[211]: Mountain God

The old woman sobbed bitterly, her eyes blurred with tears, each word seeming to bleed from her heart.

Cyr, however, remained unmoved. Internally, he felt like he had just triggered some kind of story event from a game.

A classic trope—the mountain god takes a bride or the river god's wedding. The player has to rescue the bride, and in return, the bride rewards them with some small tokens of gratitude.

Of course, players never cared much about the bride's reward—it was all about the loot dropped from defeating the boss.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a game. Killing monsters didn't drop items.

But killing monsters was fun.

That said, as he looked at the weeping, aged woman, Cyr lazily lifted an eyelid and asked coldly, "You're asking me to save your daughter—but do your neighbors agree with that?"

The woman was being dragged back by several men, who clamped a hand over her mouth. She clawed desperately at the ground, fingernails digging into the dirt until they cracked and bled.

Clearly, the answer was no—they did not agree.

But with Cyr standing there—dressed in expensive-looking clothes, mysterious and untouchable—none of the villagers dared speak their minds.

Still, the whole scene was… boring.

Backward. Primitive. Stupidly transparent.

"Lame," the white-haired figure muttered with a cold laugh. He turned and started walking toward the mountain, slow and unhurried.

"Sir? My lord?" The villagers called after him cautiously, not daring to actually stop him.

It was as if fear and obedience toward nobility were etched into their bones.

"Maro," Cyr said, ignoring their cries behind him as he walked ahead. "You know something…"

"What is it, my lord?" Marrow kept his eyes fixed on Cyr's back.

"This land claims to have eight million gods," the white-haired youth said with a mocking chuckle.

"Eight million?! That many?! That's impossible…" Maro was visibly shocked.

At that scale—and given the size of this place—there shouldn't even be humans here. The whole world should be overflowing with gods.

And if eight million gods ever started fighting, wouldn't that break the world?

"They're not quite the kind of gods you're thinking of," Cyr said, scratching his chin. "Most of them here… aren't exactly powerful."

"In this place, anything can become a god—as long as someone worships it. Even swords and knives, once they gain a sort of consciousness, can be considered gods…"

"But once they lose that human belief and worship, those gods die—or worse, fall and become yokai or ghosts…" Cyr continued.

Honestly, he didn't really get these so-called gods. Sure, he'd watched plenty of anime, but he never cared much about Japan's 'eight million gods' concept.

"Oh, right—there's also something about yokai…"

"They say that if you know a yokai's true name, you can command them to do your bidding." Cyr grinned.

It was a common trope in a lot of anime—the true names of yokai, or demons, mustn't be known, or they could be controlled.

Honestly, those kinds of weaknesses… they just felt kind of lame.

It'd be even better with some Lovecraftian elements—like just hearing a true name would trigger an uncontrollable surge of madness and inspiration.

"Doesn't sound all that powerful, honestly…" Maro muttered, a bit confused.

"Some of the higher-level yokai are probably quite strong," Cyr replied with a soft laugh. "Though I haven't seen any yet. We can keep an eye out as we go."

"In this era… if nothing goes off track, it should be swarming with yokai and demons," he murmured to himself.

After all, this was the Heian period. His knowledge of history was spotty—he hadn't really studied Japanese history—but a certain onmyoji mobile game was set during this era.

Abe no Seimei and a host of yokai featured prominently.

Not that he'd really played it much—just caught a few videos in passing.

A rustling noise, like a snake slithering across the ground, echoed nearby. Neither Cyr nor Maro bothered to look toward it.

The men who had been carrying the bride came stumbling out of the forest, fleeing in panic, not daring to look back even once as they sprinted past.

A little farther ahead, they spotted a cave. The ground around it was covered in fallen leaves and animal bones—human bones mixed among them.

Shredded bits of colorful kimono fabric lay scattered like confetti among the leaves.

The bride they'd seen earlier was now tossed at the cave entrance, her limbs still bound.

"Knew it. Anyone pretending to be a god is just a yokai in disguise…" Cyr remarked casually, glancing around the area.

After all, curses… well, the average curse spirit didn't have the smarts to impersonate a god and trick humans. Besides, regular people couldn't see curse spirits anyway.

Of course, they couldn't see yokai or gods either. Which made the deception easy—just don't show your face and act mysterious.

In general, yokai seemed to have higher intelligence than curse spirits.

Dark green vines coiled around the girl's body like lifeless tendrils.

Cyr stood above them, gazing down calmly.

"…So weak," he sneered.

The dark green vines twitched violently, as if provoked by his disdain, lashing upward toward his face.

But before they could even reach him, they were sliced into pieces midair.

This little yokai's power was pitiful—barely enough to bully ordinary humans.

Honestly, if a regular person just carried a blade or a torch, this thing might not even win.

There were plenty of yokai in anime who died at the hands of humans.

After all, Japan was big on the whole samurai thing.

The vine yokai bled dark green. The moment it was injured, its first instinct was to retreat back into the cave.

"Weak as it is, it sure managed to spread pretty far…" Cyr said as he surveyed the vine infestation, which his senses told him covered nearly half the mountain.

It had that 'wildfire can't burn it out, spring wind brings it back again' vibe.

But he didn't buy it.

"Fuga."

Scorching flames so hot they warped the air burst forth in Cyr's palm. He casually tossed them to the ground, and in an instant, fire spread in every direction.

In less than a minute, dazzling flames and thick, black smoke rose together.

"As long as you burn it thoroughly enough, there's no such thing as leaving anything behind," the white-haired figure said, standing in the sea of fire. His expression—somewhere between satisfaction and pride—was unreadable as he gazed over the blazing mountainside.

Meanwhile, the villagers waiting at the foot of the mountain weren't nearly as composed.

As soon as they saw the smoke and fire rising from the peak, their first reaction was—

"The mountain god is angry!"

"Mountain god, please forgive us!"

"Please spare us, great mountain god!"

They knelt on the rocky path, kowtowing over and over again, desperately pleading for mercy.

"It must've been that noble who went up the mountain… he must've offended the mountain god…" one villager whispered.

But no one dared echo the thought.

On one side stood a noble, on the other, a god.

Both were forces beyond their ability to offend—so they could only pray and beg without end.

Yet despite their kneeling and pleading, the fire on the mountain didn't stop. It only grew fiercer, until the entire mountainside was scorched black, not a single patch of green remaining.

For years to come, the mountain would likely remain barren.

Only then did the fire die out, thick black smoke drifting toward the sky.

°°°

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