The tea was mediocre, but Tachibana Kenji had learned long ago that expecting quality in a village this remote was a waste of mental energy. He sat by the window of the small inn, watching farmers return from their fields with the lazy gait of men who'd earned their evening rest. The autumn sun painted everything in shades of amber, and a pleasant breeze carried the scent of ripening rice.
This, Kenji thought, was acceptable. Not perfect, but acceptable.
"Master Tachibana! Master Tachibana!"
Kenji's eye twitched. The honorific "Master" was generous for a disgraced scholar doing odd jobs in forgotten villages, but that wasn't what bothered him. It was the urgency in the voice. Urgency meant complications. Complications meant work.
The village headman burst through the door, his round face flushed and sweating despite the cool weather. "Thank the fortunes you're still here! We have a crisis!"
Kenji took another sip of his mediocre tea. "I'm sure you do."
"The storehouse—the main rice storehouse—it's haunted! Three people have been injured trying to retrieve supplies. We can't access our winter stores!"
"Haunted," Kenji repeated, his tone suggesting he was discussing the weather. "How unfortunate."
"You're an Onmyoji! You must help us!"
"Must I?" Kenji set down his cup with exaggerated care. "I was actually planning to leave tomorrow. There's a hot spring two villages over that supposedly has—"
"We'll pay double your usual rate!"
Kenji paused. His coin purse was lighter than he preferred, and winter was coming. He could stretch his remaining funds for another two weeks, maybe three if he ate sparingly. But eating sparingly sounded tedious.
He sighed. "Fine. Show me."
The walk to the storehouse took fifteen minutes. Kenji maintained a pace that could generously be called "leisurely" while the headman practically jogged beside him, wringing his hands and explaining the situation in unnecessary detail.
"—started three days ago, strange sounds at night, then Farmer Gorou went in to get rice for his family and something threw him across the room! His arm is still bandaged! Then the merchant's daughter tried, and—"
"How many people have entered since the incidents began?" Kenji interrupted.
"F-five, I think? All were attacked or fled."
"And the building itself? Any recent changes? Construction? Objects brought inside?"
The headman blinked. "Now that you mention it... old widow Hana donated some items from her late husband's collection to store there. He was a soldier, died in the border skirmishes twenty years ago. She brought his armor, weapons, some personal effects..."
"Three days ago?"
"Yes! How did you—"
"Lucky guess." Kenji stopped in front of the storehouse, a sturdy wooden structure with a thatched roof. The doors were slightly ajar, and even from outside, he could feel it—a disturbance in the spiritual energy. Multiple sources, overlapping. His practiced eye caught the subtle wrongness in how shadows fell across the entrance.
This wasn't going to be simple at all.
"How much did you say you'd pay?" Kenji asked.
"T-twenty silver!"
"Make it forty. This is more complicated than you implied."
"Forty! But that's—"
"There are at least seven distinct spiritual presences inside that building, Headman-san. One would be a simple exorcism. Seven means either a nest of minor spirits or something worse." Kenji tilted his head, studying the energy patterns with the casual expertise of someone who'd spent years learning to read such things. "Given the soldier's effects, I'd guess the former. Lingering battlefield spirits that clung to the armor and weapons. They've been dormant for years, but something about being moved triggered them."
The headman's face went pale. "S-seven? Can you handle seven spirits?"
"Probably. The question is whether I want to handle seven spirits for twenty silver."
"Forty! Forty is acceptable! Just please—"
"Then fetch me some supplies." Kenji pulled a worn notebook from his sleeve and scribbled a list. "Purified salt, three sheets of blessed paper, ink—the expensive kind, not that watered-down nonsense—and a brazier with incense. Sandalwood if you have it."
The headman snatched the list and ran.
Kenji settled himself on a nearby stump, pulled out a rice ball he'd saved from lunch, and ate while studying the storehouse. His mind automatically catalogued the problem: seven spirits, likely low-level but aggressive from prolonged dormancy and sudden disturbance. Standard binding wouldn't work—too many targets. A mass purification would be inefficient and drain too much energy.
The optimal solution formed in his thoughts like brush strokes on paper: a layered seal. Primary array to contain and separate them, secondary symbols to pacify and bind each individually, tertiary ward to prevent reformation. It would take about an hour to prepare and execute properly. He'd need to draw the outer containment circle first, then place the focal points at specific intervals, then...
Kenji groaned aloud. "Why are there seven? One spirit is reasonable. Two is already annoying. Who angered seven spirits?"
A cat wandered past, utterly disinterested in his complaints.
The headman returned with remarkable speed, arms loaded with supplies. Kenji verified each item with the thoroughness of someone who knew that cutting corners in spiritual work led to things much worse than simple failure.
"This will do," he said, gathering the materials. "Everyone stays back. If you hear explosions, that's normal. If you hear screaming, that's also normal. If you hear laughter, run."
"L-laughter?"
"It means I made a mistake, and you don't want to be here for that."
Kenji approached the storehouse entrance, his casual demeanor unchanged but his senses fully engaged now. The moment he stepped inside, the temperature dropped noticeably. The interior was dim despite the afternoon sun, shadows clinging to corners with unnatural persistence.
Sacks of rice were scattered across the floor. Wooden shelves stood askew. And there, in the center of the room, was the source—a collection of old military equipment arranged haphazardly. A dented helmet. A rusted tanto blade. A torn battle standard.
And around them, barely visible to normal eyes but clear as day to Kenji, swirled seven distinct masses of spiritual energy. Angry. Confused. Defensive.
"Of course," Kenji muttered, setting down his supplies. "You poor bastards don't even know where you are, do you?"
The spirits didn't respond—they were too degraded for coherent communication—but he felt their agitation increase at his presence.
"Right. Let's do this properly." He pulled out the blessed paper and began folding it into precise shapes—not origami exactly, but the ritual forms used to channel spiritual energy. Each fold had to be exact. Each crease mattered.
His hands moved with practiced efficiency, but his mouth kept up a running commentary of complaints.
"This is exactly why I prefer simple hauntings. One ghost, one seal, done in ten minutes..." Fold. Crease. "But no, it had to be a soldier's collection. Had to be multiple spirits..." Another fold. "And they're probably honor-bound or duty-cursed or some other complicated nonsense..."
He placed the first paper charm at the northern point of the room, weighing it down with purified salt. Then west. South. East. Creating a square that would become the foundation of his containment array.
Next came the ink and brush. Kenji knelt and began drawing directly on the wooden floor, his strokes careful and deliberate. The symbols flowed from his brush in perfect sequence—binding characters interwoven with pacification sigils, containment structures nested within purification frameworks.
This was the part that required absolute concentration. One wrong stroke, one break in the flow of chi through the symbols, and the entire array would collapse. Worse, it might backlash.
His chi was naturally turbulent—a condition he'd had since birth that made spell work exhausting in ways other practitioners couldn't understand. Every symbol required constant mental adjustment, a thousand tiny corrections to keep his energy flowing smoothly through the channels he was creating.
It was like trying to write calligraphy during an earthquake, except the earthquake was inside his own body.
But Kenji's genius wasn't in raw power or natural talent. It was in his ability to calculate, compensate, and adapt. His mind tracked a dozen variables simultaneously: the flow of his chi, the response of the spirits, the integrity of each symbol, the overall structure of the array.
"Almost done," he muttered, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead despite the cool air. "Just need the final binding sequence and..."
The brush moved. One symbol. Two. Three. The seventh and final character to complete the outer array—
A child's voice screamed outside.
Kenji's concentration didn't waver. The symbol was half-complete. Breaking off now would waste everything he'd already done.
Another scream. Closer. Inside the storehouse.
His head snapped up.
A small boy—couldn't be more than seven years old—stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide with terror. Behind him, one of the spirits had broken free from the cluster, drawn by the living energy of the child like a moth to flame.
The spirit was manifesting physically, taking the shape of a twisted warrior with empty eye sockets and reaching, grasping hands.
The child was three seconds from being touched by something that would, at minimum, scar him for life.
Something fundamental shifted in Kenji's posture.
His lazy drawl vanished. His tired eyes became sharp, focused, calculating at speeds that would make seasoned strategists dizzy.
His mind didn't just think—it exploded into overdrive.
Seven spirits. Six still loosely bound. One manifested and hostile. Current array 87% complete. Child 2.8 meters from hostile entity. Entity movement speed suggests contact in 2.9 seconds. Options: abort array and create emergency barrier (success rate 73%, wastes all previous work). Complete array and hope child survives (unacceptable). Redirect hostile spirit using incomplete array (theoretically possible if I modify the energy flow, but that would require rewriting three symbols mid-execution while splitting my concentration and—)
1.8 seconds.
—possible. Difficult but possible. The incomplete binding in the northeast quadrant can be temporarily converted to a attraction point if I reverse the directional flow and add a secondary trigger symbol—
0.9 seconds.
Kenji's left hand never stopped moving. The final symbol of the outer array completed with perfect precision.
His right hand ripped a blank paper charm, bit his thumb to draw blood, and painted a crude character in one explosive motion.
"Gather!"
His voice cracked like a whip, carrying chi that burned through his channels like liquid fire.
The paper charm ignited.
The incomplete array howled to life, not properly activated but forced into a half-functional state through sheer will and desperate calculation.
The manifested spirit jerked sideways as if yanked by invisible chains, pulled away from the child and toward the cluster of military equipment. The other six spirits, suddenly contained by the now-active (if imperfect) outer array, couldn't escape.
But the disruption caused a cascade effect Kenji had predicted and planned for in the half-second he'd had to think.
The spirits, confused and compressed, began to merge—exactly as he'd intended.
Seven individual spirits were too scattered to handle efficiently. One amalgamated spirit, disoriented and compressed? That he could work with.
His brush moved again, this time without any hesitation or complaint. He drew three additional symbols in the gaps of his existing array, adapting the structure on the fly. Mathematics and intuition merged in his mind—this symbol here would create a pressure point, that one would establish a purification channel, the third would...
"Separate. Settle. Sleep."
The words carried weight, chi flowing through them in precisely measured amounts. Not too much—that would shatter his hastily modified array. Not too little—that wouldn't overcome the spirits' resistance.
Exactly right.
The amalgamated spirit shuddered. Then fragmented. Then dissolved into seven individual motes of light that hung suspended in the air for one crystalline moment before being absorbed into the blessed paper charms he'd placed at the cardinal points.
The temperature normalized. The shadows retreated. The oppressive spiritual pressure evaporated like morning mist.
Silence.
Kenji remained perfectly still for three seconds, verifying that the crisis was actually over and not about to develop a second wave.
Then his shoulders slumped. The intensity drained from his eyes. His voice returned to its usual lazy drawl.
"Well. That was more excitement than I wanted today."
He stood, brushing dust from his robes, and walked over to the child who was still frozen in the doorway. Kenji crouched down to eye level, his expression mild.
"You know the headman told everyone to stay away, right?"
The boy nodded mutely, tears streaming down his face.
"And you came in anyway because...?"
"M-my ball," the child whispered, pointing to a corner where a simple leather ball sat among scattered rice sacks.
Kenji stared at the ball. Then at the child. Then at the ball again.
"You nearly got soul-drained by vengeful warrior spirits for a ball."
The child sniffled.
Kenji sighed, retrieved the ball, and handed it over. "Next time, ask an adult to get it. Preferably the adult being paid forty silver to deal with angry ghosts."
He walked back outside where the headman and half the village had gathered, all looking anxious and terrified.
"It's handled," Kenji announced. "The spirits have been bound and purified. They won't bother you again. I'd suggest having a monk perform proper funeral rites for the soldier's effects before storing them—his spirit has probably moved on properly now, but better safe than sorry."
The headman looked at the storehouse, then at Kenji, then back at the storehouse where nothing was exploding or screaming.
"That's... that's it? It's safe?"
"Completely safe. Feel free to verify." Kenji held out his hand. "My payment?"
As the headman scrambled to count out silver coins, the villagers whispered among themselves. They'd seen the flash of light, felt the surge of spiritual energy. The child was babbling about how the scary monsters had vanished when the Onmyoji had shouted.
But Kenji just looked tired and mildly annoyed, like a craftsman who'd dealt with a leaky roof and wanted to get back to his afternoon nap.
The headman pressed forty silver coins into Kenji's palm. "Master Tachibana, that was incredible! The way you—"
"Did my job. Yes." Kenji pocketed the coins. "If there's nothing else, I'll be returning to the inn. All that work made me thirsty."
He was halfway back to the inn when he heard the horses.
Multiple horses, moving fast, with the disciplined cadence of military riders.
Kenji's pleasant mood evaporated.
Please be passing through. Please be passing through. Please be—
Five riders crested the hill, wearing the black and gold of Imperial messengers. The lead rider carried a scroll case marked with the Emperor's personal seal.
They weren't passing through.
Kenji seriously considered running. His mind automatically calculated the probability of successfully hiding in the woods (47% chance of immediate discovery, 78% over the next hour), the legal penalties for evading Imperial summons (severe), and whether any of it was worth the effort (definitely not).
The lead messenger dismounted with the crisp efficiency of someone who delivered bad news professionally. He unrolled the scroll and began reading in a voice that carried across the village square.
"By decree of His Imperial Majesty, in response to the ongoing conflict with the Northern Coalition, all registered practitioners of spiritual arts are hereby conscripted into military service for the duration of the crisis. This includes all Onmyoji, shrine priests, temple monks, and independent practitioners currently within the borders of the Empire."
Kenji closed his eyes. "Of course."
"Tachibana Kenji, formerly of the Imperial Onmyo Bureau, you are ordered to report to the military staging grounds at Kiyomizu Province within ten days. Failure to comply will result in charges of treason and summary execution."
"Naturally."
The messenger rolled up the scroll. "Do you have any questions regarding your conscription?"
Kenji had several questions, most of which involved creative profanity.
"Just one," he said instead. "If I serve, is there any possibility of reinstatement to the Bureau after the war?"
The messenger's expression softened slightly—the first hint of humanity Kenji had seen from him. "The Emperor has declared that all those who serve with distinction will have their records reviewed for potential pardons and restoration of rank."
Potential. Not guaranteed. Not even likely.
But it was something.
Kenji thought about his comfortable, quiet, lazy life in remote villages. He thought about his small room at various inns. His mediocre tea. His simple jobs.
Then he thought about the Imperial Library. The resources. The respect. The funding for his research. The comfortable position where people brought problems to him instead of him having to travel to them.
Most importantly: a steady salary that would let him be lazy in comfort instead of barely scraping by.
His genius mind calculated the probabilities, analyzed the scenarios, and reached a conclusion in approximately 1.3 seconds.
"Fine," Kenji sighed. "I'll go."
"You have ten days—"
"Yes, yes, ten days to report. I heard you." Kenji waved dismissively. "I assume you're providing transportation?"
"We have orders to conscript all practitioners in this region. We'll be traveling as a group."
"When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow at dawn."
"Of course it's dawn," Kenji muttered. "Why would it ever be a reasonable hour like mid-morning?"
The messenger's mouth twitched in what might have been suppressed amusement. "Welcome back to Imperial service, Tachibana-san."
Kenji returned to the inn, ordered sake—the expensive kind, since he now had forty silver burning a hole in his pocket—and watched the sun set over the village.
Somewhere in the distance, war was brewing. Armies were mobilizing. Magicians were being gathered for purposes that probably involved significant amounts of work and danger.
And Tachibana Kenji, lazy genius and disgraced scholar, was being dragged back into the world he'd spent two years trying to escape.
He raised his cup to the sunset.
"Here's to terrible decisions and worse timing."
Then he drank, because tomorrow he'd be riding to war, and tonight was the last night he could spend doing absolutely nothing.
He intended to enjoy it.