Chapter 43: The Cause

The cause of it all was actually quite simple—but the implications stretched far deeper than they first appeared.

Half a year ago, the old head priest of the Chiba Shrine had died unexpectedly in a strange accident. Some said it was illness; others whispered it was a curse, or even the work of enemies long hidden in the shadows. Whatever the truth, his death had left a void that the world of onmyoji immediately sensed. The title and authority of the Chiba family naturally passed to Chiba Ruri, the young shrine maiden who now bore both power and burden on her slim shoulders.

And let’s not pretend that onmyoji are saints free of worldly desires. Strip away the rituals, robes, and chants, and they’re still humans—flawed, prideful, ambitious. In fact, the greater their power, the stronger their greed becomes. Spiritual might only magnifies human weakness. They wear politeness like armor, but behind closed doors, their world is full of jealousy, deception, and schemes that make even corporate boardrooms look tame.

A simple example illustrates it well:

Imagine a rare SSR-class shikigami, Ibaraki, appearing in the wild. Word spreads instantly, and within minutes, several onmyoji rush to the same spot. What happens next?

A fair split? Don’t be naive. There’s only one Ibaraki. It’s not Tomie—you can’t bury it and expect a dozen more to grow tomorrow.

Decide by dice roll? Even worse. An Ibaraki is more precious than any lover. You can dump a girlfriend; you can’t replace a powerful shikigami.

So, inevitably, it comes down to fists—and sometimes blood.

The strong speak with their fists; only the weak still talk about fairness. Just like that old saying, “Endure, and the storm will pass; step back, and the sea will open.” It’s a consolation whispered by losers, never the declaration of a victor.

But back to the story.

The old priest, Ruri’s grandfather, had been a powerful man, both respected and feared. During his lifetime, he had made many enemies—some through conflict, others through dominance. While he lived, his strength shielded the Chiba Shrine from retaliation. But the moment he fell, those long-suppressed grudges began to stir like snakes awakened from hibernation.

Debts of blood are paid by those who remain. That is how the world of onmyoji works.

The grudge and responsibility fell squarely onto Ruri’s shoulders. Though she bore the title of head priestess, her strength could never match the old man’s. And the predators in the shadows could smell weakness.

From Rina’s scribbled explanation, Kouya pieced together the full picture. Onmyoji rarely killed each other outright; that would invite chaos and retaliation. Their battles followed unspoken rules—like duels between samurai, or rival companies in the modern world. Fight as you wish within the circle, but if you step outside and resort to assassination, then you open yourself to the same fate.

Everyone has family, friends, and connections. Even the mightiest exorcist has someone they care about. And vengeance always finds a way.

Still, duels between onmyoji were far from harmless. The danger was real. Many walked away scarred or crippled. And the price of defeat was cruel—losers would have their shikigami seized by the victor, stripped of both pride and power.

A shikigami isn’t just a familiar; it’s a part of the onmyoji’s soul, their power externalized. Losing one could break a person entirely.

Fortunately, tradition allowed each duelist to invite one companion to assist them. That companion could turn the tide of battle. And Ruri, knowing she faced impossible odds, had called Kouya the night before to ask for his help.

But before she could even explain, he had refused her. A curt dismissal—he hadn’t realized the gravity behind her call.

Given her pride, she would never beg twice.

And so tonight, when her enemies descended on the shrine, she stood alone. The enemy forces were many—veteran onmyoji with bloodline spirits and battle-hardened familiars. Even with home-field advantage, Ruri was losing ground fast. Unless something changed, defeat—and death—were inevitable.

That was why Rina had come.

In her mind, only one person could turn the tide—Kouya, the man whose true power slumbered beneath a seal. He was her last hope.

She had feared he would refuse. So she tried the only desperate tactic she could think of—to offer herself as a pledge, hoping to earn his compassion or desire. Anything that would make him agree.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Kouya muttered, rubbing his temples. “That shrine maiden didn’t tell me any of this!”

If she’d just said so, he would’ve gone. After all they’d been through, he couldn’t have stood by and watched her die.

And Rina—did she really trust him that much? What if he had been one of those heartless H-manga protagonists? The kind who play with girls, then toss them aside like broken toys?

“Please save Lady Sister!” the catgirl cried, clutching the notepad in trembling hands. Her amber eyes were glassy, desperate. “I’ll do anything you ask!”

Kouya sighed, standing up. “Let’s go.”

He couldn’t let her face this alone. Besides, it wasn’t just about duty. There was a strange thrill—an itch under his skin he hadn’t felt in years. A chance to stretch his power again.

“Meow!” Rina’s voice cracked with relief and joy. Without hesitation, she leapt out the window, her tail flicking behind her.

Kouya followed immediately, the wind catching his coat as he stepped into the night.

The streets below were empty and cold. They could have hailed a taxi, but every second mattered. Traffic lights and detours were luxuries they couldn’t afford.

So Rina chose the direct path—rooftops and alleyways, the ancient instinct of a spirit guiding her steps. As a shikigami, her speed was astonishing. Her silhouette flashed through the moonlight like a streak of silver, her ears twitching with every sound, her tail slicing through the air.

She checked back often, worried that Kouya might fall behind. But what she saw stunned her. He moved leisurely, as if out for a stroll, hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded—and yet each step carried him dozens of meters forward. His shadow slid across rooftops without sound, never breaking rhythm. He wasn’t running. He was gliding.

Relief mixed with awe in Rina’s gaze. She turned forward again, her small frame pushing against the cold wind.

But exhaustion caught up. She’d already run to his apartment earlier, and her stamina was fading. Her breathing turned shallow. Her steps faltered.

When her legs finally gave out, Kouya appeared beside her, catching her effortlessly with one arm around her waist.

Her first instinct was to pull away. “M-meow!”

“Don’t move,” he said quietly, his voice steady and calm.

His grip tightened slightly—just enough to support her. His hand pressed against her narrow waist, soft but fragile to the touch. He could feel her heartbeat hammering under his palm.

Rina froze. Her body went stiff, heat blooming under her skin. Even her ears twitched violently, her cheeks turning red enough to rival the moon.

But Kouya didn’t tease her, didn’t move further. He simply adjusted his hold, then began to walk.

The world blurred.

To Rina’s astonishment, every step he took covered seven, eight meters easily. The city lights streaked past, buildings flashing by in a blur of motion. He was walking faster than she could sprint.

The night wind roared past, carrying the faint scent of rain and city smoke. Rina’s tail fluttered wildly behind her, and she buried her face against his chest, too dizzy to look.

At a street corner, a drunkard happened to look up. He froze, eyes wide, as two shadows—one tall, one small—swept past him like ghosts. His bottle slipped from his hand and shattered with a sharp crack.

“W-wife! I saw a demon! A real one!” he shouted into his phone, slurring.

From the other end came a roar like thunder. “You bastard! You’re out drinking again, aren’t you?!”

“No, I swear! I really saw one!”

“Oh really?” The voice turned sweet—too sweet. “Tell me, darling… would you like the keyboard, the wire brush, or the washboard tonight? I’ll prepare whichever you prefer.”

“….”

By the time the man’s phone clattered to the ground, Kouya and Rina were long gone, swallowed by the night.

They reached the Chiba Shrine in minutes.

The night was silent. The air carried the cool scent of moss and wood. The moonlight spread across the rooftops like liquid silver, and the stars glittered faintly above. The whole street was empty, only the distant chirp of crickets breaking the stillness.

At first glance, the shrine looked peaceful, dormant beneath the moon. But something felt wrong.

Kouya frowned. The moonlight—beautiful and cold—didn’t touch the shrine’s courtyard at all. It stopped abruptly at the edge, as if swallowed by an invisible veil.

He narrowed his eyes. From the ground, wisps of black mist rose, coiling upward and forming a thin barrier that shimmered faintly. The air around it hummed with faint spiritual energy.

“Hmph. A crude formation,” Kouya muttered, analyzing it with one glance.

It was an illusion barrier—designed to mislead the senses, trap intruders in looping paths until they lost all direction. To an ordinary onmyoji, it would’ve been a nightmare. But to him, it was little more than a trick.

He could shatter it with a single look if he wanted.

But Rina quickly tugged at his sleeve. “Meow…” she whispered, shaking her head. Her golden eyes pleaded with him. This wasn’t an enemy’s work—it was the witness’s protective formation. Destroying it might bring consequences.

Kouya’s expression softened. “Alright, alright. I got it.”

He reached out, taking her small hand in his. “Let’s go.”

Together, they stepped into the darkness.

The mist closed around them like a living thing, swallowing their forms whole as they vanished beyond the veil.

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