Almost simultaneously with Zen'in Genji and Eriri taking on the Naraku Sect mission in the college pavilion, far south of Tokyo, a nondescript old cargo ship flying a small country's convenient flag cut through the deep blue waters, heading towards an archipelago marked with a rare sea passage symbol. The sea breeze carried a salty, tropical humidity, containers stacked on the deck were rusty, and sailors lazily performed their daily maintenance. To anyone watching, it seemed like just an ordinary old ship following a fixed route.
However, in a sealed cabin below deck, completely isolated from sound and cursed energy, the atmosphere was entirely different.
The cabin was small, lit by a few dim battery-powered lamps, barely illuminating a simple metal table bolted to the deck and two chairs beside it. The air was filled with the smell of oil, rust, and sea water, but at that moment, it was dominated by another, more subtle presence—the cold, distorted aura of powerful cursed energy.
Mahito lounged lazily back in his chair, his long silver-blue hair slightly disheveled. He had changed into a linen shirt and shorts suitable for the tropical climate, but the clothes were unbuttoned, revealing pale skin. His delicate, strange face wore an expression of undisguised boredom, and his heterochromatic pupils (blue on the left, amber on the right) watched Kenjaku, who was flipping through a stack of paper documents across from him.
"So..." Mahito drawled, his voice echoing in the sealed cabin. "Why did we have to run so far out to sea where even birds don't go, Mr. Kenjaku? 'Souls' here smell like salted fish and boring sun, far less... layered and full of unexpected changes than in the city."
His fingers unconsciously deformed, transforming into a small, thin carving knife, casually scratching meaningless patterns into the metal table.
Kenjaku didn't answer immediately. He was wearing a khaki jumpsuit today, the bright stitches on his forehead seeming even deeper in the dim light. He put down the document in his hand—a compilation of the history, folklore, and scattered records of the Nanyang islands, mixed with blurry satellite images and analytical maps of cursed energy residues.
"Haven't you been complaining that our 'top-level combat power' is insufficient, and in the face of the coming changes, especially the awakened 'god,' it seems a bit stretched?" Kenjaku looked up and calmly looked at Mahito, his tone unreadable.
"I did say that," Mahito tilted his head, the sharp knife reforming into fingers as he propped up his chin. "That Jogo guy has a bad temper. Hanami and Dagon don't like to use their brains. And I... although I'm very interested in souls, my positive combat effectiveness is just like this. In the face of Zen'in Genji's existence, which is outside the specifications, numbers seem meaningless. So, you're going grave robbing?"
"You could say that," Kenjaku took a sip of the low-quality coffee that had already cooled on the table without frowning. "According to the information I've gathered, the target of our trip, the 'Naraku Sect' operating on this island—the core of their worship, the so-called 'Immortal God'..."
He paused, a glint of light flickering in his amber eyes.
"Is highly likely a special-grade cursed spirit. Moreover, one with high intelligence, skilled at hiding, and even adept at using human beliefs to strengthen and enhance its own existence... A smart special-grade cursed spirit."
"A special-grade cursed spirit? Smart?" Mahito's initially lazy expression instantly changed. He sat up straight, and his heterochromatic eyes suddenly lit up, like a child finding a new toy. There was a mix of pure curiosity, excited anticipation, and a slight hint of... kinship?
"Able to create a religion that worships itself... That's not something ordinary cursed spirits can do," Mahito's voice trembled with excitement. "It knows how to use human fear, greed, and the desire for eternal life to build a system of mind control, and might even derive purer, more directed 'faith' cursed energy from it... This requires a significant understanding and application of social structure, human psychology, and even cultural symbols!"
He shifted restlessly in his chair, parts of his body beginning to unconsciously deform slightly, as if the excitement within was uncontrollable.
"Without a doubt, this is a cursed spirit of wisdom! A real 'tribe' with complex thinking and clear goals!" Mahito looked at Kenjaku, his smile a bit strange. "I was still wondering if, besides us few, there weren't any other compatriots in the world who could jump out of pure instinct and chaos. Turns out it was hiding here!"
"I see..." Mahito licked his lips, his eyes shining with greedy anticipation. "I'm really looking forward to it... I wonder what its 'soul' will be like? Like Jogo, burning with angry flames? Or like Hanami, quietly growing a forest? Or... an even more special and complex form?"
He was already imagining what a wonderful and novel experience it would be to touch the soul of this "compatriot," to feel its structure, to understand the logic of its wisdom.
However, Kenjaku's expression was not as simply excited as Mahito's. He put down his coffee cup, lightly tapped the documents on the table with his fingers, and frowned slightly, as if carefully considering something.
"It's not just that, Mahito," Kenjaku spoke slowly, interrupting Mahito's daydream.
"Huh?" Mahito blinked.
"This Naraku Sect, and the core doctrine they preach—'immortality,'" Kenjaku's gaze fell on the blurry records of the sect's rituals, which mentioned phrases like "blood given by god" and "testament of immortality." "Based on my in-depth research and analysis of fragmentary information from unofficial channels... it's a bit tricky."
"Tricky?" Mahito raised an eyebrow. "Besides deceiving people, what's so tricky about it? Immortality is the greatest lie and temptation."
"If it were just a lie, it would be simple," Kenjaku shook his head, his eyes growing deeper. "But some information indicates that the lifespan of several key high-ranking officials of the Naraku Sect, including several 'high priests' recorded in history, indeed exceeds the normal human limit. Although it's not true 'immortality,' it's not an isolated case to live to 150 or 160 on a remote island without modern medicine, with extremely slow physical aging."
"There are even local myths and legends about them 'returning from the dead' or 'changing bodies to continue living.'"
The smile on Mahito's face faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "What do you mean... could this cursed spirit actually grant its believers some form of... 'life extension'? How is that possible? Cursed spirits' power comes from negative emotions, often leading to disaster, disease, and death. Granting life? That contradicts the fundamental nature of cursed energy."
"That's why it's 'tricky,'" Kenjaku tapped the blurry description of the "god-given ritual" in the document. "I suspect that this kind of 'immortality' or 'life extension' isn't truly giving life. It's more likely... a transfer, a parasitism, or using the special properties of the cursed spirit itself to maintain some form of existence."
He looked at the rusty cabin ceiling, as if he could see through the steel plates to the sect hidden in the archipelago's mist.
"The ultimate goal of a wise cursed spirit using a belief system to screen and control its followers probably isn't just to collect 'faith' cursed energy. This 'suspected immortality' gift might be a key link to achieving a deeper purpose, or a necessary condition for a special form of its own existence."
"And such an existence," the corners of Kenjaku's lips lifted in a faint, cold arc, "whether its wisdom, its power, or the secret of 'immortality,' might have unexpected value for our future plans. If we can get our hands on it, even... cooperate with it or take control."
Mahito understood. He leaned back in his chair, light flickering in his heterochromatic eyes—from the simple excitement of finding a kindred spirit to a more complex anticipation of unknown puzzles and possibilities.
"So that's it... Not just a kindred spirit, but one with interesting secrets," Mahito laughed, his smile both innocent and dangerous. "It's getting more and more interesting. So, when do we meet this... 'Immortal God'?"
"Soon," Kenjaku looked at the old map hanging on the bulkhead, a small, inconspicuous red circle drawn around one small island. "According to the voyage, we should reach the outer islands by tomorrow evening. First, we need to observe, integrate, and figure out the true details of this sect and the specific situation of this 'god.'"
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