.
"Return and tell your father this: the matter of Suruga, I will handle. The matter of the Shikon no Tama, the Onmyōryō need not trouble itself. If the Onmyōryō truly wishes to help, then implement that decree for autonomous demon-extermination in full. Suruga needs that official mandate. As for the investigation…"
Yoshimoto straightened, stepped back, and seated herself once more at the head of the hall. Her fan spread open, concealing half her face. "There are indeed yōki signatures within Suruga. But those yōkai are guardian spirits under official worship. They are not malevolent entities running rampant. If you travel through the domain, you will see for yourself, the people live in peace and prosperity. Merchants and travelers move freely. Where is this demonic harm? If the Onmyōryō insists on treating our enshrined guardian spirits as evil beings to be purged—" Yoshimoto's voice remained gentle. "Then it will have to ask the hundreds of thousands of subjects across Suruga, Tōtōmi, and Mikawa whether they agree."
This final sentence was not merely a threat. It was overwhelming pressure. The command over hundreds of thousands. The force of human spirit gathered from hundreds of thousands of souls, a force-field capable of suppressing even yōki. Let alone a mere apprentice onmyōji.
When Tsuchimikado Kokoro stood, her legs were somewhat unsteady. Mechanically, she extended the bamboo scroll, the original text of the decree. Yoshimoto accepted it with an elegant motion.
"My thanks to you, Kokoro, for journeying so far." Yoshimoto's tone had shifted back to light and amiable.
"Stay in the castle tonight. I'll have someone prepare a hot bath and a change of clothes for you. There's no rush to leave until tomorrow."
"N-no, that won't be necessary! I'll depart tonight—"
"No need to hurry." Yoshimoto smiled. That smile was genuine. Contagious, even. The kind of smile unique to a girl of sixteen or seventeen, carrying little threat, yet exceedingly difficult to refuse.
"The roads are unsafe. Traveling at night is dangerous. Stay one night. Leave in the morning."
Tsuchimikado Kokoro was dazed by that smile. By the time she gathered her wits, she had already been led out of the great hall by a maidservant, still clutching the change of clothes and sweets the Imagawa household had prepared for her.
In a daze. As if nothing had been accomplished. As if something had. The decree, delivered. The investigation, rebuffed. The matter of the Shikon no Tama, blocked entirely. She had been fed, given lodgings, and, gently, courteously, flawlessly, dismissed.
What Tsuchimikado Kokoro did not notice, however, was that the moment she stepped out of the tenshukaku's main gate, a faint, ghostly green phosphorescence had flickered behind her, and then faded into nothingness.
Though its purpose was unclear, toward anyone hailing from Kyōto, Shinji would always maintain a certain degree of vigilance.
The great hall returned to silence. Imagawa Yoshimoto leaned back into her seat. Her fan closed and set aside. Her deep brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, a few loose strands resting against her collarbones.
The collar of her twelve-layered kimono was slightly parted, revealing a pale, elegant line of throat.
The lamplight cast warm, shifting shadows across her face.
"All under heaven, bustling, all come for profit."
She murmured the phrase under her breath. Then sighed.
"All under heaven, jostling, all go for profit."
The Onmyōryō. The Hōjō. The Uesugi. The Takeda. Every faction. Every individual. Every action they took had its own rationale, its own purpose. Yet strip it all down, and it came to nothing more than a single word: gain.
But this was the Warring States. In the chaos of this age, those who truly adhered to honor and righteousness were painfully few. Everything was done in pursuit of self-interest. Humans. Yōkai. Even gods and buddhas. All the same.
Thinking this, she tilted her head, stretching her neck, sore from the weight of her elaborate headdress. Her gaze drifted idly toward the corridor on the right side of the hall,
And stopped dead.
There, in the shadows of a thick pillar, a figure in gray robes leaned against the wood. Pale, flowing hair hung over his shoulders. A pair of crimson demon eyes watched her with perfect calm.
She had no idea how long he had been standing there. Probably from the very beginning.
Imagawa Yoshimoto's body went rigid. Her mind went blank. For three full seconds.
"—?!"
The shriek of a young provincial lord tore through the tenshukaku. Even the birds outside were startled into flight.