"Inoue..." Yorimitsu called out, his eyes scanning the faded parchment of a text titled The Military Strategies of Yamamoto during the Asuka Period. '飛鳥時代の山本の軍事戦略'
"Yes, Master..." Inoue responded instantly, stepping forward from the shadows of the room.
'He has certainly become vastly more reliable lately,' Yorimitsu noted silently, observing the sharp posture as his twin-tailed fluttered before continuing.
"Has your tracking still yielded absolutely nothing regarding that vanished spy?" Yorimitsu asked, casually flipping the page of his manual.
"Nothing, my lord," Inoue replied, his expression grim. "The individual has simply evaporated into thin air. No matter how deeply I pry into it, even by asking the local guardian spirits, I cannot uncover a single trace of his movements."
"Mmm... it was merely a hopeful inquiry on my part," Yorimitsu murmured, closing his eyes briefly. "Considering that the spiritual tracker I placed upon his soul was violently shattered as well, it cannot be helped. We are dealing with an incredibly elusive entity."
"Minamoto-sama," a muted voice suddenly rang out from beyond the shoji sliding doors.
On the wooden veranda stood one of the school messenger girls, clad in pristine white robes with her lower face carefully veiled.
"Speak. I am here," Yorimitsu responded.
"You have been formally summoned to the Chōdō buildings, my lord."
'My.. lord?! I thought they said that we don't have any titles as long as we are in the school.' He thought.
"Huuu... so they have finally summoned me," Yorimitsu took a slow, deep breath, planting his hands on his knees as he rose to his feet.
"I am coming," he declared aloud. He set the military manual down onto his low desk, turning his gaze back to Inoue. "Gather your wits and follow closely behind me, Inoue."
Yorimitsu slid the shoji door open to find the young messenger still kneeling respectfully on the polished wood.
"Lead the way," he commanded softly.
The girl bowed her head once more, stepping backwards fluidly before turning to guide them directly into the heart of the imperial dragon's den.
'Tch... what is the deal with these servants?' Inoue muttered mentally, keeping his gaze strictly forward as they walked. 'Every single one of them has their eyes completely bound by those heavy white veils. How can they even navigate these corridors without stumbling? What's more, I can't sense even a single flicker of Reiryoku flowing through their networks.'
He glanced subtly at his master, but Yorimitsu remained completely unbothered, his steady footsteps echoing rhythmically down the polished wooden boardwalks.
…
Meanwhile, deep within the grand assembly halls of the northern school sector, a completely different conversation was taking place. Seated across from one another on heavy silk cushions were Bushido and Yasumasa.
"Are you entirely certain that this is the path you wish to take, Yasumasa?" Bushido asked, lazily tossing a handful of bitter red medicinal seeds into his mouth and chewing them with a grimace.
"Mmm... I am," Yasumasa responded smoothly, staring down at his porcelain tea cup. "I truly believed we possessed ample time before I had to take action, but the currents of fate are moving far more rapidly than I anticipated. As the adage goes, it is always wiser to cut the limb before the necrosis can fester."
As he spoke the word limb, Yasumasa's eyes drifted intentionally toward Bushido's once-festered leg, a subtle, mocking glint dancing in his gaze.
"You little brat! I have told you a thousand times over, my leg is entirely healed!" Bushido roared in sudden, veins-popping annoyance, slamming his massive fist onto the low table.
"Kukukuku... of course it is, master," Yasumasa chuckled softly, raised his wide silk sleeve to politely conceal his shifting, giggling lips.
Once the old master's huffing subsided, Yasumasa's expression reverted to one of profound, analytical calm. "I always knew the Minamoto boy possessed immense potential... but his performance on Sanctuary Island has completely shattered my expectations."
"What do you mean, potential?" Bushido asked, raising a grey eyebrow as he leaned back. "Sure, the kid displayed impressive raw power during the academy's entrance examinations, but it wasn't as if you could have foreseen this level of monstrosity back then."
"Hahaha, you wouldn't know, Bushido, because you weren't looking," Yasumasa countered, leaning forward with a dangerous smile. "On the exact night that boy first entered his academy lodgings, a highly sophisticated spy had already infiltrated his quarters to observe him. What did our young Minamoto do? He didn't just slaughter the intruder. He entirely dominated the assassin's soul, weaving a complex mental curse to control the spy's mind and turn him into his own personal thrall."
Bushido paused mid-chew, his eyes widening slightly.
"He did what on his first night...?" Bushido gasped, completely cutting himself off mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed to sharp pinpricks. "That requires an incredibly high-level mastery of the spiritual arts... How under the heavens could a mere boy pull off mind-enslavement on his first night?"
He leaned forward, his voice dropping into a low, accusatory whisper. "Did he use the Dark Arts?"
"The Dark Arts?" Yasumasa repeated smoothly, matching the old man's gaze.
"Yes! The kind of forbidden, twisted occult techniques you would normally see deployed by the Yokai or the—"
Before Bushido could finish his thought, Yasumasa sharply cut him off, bringing a heavy, official wooden seal down onto his document with a definitive snap.
"No. It is nothing of the sort," Yasumasa spoke, his tone completely unbothered as he set the papers aside. "And besides, Bushido... you of all people should know better. Even if a particular power feels inherently tainted, chaotic, or malicious to our senses... as long as it is being wielded for the correct reasons, what right do we have to branding it as evil? A blade does not care about the moral alignment of the hand that grips it."
"Tch... whatever you say," Bushido sighed, his weathered face stiffening as he leaned back. He knew better than to argue semantics with an imperial politician. "So, what ultimately happened to this puppet spy of his?"
"Oh, that?" Yasumasa smiled, a genuinely creepy, unsettling glint flashing across his eyes. "I personally executed the creature while the boy's vanguard group was away on the island. I realised that the spy's true handlers were beginning to suspect their agent was being tampered with. To protect the Minamoto brat from premature exposure, I severed the puppet's soul entirely and sent the mangled remains back to its master as a very loud, explicit warning."
Bushido watched him silently, a cold sweat breaking out at the back of his neck.
'He didn't even bother to tell me the name of the shadow master he sent those remains to...' Bushido thought grimly. 'I trust Yasumasa with my life, but the man constantly radiates this incredibly volatile, dangerous air. I suppose a Fujiwara will always be a Fujiwara, no matter how noble they seem to be.'
"These are truly troublesome times we are heading into," Bushido muttered aloud, running a calloused hand over his face to mask his unease. "Why under the heavens does it feel like absolutely everyone in Nihon is desperately trying to burn this world down to the ground?"