Chapter 60
A shinobi was more than just a killer; a shinobi was a professional. Today, Jiki was a performer. He stood before his audience, their wide-eyed expressions betraying their awe. The only sign of his satisfaction was a twitch at his lips so faint, not even Satoru would've picked it out.
Jiki had never acted without preparation. He had done his research before setting foot here. This world's curious lack of secrecy fascinated him. Beyond the veil of curses, cursed energy, and sorcerers that were hidden only by humanity's inability to perceive the unnatural. Most things lay bare for those who sought them.
Like any trained shinobi, he had investigated thoroughly. He knew of the fire that ravaged the shrine years ago. He had weighed the risks, uncertain whether the Yata no Kagami still rested in this sacred place as the histories claimed or if it had been lost. That uncertainty had been his only gamble. Summoning the mirror was a contingency. A final card to play should negotiations fail. That was, of course, before Utahime enlightened him about the current state of the shrine.
"You truly are..." The old woman's voice was soft, her words meant to be inaudible, but Jiki's sharpened senses caught them effortlessly. "There's no doubt anymore."
Her milky white eyes darted between his Susano'o and the ancient mirror that acted as a shield resting in its left hand. Despite the red armor obscuring him, her gaze seemed to pierce through it and she looked at him. She nodded once, acknowledging him, before turning away. Her slow retreat down the mountain left the remaining shrine maidens frozen, their astonished eyes fixed on him.
...
The second time Jiki entered the chamber belonging to the head miko, there was no ceremony. Utahime guided him to the doors with a glance that was cautious, almost reverent. It was a stark contrast to her usual demeanor, and he disliked it. Her newfound regard felt uncomfortable. Ignoring it, he stepped forward, not sparing her another look as the doors creaked open.
The air inside was different this time. The faint scent of incense had been replaced by something sharper, smokier. The weight of the room's presence had diminished, the oppressive seals and talismans now barely brushing against him. Most notably, the elders who had once flanked the head miko were gone.
The head miko herself had abandoned the formalities she greeted him with before. She reclined in a low love chair, her posture relaxed, an old pipe balanced between her fingers. The old woman took a long drag, holding the smoke for a moment before exhaling in a slow stream. The cloud swirled upward, mingling with the dim light.
"Come, child of Amaterasu," she said at last, her voice steady. "Your heritage is no longer in doubt. Sit, and relax. More than anyone else, this is your home, and you deserve to be at ease here. Forgive me for even the slightest hint of doubt. It was simply the failing of an old caretaker set in her ways."
Jiki lowered himself to the floor without a word, folding his legs beneath him. His sharp gaze studied the woman, disregarding the untouched tea between them. His eyes flicked to the empty spaces beside her, and she chuckled at his silent question.
"I dismissed them," she said. "Their reverence would blind them. They'd only hinder what must be discussed. You see, there are uncomfortable truths to confront and forgive the smoke, it is one of the few comforts left to an old woman that helps ease the pain of existence." She took another pull from the pipe, her movements measured. Then she straightened, her pale eyes locking onto him.
"Now, with no distractions, I truly have to say, you're an immense anomaly, and you don't even know that do you, Gojo Jiki?"
Jiki met her gaze, unflinching. He hadn't come for an interrogation or riddles. His purpose was singular, the ritual owed to him. Yet a dark corner of his mind remembered the mad ramblings of an owl curse spirit.
The old woman tilted her head as if looking beyond him. "Since the moment I turned six, I knew all," she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of time. "I was born blind, yet I saw more than any other. My cursed technique is Foresight. With it, I knew the future. A future where you were not present. A future that not even the act of defying fate could have averted. A future you eroded from the moment you were born, and finally destroyed the moment you woke up one day and decided to live. You burnt out my technique simply by acting and since then, I've been... lost."
She paused, exhaling another stream of smoke before continuing. "I wasn't the only one who noticed what your presence did, how it disrupted the flow unnaturally. Yet where that old foggy choose to hide her head in her hole even further, to shield herself from your disruptive presence. I watched through Utahime's eyes. Many questions were answered, many riddles solved, except one."
Her lips curled into a small, enigmatic smile. "A child of the Gods. What novelty, but titles are meaningless compared to what lies ahead. It's certain now, that whatever is left of the Shinto gods support you. Your presence your acts, your deeds. Perhaps they have a purpose for you here? I don't truly know and it is not my duty to gainsay them. The shrine is yours now, to command as you see fit. So, make your request, Gojo Jiki. And know that whatever you ask, it shall be done."
Jiki responded without hesitation, not simply discarding the tangent the older woman had been on but compartmentalizing it for another time. He had his priority, and he had waited far too long. "You know what I want, the counter ritual of the Kudoku Bath of Subjugation."
The woman chuckled in response. "That is easy, Scion of Amaterasu, but it's already a request known to us. Our library and hidden depths are open to you, but I believe you need something else. Something that matters just as much as the counter ritual."
Jiki remained motionless, even if he was confused, he wasn't about to show it.
The old woman exhaled a thin ribbon of smoke and watched the pungent scent curling into the air and into different shapes. "Jorogumo. I believe you've entered a binding vow with her."
Jiki's eyes darted briefly to Utahime standing nearby, her expression unreadable. She must have really told her everything that happened.
"Don't worry," the elder continued, unbothered by his silence. "You're not the first to trap that old monster, but this time, we can do more than trap her. We can shackle her to your will."
Jiki raised a brow, his mind slicing through possibilities until the realization hit. His response was flat and matter-of-fact. "A Shikigami?"
The old woman's smile widened, toothless and deceptively innocent. Jiki now saw it for what it truly was, a mask for a mind as ruthless as any sorcerer he'd faced.
"I see you know your books," she said, her voice carrying a note of satisfaction. "Shikigami are summons, curious creatures bound by cursed energy. But there are different kinds. The first and most common are the ones created by curse techniques. Standard fare I suppose and also generally weaker too. But I suspect you're more interested in the second kind—those created from curses or cursed spirits. These aren't just summons. They're familiars. Living extensions of their master's will. Like the monster I mentioned earlier."
"Mahoraga," Jiki interjected, the name slipping from his tongue with familiarity. "The cornerstone of the Zenin clan's Ten Shadows Technique."
The old woman nodded, pleased. "Exactly. Shikigami created this way are immensely powerful. But binding a curse as a familiar is difficult yet it can be done in two ways: exorcising the spirit to its core or binding it further, stripping it of its autonomy, and converting it entirely. The line between the two is thin, almost indistinguishable to outsiders."
"But there's a cost," Jiki stated plainly. His expression was cold, cutting past her theatrics. "You mentioned Mahoraga was diminished after being bound. Should I expect the same?"
"Yes," she admitted, her tone even, as if discussing a trade agreement. "The bound spirit loses its sense of self. Its personality is erased, leaving behind a husk, a shell. An echo of its former self. Skills and abilities may remain, but the price is its autonomy, its essence. You cannot eat your cake and have it, child."
Jiki's frown deepened as he considered the trade-off.
The elder chuckled, her next words wafting upward with the smoke. "Consider it, at least. I know the binding vow you made with her doesn't explicitly forbid this. And as the head shrine maiden, I can't ignore a Scion of Amaterasu making reckless choices out of desperation."
Jiki exhaled sharply, his response clipped. "Fine."
The old woman nodded, satisfied for now. She rapped her knuckles on the low table, summoning Utahime.
"Akutami-sama," Utahime addressed her, moving with sharp precision as she entered. She steadied the head miko, passing her a cane with practiced efficiency.
"So, back to what you desire," the old woman continued. "Come, then. Let me show you. The Soul Reclamation Rite is, in truth, a simple thing. It's been lost to most, but our records surpass even the—"
There was a disturbance.
Jiki felt it and his head snapped to the side, a surge of cursed energy that hit like a glacier. His senses sharpened, tracing the source. It was overwhelming, cold, and ridiculously vast. For a moment, it almost, just almost rivaled the one presence he considered peerless.
"What is wrong?" Utahime asked him through the tension, her concern genuine. Without turning, Jiki responded curtly.
"Brace yourself."
The head miko appeared confused, but Utahime moved immediately, her trust in Jiki overriding hesitation. When the explosion of force hit, she was ready.
BOOM.
The building trembled as though a giant had slammed a fist into the earth. Light flickered, wooden beams groaned, and the air was thick with displaced energy.
Jiki steadied himself instinctively, cursed energy anchoring him to the floor as his gaze remained fixed. Something had struck the shrine, something immense. The sheer scale of the impact was ridiculous.
"What was that?" Utahime asked, her voice tense with confusion.
Jiki moved to the sliding wooden window, pushing it open in a swift, controlled motion. His gaze narrowed at the scene outside. An inverted iceberg, as massive as a mountain, jutted from the heart of the shrine, its crystalline surface shimmering under the morning sun. It must have blown through multiple curtains and defenses like a stone thrown into a pond.
"That is troublesome," the old woman remarked calmly, her gaze distant yet calculating. She leaned on her cane, her tone betraying no panic.
Jiki raised a brow, prompting her to continue.
"It looks like it struck the inner sanctum of the shrine, which houses our vault" she said. "The vault where we safeguard forbidden-grade cursed tools, weapons, rituals, and rites. Judging by the defenses or lack thereof anymore, it's safe to assume everything is exposed."
Jiki's eyes widened slightly as realization dawned. Her next words confirmed his fear.
"Yes," she said, her voice heavy with implication. "Including the Soul Reclamation Rite."
...
Jiki ran.
His pace devoured the ground beneath him, his feet were a blur of motion that ended any attempt Utahime or the old miko might have made to follow. They faltered, their pursuit strangled at its inception as Jiki moved with blistering intent, a white streak racing toward the iceberg looming in the shrine's heart.
The colossal inverted iceberg was all the guidance he needed. No bewildered shrine maiden, recovering from the shock of the assault, could provide better direction. He tore past them, leaving only the impression of his white afterimage.
The closer he drew to his destination, the fainter the monumentally frigid cursed energy signature became until mere meters away, it vanished altogether.
Jiki vaulted over a barrier separating the courtyards, his jump smooth and unbroken as he landed in the courtyard housing what he sought. The sight that greeted him made him pause: two first-grade sorcerers entombed in ice mere steps from the iceberg's jagged edge.
"What happened?" Jiki asked, his voice calm yet laced with restrained urgency. The sorcerers' chattering teeth, muffled by their frozen prison, were the only reply.
Jiki frowned and placed his palm against the ice. He shifted his cursed energy and with a spark of intent, heat blossomed from his cursed energy manipulation, and the ice began to melt, slowly but surely. He frowned at it. That it was this slow to melt spoke of the technique that created it.
If he wanted to accelerate the process, he'd need to resort to Amaterasu or its precision variant. But unleashing such power recklessly, without knowing the full scope of the threat, was rash, and he was done making rash decisions.
After painstaking seconds, the ice weakened enough for the trapped sorcerers to jerk free. They collapsed unceremoniously onto the frostbitten ground, trembling violently. Jiki crouched before them, scarlet eyes locking onto theirs. This time, his question went unspoken, but it demanded an answer nonetheless.
"It was a sorcerer," one rasped, voice hoarse. "White hair. Monk's robes."
Jiki's frown deepened. White hair and monk's robes. With a technique like this, Jiki refused to believe this was just a random person or a coincidental attack.
His thoughts were interrupted by the hurried approach of shrine maidens, their distressed murmurs growing louder. Jiki glanced at the iceberg, now fully understanding its goal. It hadn't merely obliterated the shrine—it had splintered the earth itself, revealing a passageway leading deep underground.
"The warehouse was beneath," Jiki muttered, leaving the recovering sorcerers behind. With a practiced leap, he slipped through the cracks carved by the ice and descended into the shrine's hidden depths.
Jiki landed soundlessly, the transition from chaotic destruction to a chilling stillness striking. The underground chamber stretched vast and cavernous, carved deep into the shrine's bedrock.
The air was cold and not just the damp and moist chill of a place where water had seeped into. No, this was a chill reserved for the coldest winter, and beneath it lingered the faint scent of incense. Jiki looked down at the narrow stone staircase before him. If there was a trap below, he would be making himself easy prey by following the straight, narrow stairs, but he didn't have the time to carve his own path.
With the faint, flickering torches lining the walls as illumination, Jiki began a slow but no less vigilant descent. He ignored the delicate patterns engraved in the rock, most likely protective charms and prayers etched into the walls by generations of Miko to keep whatever they had trapped here sealed and forgotten.
The stairway ended in a hall, guarded by a solid barred gate, or what remained of one. Whoever had come before him had not been gentle, and all that was left of the gate were splinters of wood.
Jiki stepped through, his gaze sweeping the chamber. Stone columns stretched toward arched ceilings, each adorned with talismans humming faintly with residual enchantments. Between the columns stood towering shelves, one side holding tightly bound scrolls, the other gleaming with cursed tools and weapons.
He took in the scrolls first. Some were wrapped in delicate silks, others shackled in chains to contain their secrets. Each bore plaques inscribed in meticulous kanji, labeling the nature of their forbidden knowledge: curses, rituals, techniques.
On the other side of the columns were weapons and tools, set up and categorized in a manner similar to the other set of wooden shelves. Twisted implements of murder and even darker deeds filled the shelves. Some as seemingly innocent as a bloodstained hand fan, while others were as vicious as a serrated double-handed blade. All were marked, and all were bound by chains and talismans.
Unlike the shelf holding the scrolls, there were no innocent cursed tools or weapons here. Every item was dangerous, with the potential to kill and maim. But that was not what surprised Jiki.
What caught Jiki off guard was not the objects themselves. It was their untouched state.
The hall was pristine. The intruder had not wrought the havoc Jiki had expected. The iceberg's destruction was precise, almost surgical. Whoever had come before him hadn't been there to desecrate but to take.
Spreading his senses wide, Jiki searched for a lingering trace of the intruder. Nothing. Only the oppressive aura of the cursed tools answered his probe.
Ignoring the weapons, Jiki moved to the shelves of scrolls. Thanks to their meticulous categorization, it took little time to locate what he sought. The scroll for the soul reclamation rite, bound in silk, slid easily into his hands. Unrolling it, Jiki let his Sharingan absorb every detail: the symbols, the instructions, the diagrams, all committed to memory in moments.
By the time the footsteps of others echoed down the stairs, Jiki was already slipping it into his kimono, his gaze turning to meet the newcomers.
"Utahime-san," he called out to the senior miko.
The scarred shrine maiden had just lowered the head miko from her back and was staring at the cavern in astonishment, as though she had never seen this part of the shrine before. His voice, calling out to her, startled her out of her surprised fugue.
"Ah, Jiki," Utahime stammered. "How long have you been—?"
"Never mind that," the old miko interrupted, her cane tapping against the stone as she stepped forward. "Did you see the intruder?"
Jiki shook his head. "By the time I arrived, they were gone."
"I see..." the woman murmured, her gaze sharp despite her frailty. She shuffled to a section of the weapon shelves, peering at a conspicuous gap. "I assume you've retrieved what you came for?"
"Yes," Jiki replied without hesitation.
The old woman turned back, her gumless smile devoid of warmth. "Good. Because the intruder took what they sought as well."
Jiki's brow furrowed, and he joined her at the shelf, peering down at the empty platform. The faded writing on the plaque was illegible, but the Miko's grim expression was enough sign that she knew what it used to house.
"What did they take?" Jiki asked.
The old woman looked up at him with a grim smile and replied, "They took the deity-grade cursed tool, Hiten."