"I cannot believe Lord Yasamusa would simply hand this over to me…" Yorimitsu murmured to himself after opening the box that Yasamus had given him. Wrapped securely around his knuckles was a pristine strip of white cloth that, to an ordinary observer, would look entirely mundane.
"What exactly is it, Master…?" Inoue asked, tilting his head slightly in curiosity.
"High-level spiritual silk," Yorimitsu explained, his eyes locked onto the fabric. "I heard that it's only found deep in the mountains on certain trees. These moths can't be farmed. Their true value lies in their unique properties. The durability of the silk dynamically scales based on the duration it is worn. With a material like this, I can craft a set of inner armour."
"Armour?"
"Yes, the armour that will continuously grow stronger the longer it remains bonded to my Reiryoku."
"Ha! Really? Spiritual silk... I have heard whispers in the markets that even a mere spool of it commands an astronomical price."
"Yeah, so did I. That is precisely why I am so thoroughly surprised... Does he truly perceive that much value within me?" Yorimitsu thought, his steady footsteps carrying him back toward his quarters.
As the silence of the path stretched out, his mind drifted deeper into the past. 'Now that I think about it… even though I didn't pay much attention to the capital's complex politics in my previous life, I distinctly remember a rumour. Yasamusa suddenly and inexplicably disappeared. The public consensus was that he must have perished in some desolate wasteland while fighting a horde of high-tier Yokai. But after finally meeting him face-to-face today... I am absolutely certain that wasn't the case. With the staggering depth of strength I managed to sense radiating from him, there is no way a monster like that would just die randomly.'
Yorimitsu's gaze lingered heavily on the gravel beneath his feet.
"Master... Master..."
"Ha? What is it, Inoue?" Yorimitsu blinked, his head snapping up as he was pulled from his thoughts.
"You looked completely spaced out," Inoue noted, watching his master closely. "Is there something deeply troubling your mind...?"
"Tch. Yeah... I am just wondering how exactly to pull it off," Yorimitsu replied.
"Hmmm? Pull what off, Master?"
"How to raise enough money to start buying up grain."
"Grain?" Inoue echoed, his expression shifting. "Is this because of what Lord Yasamusa told you regarding the impending war?"
"Yes, that is a massive part of it…" Yorimitsu spoke softly, stepping back through the threshold of his private chambers once more.
Inoue sat down next to him, his gaze remaining thoroughly puzzled. "But grain? Surely even if there is a war, you can still grow more?"
"Yes, that path of it I must have lots of different types of grain before it's too late because the next harvest of grain that will be coming from now on will be highly toxic, "Yorimitsu stated, his voice flat. He crossed his legs and settled onto the tatami mats, preparing to enter a state of deep meditation. "But before that... I have to settle accounts. I need to pay back what I owe and take back what I am owed."
Yorimitsu's gaze tightened, a lethal coldness bleeding into his eyes.
"It is time for me to destroy the Minakaze clan utterly… and pay back my debt to Himari."
CRACK!
…
A loud, resounding slap echoed violently across the walls of the opposite chambers within the school.
"Gabimaru, you are an absolute embarrassment!" a booming voice roared. "I truly believed that sending you here would have tempered your fragile spine. Instead, all you have managed to do is utterly sully the prestigious name of the No-Ishe!"
A broad-shouldered, imposing man stood towering over the boy. He bore a striking resemblance to Gabimaru, with the distinct differences being his deeply lined, aged face and his long, wild black hair.
Gabimaru's cheek was heavily flushed, stained by a fierce, swelling red imprint from the impact of the blow. Yet, he did not flinch, nor did he break his posture. He simply stood perfectly rigid, staring blankly ahead at the patriarch who had just struck him, a small, dark bead of blood trickling slowly from the corner of his split lip.
'How did he even manage to get into the school? Outsiders are not allowed, even if it's someone from a great clan' Gabimaru thought to himself.
"Tch. If it were entirely up to me, I wouldn't even bother gifting such a prize to a piece of trash like you," the man scoffed, carelessly tossing a long, heavy wooden box at Gabimaru's feet. "I am granting you one final opportunity. You had better not disappoint me again."
Without waiting for a response, the man turned sharply on his heel, his robes sweeping out behind him as he exited the chamber.
"Tch... Ishi no Yoshin," Gabimaru muttered under his breath, his eyes locking onto the door. "I truly despise that man. Even though Father is still alive and perfectly well, Yoshin already struts around acting as though he is the true head of the family. I've also intercepted whispers that he has been covertly colluding with other factions, selling our clan's exclusive craftsmanship to outsiders."
The Ishe clan commanded an immensely high standing within the empire solely due to their peerless forging abilities. They possessed the rare, sought-after talent to craft almost any physical tool from mythic katanas to ceremonial gongs and prosthetics. What truly elevated their work into legend, however, was their ability to directly imbue these items with potent Onmyōdō sorcery, transforming their crafts into legendary Treasured Tools."
Gabimaru knelt down toward the wooden container his brother had left behind. The lid was heavily suppressed, completely covered in layers of intricate sealing talismans. Without even bothering to chant a formal purification spell to safely disable the seals, Gabimaru simply tipped a nearby oil lamp directly over the tags.
The flames caught instantly, aggressively burning away the talismans along with the outer wood of the box.
"Ha?!"
The moment the charred lid crumbled away to reveal the contents inside, Gabimaru completely froze. His breath hitched in his throat.
'Father… is actually giving this to me?'
Resting within the silk-lined interior of the box was a prosthetic limb unlike any other a glistening, pitch-black hand radiating an ominous, suffocating spiritual pressure.
'Kintarō?'