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Chapter 3 – Ghosts in the Shrine of Ash
Season 1: Exile of the Blade
全能の刀 (Zennō no Katana)
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Night in Tsukigakure was never silent. The cicadas chirped in waves, the leaves danced with whispers, and the ancient wind moaned through hollow trees as though mourning what had been lost.
Kenji Sora moved like smoke through the forest path, his hood casting a shadow over his eyes. Seijintō, wrapped in dark cloth, sat sheathed across his back—quiet, but not at peace. It had started humming the moment they entered these woods.
Not a vibration. Not a sound. A pull.
He reached the clearing where the villagers said it happened—the Shrine of Ash. The ground was blackened. The air, heavy. Even the moonlight seemed afraid to touch the place.
Fifty years ago, a great fire had consumed the shrine and everything in it. Priests. Pilgrims. Even the sacred forge said to burn with the spirit of old swordsmiths. What survived was ash, stone, and silence.
But now… children had gone missing. One just days ago.
And Kenji couldn't ignore it.
He stepped closer.
A talisman nailed to the gate fluttered, though there was no wind. His fingers brushed against the arch as he entered—immediately, his spine stiffened. The temperature dropped. His breath turned to fog. And somewhere in the blackened ruin…
A bell rang.
Not loud. Not cheerful. Just a soft ting, like death waking up.
Kenji narrowed his eyes.
"Who's there?" he called out.
Silence.
Then—a giggle.
A child's laugh, followed by a whisper in reverse.
He moved deeper, past burnt pillars and collapsed beams. Every step sounded like footsteps in a grave. At the center stood a cracked altar. On it, a headless statue knelt in prayer, its stone arms outstretched to nothing.
He knelt and touched the bloodstain at the base.
Fresh.
A second later, something scuttled across the ceiling beams above. He looked up, sword halfway drawn—but saw nothing.
Suddenly—a presence behind him.
He spun, blade in hand.
Out from the shadows stepped a yokai.
Its body was stretched and hunched, long like a dying willow tree. Smoke curled from its eye sockets. Its limbs ended in splintered bone. But it was its mouth—stitched shut with red thread—that made Kenji's grip tighten.
It floated, not walked. Claws scraping just above the floor.
Then, in a voice that cracked like dry parchment—
"You brought it… back."
Kenji remained still, blade drawn.
"What are you?" he asked.
The creature tilted its head. "What you fear. What you forgot. What you buried in the fire."
"You took the child."
The yokai's mouth stretched wide under its stitches. "No. The blade did."
Kenji blinked. "What?"
The creature floated forward. The ground blackened where it passed.
"Seijintō," it hissed. "A name not heard in a hundred winters. You carry one of the Hundred."
Kenji's heart slammed against his ribs.
"What are the Hundred?"
The yokai grinned. "A question too big… for a soul so small."
It lunged.
Kenji ducked, rolled, came up slashing. Steel met smoke. Sparks hissed in the air as Seijintō sliced across the creature's side—but instead of flesh, it cut through memories. Visions flashed in Kenji's mind—temples burning, warriors screaming, a woman with eyes like his holding a glowing sword—
Then pain.
The creature's claw scraped across his side.
He staggered back, breathing hard.
The yokai shrieked and began dissolving. But before it vanished, it whispered—
"The Council watches… and so do the dead."
Then it was gone. The shrine fell silent once again.
Kenji lowered his sword. But Seijintō… still pulsed in his hand.
It was as if it had awakened.
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He turned to leave—
When the headless statue cracked open.
Stone crumbled.
Inside, a scroll wrapped in cursed silk.
He reached for it, slowly. His fingers brushed it—and it unfurled by itself.
A single name burned into its ancient surface:
Kenji Sora
Underneath it:
"Bearer of the Sealed Fang. Do not let him live."
Signed by: The Council of Blades
Kenji stared at the scroll.
For a boy once too weak to lift a wooden sword… the whole world suddenly wanted him dead.
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Suspense End:
A branch snaps outside the shrine. Kenji darts out, sword ready—
But there's no one.
Only a black feather on the steps… and a faint voice whispering:
"He knows you're alive."