Land of Demons, The Grand Shrine.
Heavy black clouds hung low, pressing down with a suffocating weight. Even the faint scent of sandalwood that usually lingered around the shrine had been completely replaced by the smell of rust and sweat.
Outside the perimeter, a dense, dark army was encircling the shrine located deep within the forest, sealing off every road leading to it. This army consisted of ordinary humans—soldiers clad in standardized armor, primarily spearmen and archers with few cavalry. Their faces held a flicker of reverence for the shrine mixed with a nervous, uneasy tension.
The air was thick with the smell of cheap tobacco, the musk of leather, and the stagnant body odor of thousands of men gathered together. Horses snorted anxiously, their iron shoes clanking against the stone slabs with sharp, jarring sounds that only added to the oppression.
Inside the shrine, the atmosphere was as frozen as ice.
The nominal ruler of this nation, the Priestess Miroku, sat upon a cushion in the main hall. Her plain white miko robes were spotless, yet they only served to make her face appear even paler. Her eyes remained calm, like a bottomless ancient well, but beneath that calm lay deep worry and a sliver of cold, betrayed pain.
Several burly samurai with fierce eyes—clearly private soldiers of the nobility—stood like jackals eyeing their prey. They were stationed at the doors and by Miroku's side, their hands never leaving the hilts of their katanas. Although this was the era of ninjas, samurai had not vanished. Aside from the Land of Iron, the Daimyos of other nations kept samurai as status symbols or muscle. For dealing with commoners or rebellious peasants, samurai were far cheaper to employ than ninjas.
Footsteps echoed through the cavernous hall, carrying a deliberate, heavy weight.
The Daimyo of the Land of Demons, Hamahata Toshin, entered, flanked by a group of nobles. He wore a luxurious deep-purple hitare, his fat face masked with feigned concern, while his small eyes glittered with greed and ruthlessness. The nobles behind him, their bloated bodies wrapped in fine silks, wore expressions ranging from arrogance to malicious glee. They relished the suppression of the Priestess's authority. The cloying scent of their heavy incense and powder mixed into a nauseatingly sweet stench.
"Lady Miroku," Hamahata Toshin's voice was intentionally soft, yet it carried an unquestionable threat. "Your recent actions—sending people to investigate the Land of Stars—have truly caused great panic throughout the nation." He paced, his chubby fingers absentmindedly stroking the gem-encrusted hilt of the dagger at his waist.
"Some things are fine to discuss in private. But you chose to show such concern for a rebel state founded by traitors. Tsk, tsk... don't you think that's a bit much?" He stopped in front of Miroku, leaning down slightly. His shadow loomed over her, and his voice dropped lower, turning cold. "Do you have any idea how fast the rumors your priests and attendants brought back from the Land of Stars are spreading among the commoners? That silver-tongued propaganda from the Land of Stars is shaking the very foundations of my Land of Demons!!"
Miroku slowly raised her eyelids, her calm gaze meeting Hamahata Toshin's calculating eyes.
"I merely wished to know what was happening in the Land of Stars," her voice was ethereal and firm, like a jade chime ringing in the temple, carrying an inviolable divinity. "As for the commoners flocking to the Land of Stars... Lord Hamahata, and the rest of you—shouldn't you be asking yourselves why that is?"
"Asking us?!" A noble with a hooked nose nearby shrieked with laughter, spittle nearly hitting Miroku's clean robes. "The biggest problem is you here spreading your deluded words! What do those peasants know? Without us nobles, they wouldn't even be able to eat a warm meal!"
"Miroku, know your place! You are but a Priestess serving the gods. Stay in your place, perform your rituals, and comfort the fools. That is enough!"
"National affairs are not for you to meddle in!"
The nobles chattered and shouted, berating Miroku.
"Enough!" Hamahata Toshin raised his hand sharply, silencing the noise, but the frost on his face deepened. He stared at Miroku, his last shred of feigned patience vanishing. "Lady Miroku, it seems you are still stubborn. For the stability and security of the Land of Demons, I must ask you to 'meditate' quietly within this shrine for a time."
"Pass the word! Without my permission, no one enters or leaves the shrine! No messages are to be sent!" He looked around at the samurai, his voice harsh. "Watch the Priestess closely! If anything goes wrong, I'll have your heads!"
"Yes!" The samurai knelt in unison, their scabbards clashing with a threatening ring.
The nobles wore triumphant smiles. Nominally, the Priestess was the ruler, but she usually stayed in the shrine, never holding power or questioning state affairs. Yet, her prestige was so high that even the Daimyo had to use honorifics with her. Finally, they had found an excuse to strip her of her status.
The nobles escorted the Daimyo out of the shrine. The heavy temple doors slammed shut behind Miroku, cutting off the last light of day and her freedom.
Only the heavy breathing of the samurai remained in the hall.
Miroku closed her eyes, her hands clenching tightly within her wide sleeves, her nails digging into her palms. She could clearly "see" it—a dark chakra originating from the subterranean abyss, filled with hatred and destruction, was stirring.
The Daimyo and nobles of the Land of Demons were about to be slaughtered by monsters!
The message... the message had to be sent out! The resurrection of Moryo had to be stopped!
After nightfall, the darkness became the best cover for despair.
On a hidden, moss-covered path on the mountain behind the shrine, a figure moved like a startled tanuki, darting through jagged rocks and dense thickets.
Priest Ashi, Miroku's most trusted confidant and a member of the clan that had guarded the Priestess for generations, had discarded his solemn robes for mud-stained commoner's clothes. Clutched tightly to his chest was a secret letter written by Miroku with a secret method, stained with the blood of her fingertips. The cold paper felt like a tiny spark of hope against his skin.
He didn't dare take the main roads, traveling only through the desolate forests. Rough branches whipped his face and body, leaving bloody welts. Slippery moss and loose stones caused him to stumble several times, each time sending his heart into his throat.
In the distance, he heard the shouts of patrolling soldiers and the barking of hounds. Every time the sound grew closer, his hair stood on end, and he would dive into the deepest shadows, holding his breath until the noise faded.
BOOM—!!!
A dull roar, as if the heart of the earth itself had been crushed, suddenly erupted from the direction of the Capital of Demons! Even from a great distance, the sound made Ashi's feet go numb.
He looked back in horror to see the night sky over the Capital stained with an ominous, bruise-like dark red light! In the center of the light, countless distorted, screaming black shadows danced wildly, as if a gate to another world had been flung open!
A wave of soul-shuddering, evil chakra—filled with endless hatred—swept across the entire Land of Demons like a physical gale!
"Gah!" Ashi was hit by the aftershock of that evil chakra and felt as if he had fallen into an ice cellar. His vision went black, and he felt nauseous, nearly collapsing. He stared at the Capital, his heart filled with nothing but terror. "Moryo! It's the aura of Moryo! Someone released Moryo?! It's over!"
Ashi didn't hesitate; he scrambled toward the direction of the Land of Stars.
After an unknown amount of time, he finally reached the Land of Stars.
The City of Stars.
Ashi didn't know how he had been brought there. The exhaustion of the journey, the terror, and the shock of the evil chakra had turned his mind into a blur. He only remembered being intercepted by a Star shinobi border patrol.
Now, supported—or rather, dragged—by others, he stood before a massive door. Two silent Star shinobi stood guard, dressed in deep blue-black uniforms and white animal masks that covered all but their eyes. Their gazes were as sharp as eagles, radiating a chilling aura. These were the Star Anbu.
The door slid open silently. Ashi was brought inside, staggering a few steps before finding his footing. A more magnificent, heavier pressure instantly seized him, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
The hall was exceptionally vast, the high domed ceiling lost in deep shadows. The floor was made of wood polished like a mirror, reflecting the few pale rays of light from above. At the end of the steps stood a black throne.
A figure sat casually upon that throne. His face was covered by the infamous white, three-eyed fox mask. The hollow eye sockets looked down at Ashi like an abyss.
Ashi's entire body shook violently. The fatigue of his flight, the horror of the changes in the Land of Demons, and the boundless pressure of facing this legendary being finally shattered his will. His legs gave way, and he collapsed heavily to the floor, his forehead hitting the cold obsidian ground with a dull thud.
Sweat, mud, and blood from his forehead mixed together in a wretched mess.
"My Lord!" Ashi's voice was hoarse and broken, bordering on a sob. He tremblingly pulled the crumpled secret letter—stained with sweat, mud, and blood—from his chest, holding it high above his head with both hands like a final lifeline.
"The Daimyo and nobles of the Land of Demons have imprisoned Lady Miroku... Someone opened the seal of the monster Moryo amidst the chaos! The Land of Demons is in total ruin! I beg of you! Save the Priestess! Save the Land of Demons!"