Sōjun Minamoto had traveled all the way south to Kagoshima Prefecture.
Along the way, he'd come across all kinds of myths, monsters, and urban legends—but the Flame Curse remained elusive.
At least most of the Barrier locations were mapped out.
He changed course, heading north to Aomori, then moved south through Iwate before finally arriving in Miyagi.
Sendai City.
This was his final stop. The last unresolved Barrier was here—and it was also the place Sōjun Minamoto had lived for fourteen years.
He returned home and stepped into the courtyard. Nothing had changed much. The Fly Head darted out from above his head and scattered about excitedly, clearly remembering the place too.
Sōjun Minamoto paid it no mind.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside. Mr. and Mrs. Minamoto still weren't home.
He had called them the night before. They were in New Zealand—one of the most isolated countries in the world, with no neighbors for 1,600 kilometers around. A perfect destination for retirement and a slower pace of life.
The call had ended quickly. He felt nothing. He was used to it.
A thin layer of dust had already settled over the house.
Come to think of it, he had only been gone for less than a month. And yet, that short stretch of time had been more eventful than the past fourteen years.
He stepped into the living room and saw the chipped table with several missing corners. Then he walked into the armory. The Cursed Tools had already been taken by Ms. Minamoto. Sōjun Minamoto carefully maintained the remaining weapons, cleaned the entire house from top to bottom, and stepped back outside.
He wasn't a nostalgic person.
As he walked through the city, he realized—this was actually the first time he'd really walked through Sendai.
It was the evening rush. People poured into the streets from work and school.
Up ahead, three high school girls were walking side by side, completely crowding the narrow sidewalk. They were chatting loudly about school gossip, occasionally stopping to play around.
Only the girl in the middle looked out of it. She responded to her friends half-heartedly, clearly not in the mood.
Sōjun Minamoto casually waved his hand and dispelled a Cursed Spirit clinging to her shoulder.
The girl immediately felt a breeze pass the back of her neck. A weight seemed to lift from her.
She turned around—and jumped. He was tall.
She looked up at his face, paused for a moment, then quickly looked away. Though his eyes were narrowed in a faint smile, he gave off a distant, unapproachable air.
The other two girls noticed she had fallen behind and turned around. They were clearly startled as well.
The three of them huddled together, quickly moved aside, and bowed repeatedly.
"Sorry! Sorry! We were in your way!"
Sōjun Minamoto gave a friendly smile and walked past them, ignoring their hushed whispers and giggling behind him.
He didn't have any particular destination. His first stop would still be shrines and temples, followed by places tied to strange legends.
Traces of the divine always left behind stories. The bizarre gave rise to the sacred. He'd even encountered urban legends like Kuchisake-Onna before.
He passed by shrines and temples until he reached the most famous of them all—Hachiman Shrine. It was dedicated to Hachiman-sama, also known as Hachiman Daibosatsu.
Nothing unusual happened.
It seemed he still had to focus on the Chōchin-obake.
Sōjun Minamoto sat down on a quiet stone bench outside the shrine.
He took out the Chōchin-obake.
Like the Fly Head, he hadn't erased its will. It still held its original pale green gourd-like form.
He had an idea. Since the Yin Fire couldn't generate heat, he'd try awakening its Yang aspect.
Yin and Yang are meant to balance and oppose each other. Curses may not follow this logic—but that didn't matter. As long as he absorbed it into himself, it would naturally align with Yin-Yang theory.
He began channeling Reverse Cursed Technique. A streak of blue light appeared on the gourd and quickly corroded a gap into it.
He stopped immediately.
Reverse Cursed Technique was like poison to curses—fatally so.
Then it hit him—why not just replace all of the Chōchin-obake's negative Cursed Energy with positive?
There was no rule that a curse couldn't be made of positive Cursed Energy, right?
He plucked a greenish-white spark from the Chōchin-obake—its core essence.
The body dispersed, blue Cursed Energy surged forth, and he reconstructed the shape into a gourd-like fireball.
Finally, he inserted the spark.
Like oil meeting fire, the flame flared up instantly. The greenish-white turned to red...
"Is that... a spirit?!" a voice suddenly asked beside him.
Sōjun Minamoto had already noticed the newcomer. There was something strange about his presence—if anything, he looked like a sorcerer pretending to be a normal person. Or maybe it was the other way around.
"You've seen a spirit before?" Sōjun Minamoto looked at the ordinary-looking sorcerer.
He really was plain. His looks, his demeanor—everything about him blended into the crowd.
The only standout feature was the stitched scar across his forehead. Sōjun Minamoto instinctively furrowed his brow.
That kind of scar might've come from recent cranial surgery.
Looking at the man, he chuckled. "That's rare."
"There are a few around," the man said casually, taking a seat next to him. He stared at the red gourd. "I've seen some before."
He looked away and turned toward Sōjun Minamoto.
"...What were you just doing?"
"Research," Sōjun Minamoto said nonchalantly. He already had a good idea who the man was, but he wasn't too concerned.
"That thing's definitely strange. Technically, it falls under the Cursed Spirit Department—Genie Class. It looks divine and dignified, but it's still a curse."
His eyes shifted to the Hachiman Daibosatsu inside the shrine.
"Too weak, though."
"...So what do you think came first—the legend, or the thing from the legend?"
He sounded like he was talking to himself.
"It's a mystery."
"I'd say the legend came first," Sōjun Minamoto replied. He frowned slightly, then relaxed.
Human beings are the most intelligent of all creatures—older even than the eight million gods. Gods exist because people believe in them.
He firmly believed in the power of human will.
The man looked surprised at the quick answer, but quickly masked his reaction. He glanced at Sōjun Minamoto, then stayed silent.
He was the type to search for answers on his own.
Sōjun Minamoto also remained quiet, idly toying with the red gourd.
This was Yang Fire. The red hue symbolized the fire spirit's Yang nature.
As he fed more Cursed Energy into it, the temperature rose. Then, in an instant, he willed it to drop. The flames didn't affect their surroundings at all.
It was weak now—but there were ways to grow stronger. Just like the Fly Head.
Sōjun Minamoto put the red gourd away.
The man stood up too, as if he had just come over for a brief chat.
Then he suddenly turned around and stared at Sōjun Minamoto.
"Have we... met before?"
"Hm?" Sōjun Minamoto met his gaze head-on. "I don't think so."
"Ah. Then that must be it. I don't remember meeting you either."