"Rather than running, I have another plan. Inspector Indou, in your view, between Ago and Azuki, and the vengeful Kayako inside that cursed house—which side possesses the greater power?"
Faced with Indou Ranko's suggestion, Amamiya Rin shook his head and asked calmly.
Indou Ranko sat up straight, her fingers unconsciously drumming against the tabletop.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she studied Amamiya Rin carefully for a moment before offering a rather ambiguous reply.
"Speaking purely of sheer volume, Ago and Azuki are powerful to an unbelievable degree. Ikiryo aren't rare—usually they're released in the form of ghostly flames, and only the finer ones take on a human shape. But to split an Ikiryo into several million fragments, attach them to electromagnetic waves, and transfer them all over the world through a livestream—and, like the dead, remain invisible… An Ikiryo powerful to that extent is something I've never heard of."
Indou Ranko let out a sigh.
These days, there were simply too many monsters beyond comprehension.
Deathless, undying urban legends. Higher-dimensional lifeforms beyond the reach of human strength. Hundred-meter beasts that could only be gravely wounded with a massive bunker-buster bomb…
It was understandable enough for things that weren't human to possess power surpassing humanity—but why could some humans, too, be born with power that others might never obtain even after a century of bitter cultivation?
"As for the curse, it possesses an indestructible nature, and its aggression is even greater than an Ikiryo's—it even holds the ability to cross time and space. Hmm… most likely, in the short term, neither side could do anything to the other, until those two women are worn down to exhaustion."
As for which was stronger and which weaker, Indou Ranko didn't dare speak too definitively.
After all, whether it was Kayako, or Ago and Azuki, their power had already surpassed the bounds of human imagination.
"I understand…"
Amamiya Rin nodded thoughtfully, then posed another question to Indou Ranko.
"Inspector Indou, do you have any protective technique that can be applied to me? Against harm from ghosts and the like—it doesn't need to be very potent, just effective in the short term."
"You don't intend to take my advice?"
Indou Ranko understood what Amamiya Rin had in mind. Her brows knitted together, and her gaze betrayed her disapproval.
"I'm the more proactive type," Amamiya Rin said mildly.
Indou Ranko stared at Amamiya Rin for a few seconds, then suddenly threw herself back and tilted her head up toward the ceiling.
"I can see that. From the first time we met, I knew you weren't the sort to sit around and honestly wait for trouble to come knocking. Honestly… but a guy like you—I don't dislike, either."
As she spoke, she had already risen from the sofa and circled around behind Amamiya Rin.
"Sit still. Don't move."
Amamiya Rin did as told. Indou Ranko pressed her right index and middle fingers together, the fingertips hovering over his back.
Then, with crisp precision, she traced out a… five-pointed star?
Through the fabric of his clothes, wherever her fingertips passed, a distinct searing heat spread across the surface of his skin, as if scorched by sunlight. Faintly, vaguely, Amamiya Rin could feel some kind of invisible trajectory being carved beneath the skin of his back. The sensation was somewhat strange, yet not unpleasant.
So this was what they called psychic power? Onmyojutsu?
Amamiya Rin could dimly grasp the mystery within it.
Something like this was probably the onmyoji's [worldview].
They grew up embracing the [worldview] of [Onmyodo], and possessing certain innate traits themselves, they used the spiritual power sparked by tenacious conviction—and that was [Onmyojutsu].
Could he accomplish the same thing using Buddhist teachings?
The moment that thought rose in his heart, Amamiya Rin shook his head.
The [worldview] he had accepted was [Buddhist Study], not [Buddhist Dharma]. The two [worldviews] conflicted with each other, and to draw out the effect of subduing demons and exorcising evil from them would likely be exceedingly difficult.
"The Kikyo Seal—you've surely heard of it? A symbol created by Abe no Seimei, it carries a very profound significance within the system of Onmyojutsu, and can offer a certain degree of protection against evil spirits. Its potency lasts twenty-four hours at most."
Having drawn out a Kikyo Seal, Indou Ranko lowered her right hand, walked back around Amamiya Rin, and returned to the sofa.
"That said, against the spirits you're about to come into contact with, don't expect it to have much effect…"
She scratched the back of her head, hesitating on the verge of speech.
Amamiya Rin's calm expression was exactly the attitude of one who had already made his decision. Gazing into those unruffled eyes, Indou Ranko knew that further persuasion would be useless—unless she locked Amamiya Rin up, there was no changing his will.
"Young people these days—all such headstrong characters."
Indou Ranko clicked her tongue.
Having entered this line of work, she too had long since come to regard life and death lightly. If Amamiya Rin was set on taking the risk, all she could do was silently wish him luck in her heart.
As for anything else… that was beyond what she could see to.
"Thank you very much."
Amamiya Rin bowed slightly and spoke with sincerity.
He could understand Indou Ranko's difficult position. If he were put in her place, facing another version of himself, there would be nothing more he could do than what she had done.
Five o'clock in the evening—the hour of encountering demons.
The sky was one solid mass of murky, dark orange, like faded, congealed blood, pressing heavily down over the residence.
The perimeter of the Takaichi residence had been cleared. The streets were empty of pedestrians; even the cries of birds had vanished. Men in matching black suits stood in their assigned positions like statues, their sharp gazes sweeping over every inch that might conceal danger.
The main hall of the residence had been temporarily arranged into a place of solemn gravity.
On the dark tatami, Takaichi's corpse had been laid out on clean white cloth, a thin layer of gauze draped over it to conceal those bizarre and horrifying wounds.
Her face had been given a simple treatment, yet the twisted, agonized expression remained faintly visible, sending a chill into the heart of everyone who saw it.
More than twenty people had gathered in the hall—all of them high-ranking politicians, businessmen, and nobility.
Of course, this "high rank" was nowhere near comparable to the true master of this nation. They were merely followers, and now they were spectators, witnesses—witnesses to the great feat of the dead's revival.
The summoned spectators waited with bated breath, their eyes complicated, awe and exhilaration intertwined, the fervor for the privilege of resurrection and the worship of those above them intensifying in their hearts.
A maid in a plain black kimono knelt behind and to the side of the corpse, eyes downcast and demeanor meek, as if immersed in grief and self-reproach over her failure of duty.
"He's here."
Someone murmured, though who it was couldn't be told.
Every gaze turned toward the entrance of the great hall.
Two men in black bowed and led the way, and a white figure stepped in, unhurried and unrushed.
It was a young man, appearing no more than his mid-twenties. He wore a pure white, immaculate kariginu, draped over with a white cape, his complexion the pallor of skin long unexposed to sunlight. His shoulder-length short hair was slightly disheveled, his expression cold and detached, his features clean and handsome. An air utterly out of place with his surroundings clung to him, and within his robes rested a short sword—only the hilt showing beneath the cover of the cape.
The young man's steps did not falter as he walked straight toward Takaichi's corpse at the center of the hall.
He paid no heed whatsoever to the powerful and influential figures around him, as though they were nothing but props in the background.
An old man who looked to be at least sixty hurried forward to receive him, a fervent light bursting from his eyes as he bowed deeply and spoke with the utmost reverence.
"Master Soul Reviver, thank you for your long journey. Everything is prepared. Please, work your miracle."
The Soul Reviver's steps paused slightly. His pale gray eyes swept over the old man once, and without any other response, he merely gave a light nod.
Then he knelt beside Takaichi and drew from within his robes a plain, antique clay bowl.
Another man in black silently stepped forward and poured a viscous liquid from a small leather pouch into the bowl—fresh human blood, still faintly warm, its heavy, rusty iron scent quietly spreading.
Everyone in the hall held their breath, their eyes fixed intently on the Soul Reviver.
The Soul Reviver set the blood-filled clay bowl on the ground, reached into it, dipped up the thick blood, and smeared it across his own face.
The dark red stains stood out starkly against his pale skin, forming a primal, sinister pattern that lent his clean, handsome features an inhuman, uncanny quality.
After that, he grasped the hilt of the sword within his robes and slowly drew it out.
The sword was fully revealed before everyone's eyes.
The blade was somewhat thick and heavy, its entire body a deep, dim metallic hue—not the reflective sheen of steel, but more like some sort of light-absorbing, deep black material.
Etched across the surface of the blade were dense, eerie black patterns—patterns that were no mere decoration, but resembled naturally formed curse-marks, arranged in segments, twisting and coiling, exuding an ancient and ominous aura.
Merely looking at it filled one's heart with oppression, as though some law not belonging to this world were sealed within the blade.
He gripped the hilt with both hands and wiped the blade across his cheek, which he had just coated with blood.
When he drew the sword away, part of the blood on his face had been carried off, and along the edge of the blade, a dark red faint glow seemed to flicker within those black patterns for the briefest of moments.
Then, the Soul Reviver raised the Soul Reviver's Sword high with both hands, aiming the tip at the heart of the corpse, and abruptly plunged the sword down!
The blade sank into the corpse's chest without the slightest resistance!
And in the very instant the blade fully drove home, the Soul Reviver's body convulsed violently!
He suddenly threw his head back, his eyes losing all trace of color in an instant, turning into a murky, ghastly white. His mouth fell open, and a white radiance—thick as mist, glimmering with faint phosphorescence—surged forth in a torrent from his gaping mouth!
At the same time, from those eyes turned ghastly white, the very same white streaming light burst forth.
"Enter!"
These white fluids gave off a strange aura, containing within them a pure and vigorous power of life.
At the Soul Reviver's command, they were as though drawn by some invisible force. After circling briefly in the air, they rushed toward Takaichi's corpse, scrambling over one another to bore frantically into that already-dead husk.
When the last strand of streaming light poured into the corpse, the Soul Reviver pulled out the short sword and rose to his feet.
The next moment, Takaichi's whole body shuddered, and like a spring, she abruptly snapped her upper body upright, sitting up before the eyes of all.
The gauze covering her body fell away, and the savage wounds upon Takaichi were revealed to everyone present.
But no one cared any longer about those wounds that demeaned Takaichi's dignity.
Because those wounds were vanishing—as if time were reversing, every kind of wound disappeared, and even the sword injury that had run her corpse through was rapidly healing.
"She's alive! She really… she really came back to life!"
A middle-aged politician standing in the front row cried out involuntarily, his voice distorted with excitement.
"Amaterasu Omikami… this… this is a miracle! A true miracle!"
Beside him, an old aristocrat in traditional dress stared with clouded eyes at the risen Takaichi, muttering the words over and over.
"Unbelievable… transcending life and death… so the legends were true! To command such power… is this what power is?"
An industrialist in a custom-tailored suit, wearing an expensive mechanical watch, flushed crimson as blood rushed to his face, a scorching light bursting from his eyes—not awe toward a deity, but greed for that which transcended death.
"O Amaterasu Omikami! Could the master of our nation truly be the god-chosen one, selected by Amaterasu Omikami to rule this country?"
The rising and falling voices were filled with uncontainable terror and fervor.
Having witnessed the scene of resurrection from death, nearly everyone trembled all over with excitement. Even those for whom this was not the first witnessing found it hard to suppress their surging emotions.
And this was precisely what those who styled themselves as gods desired. Whether greed, fear, or awe—so long as they witnessed this miracle of resurrection, they would inevitably follow in the footsteps of the gods with all the greater loyalty.
Yet, just as the ecstatic clamor within the hall reached its peak, something strange happened!
The flush of the living that had appeared on Takaichi's face rapidly faded, and then the dark red blotches that had just healed reappeared.
"Ngh… ahh…"
Her clouded eyes suddenly went wide, and within them there was not the slightest happiness of revival—only boundless, endless agony, as she uttered incoherent, delirious murmurs.
"Fire… bronze pillar… so hot… it hurts so much…"
Takaichi's body convulsed, her hands flailing wildly through the air as if warding off unseen blades. The garments that had been simply arranged fell into disarray, exposing more of the bizarre wounds resurfacing.
Bruises seeping blood beneath the skin, shriveled marks as though bound by coarse rope, scalds and swelling as if she'd been thrown into a steamer…
"What's happening?!"
The clamor came to an abrupt halt.
The crowd looked at one another, watching this eerie and terrifying scene, expressions of bewilderment and dread rising on their faces.
The miracle of resurrection had only just been performed—yet the body was returning to death before everyone's very eyes?
No! It wasn't death! That appearance! It was exactly like being tortured in hell!
That was it!
Takaichi's appearance was as if she had committed some monstrous, unforgivable sin. Even though she had been summoned back to the living world, hell had not let her go—it had sent the hell-wardens who carried out punishments in the Eighteen Hells to follow her back into the living world and continue punishing Takaichi's soul.
As this thought surfaced in their hearts, everyone present couldn't help but shudder, their faces going ghastly pale in an instant.
All the earlier awe, fervor, and greed had, in this moment, transformed into fear and bewilderment.
To have witnessed the resurrection with their own eyes, only to watch helplessly as the revived one continued to suffer the punishment of hell—such a situation was far more chilling than mere death.
If even Takaichi, a god-chosen one, could not escape hell's punishment for her own evil deeds, then what about them? What about them, whose status was not even as lofty as Takaichi's?
The Soul Reviver, too, wore an expression of bewilderment. It was not the first time he had resurrected the powerful and privileged—yet a phenomenon like this was the first he had ever encountered.
____
👻🔥Read More on P@treon: Walnut-chan🔥👻
🔥 New history: Zenless Zone Zero: Rewriting Fate in New Eridu — now up on The_Mikudayo
📚 Walnut-chan = 40 chapters ahead + you keep the translations moving
Help us hit our community goals:
🎯 100 Powerstones = +1 Bonus Chapter for everyone