"Go on, get moving! What are you all standing around for? The crops are drying out—go fetch some water!"
An old man with a long-stemmed pipe pushed his way through the crowd, strode up quickly, and squeezed in front of Sōjun Minamoto and Suguru Geto, waving the villagers away.
The crowd scattered without complaint.
The old man took a deep drag from his pipe, visibly pleased, and only after savoring the moment did he speak.
"Been waiting for you two, sirs."
A bitter, acrid scent of tar spread through the air. The smoke was harsh, sharp enough to sting.
As he spoke, Sōjun couldn't help but feel a little disoriented—was this really the 21st century? He was starting to wonder.
"Please, this way."
The old man extended his right hand, pointing down a path. Suguru and Sōjun exchanged a glance, then followed. The old man kept half a step behind them, only stepping ahead briefly at turns to indicate the direction.
Eventually, they arrived in front of a stone-walled, tile-roofed house. The old man gestured—they had arrived.
"This is my home. The village doesn't have much by way of accommodations, I'm afraid. Hope you two don't mind."
As he spoke, he made his way inside.
"Please wait a moment. I'll bring some tea."
"You really don't have to—" Suguru tried to object, but the sound of clinking tea bowls was already coming from within. He fell silent, mildly caught off guard.
Sōjun, meanwhile, began scanning the space. The interior was plain and tidy, with few decorations.
His gaze quickly landed on a shrine table at the far end. The altar looked recently installed—still new. Sitting in the center was a stone statue of Aragami, a humanoid figure with bulging muscles, fire patterns coiled around its arms, a fierce green face, and sharp fangs. Beneath it were two memorial tablets, flanked by black-and-white photos of a man and woman smiling brightly. The table held an incense burner, candlestick, a bamboo basket, and an old smoking pipe.
The room was spotless. Clearly, the place was well cared for.
The old man soon returned with a tray—tea and a few small snacks. His demeanor was clearly different from the rest of the villagers: warm, welcoming.
He sat at the table, took another drag from his pipe, and began slowly.
"Lately, I've been dreaming a lot at night. I keep seeing my late parents. Feels like a reunion—but every time I wake up, it's just a dream. Leaves me shaken, drained. Can't even focus on work."
"Out and about during the day, it's the same with other families—everyone looks worn out. And when I ask around, they all say the same: they've been seeing people they shouldn't be seeing."
"Not their own loved ones, of course—that's not scary. But strangers? The more people talk, the more anxious the village gets. Nobody knew what to do, so they all started making offerings to Aragami. And, well… it worked for a bit. The dreams faded. But it didn't last. The nightmares came back worse, and everyone just got weaker. Too weak to even work."
"Then someone came forward claiming they saw Aragami at night. Said maybe he was the one harming us. Otherwise, why wouldn't the offerings work? Things just got more and more chaotic, and eventually the authorities sent people down here to look into it..."
"In my opinion, these people weren't worshipping Aragami. They were worshipping themselves. No sincerity—how could the gods possibly respond?"
The old man stood, walked over to the shrine, lit a stick of incense, and gently brushed his fingers over the black-and-white photos.
"Don't take offense, sirs. You're not the first ones to come here. Others came before you, again and again. No problems solved, but plenty of money spent."
"So it's only natural the villagers are a little resentful."
...
From his words and mannerisms, it was clear the old man wasn't ignorant of the jujutsu world. He'd clearly interacted with sorcerers before. Unlike many common folk, he didn't see them as monks or exorcists. And when things didn't get resolved, he didn't lump them in with scammers and charlatans either.
Sōjun understood now why the village atmosphere had felt off.
At this time of year, farmers should be up at dawn. But when they arrived, the sun was already high, and villagers were only just heading to their fields.
Thinking back on the mission file, he recalled that the classification had been uncertain from the start.
It hadn't begun as a Special Grade incident. The Window staff couldn't determine the exact level and hesitated. Based on precedent, they initially labeled it as Grade 1.
Several Grade 1 sorcerers had taken the job. None of them could figure out what was wrong. No casualties, just people returning drained and sluggish.
With no resolution in sight, someone had to take responsibility. Since no one had died, the Window even considered downgrading it—until a Grade 2 sorcerer took the mission... and never came back. To this day, they hadn't found a trace.
Once the situation in the village worsened, the case was reevaluated. After further discussion, it was finally raised to Special Grade.
So far, the Aragami incident had only resulted in one missing person—and left an entire village physically debilitated.
Their job this time wasn't just to solve the curse. They also had to try and locate the missing Grade 2 sorcerer.
Dead or alive, they needed to find them. Even if they'd been devoured by a cursed spirit, some trace—Residuals or remains—would be left behind.
"I'll go clear out a room so you can rest for now. That thing won't show up until late—past midnight."
The old man pushed open a sliding shoji door, getting ready to tidy up a spare room.
"You can see a bit of it, can't you?" Sōjun Minamoto asked suddenly.
The old man froze mid-step.
"You can see curses," Sōjun continued, voice calm. "You know what curses are. You've seen what they're calling Aragami—and you've already guessed it's a curse."
The old man gave a bitter, weary smile, arms hanging helplessly at his sides.
"I've known for a while now… it's a curse behind all this. I tried to warn them. But…"
He turned his head toward the family altar, eyes lingering on the two photographs. After a long silence, he muttered, "...But memories are just memories. They don't compare to actually seeing them. Even if it's only in dreams, even if it's fake… it still felt like enough."
"My father used to sit under the eaves puffing away on his dry tobacco, shrouded in a haze of smoke. My mother was a clean freak—before every meal, she made us wash with soapberries. Even the dirt under our nails had to be scrubbed clean."
"She'd always walk out to the soapberry tree with her basket, pick the fruit, dry and cut it, then boil it at night into soapberry liquid. She knew we'd get lazy and just rinse quickly, so she'd add flower petals to give it a nice scent… That way, we'd never forget to do it right."
He gave a soft, dry chuckle.
"Guess it's time to wake up. They scolded me pretty hard yesterday," he said, his face turning pained. "'How do you expect to lead a village like this? Have you forgotten your responsibilities?' That's what they said."
He scratched at his face, embarrassed.
"Didn't think I'd still need a scolding at my age to come to my senses. Like a kid who can't grow up—still clinging to his parents..."
He knelt down, straightened his back, and bowed deeply, pressing his forehead to the floor. His voice came muffled, low and heavy.
"...Please, sirs. Rid us of Aragami."
...
Sōjun Minamoto walked over to the altar, no longer squinting. He looked directly at the statue of Aragami and asked,
"Is Aragami commonly worshipped here?"
He turned to glance at the old man.
For a moment, the old man was startled by Sōjun's strange eyes, but he quickly steadied himself. He understood—people who looked this unusual were usually the most capable.
These two were different from the others.
He gathered himself and replied, "In the past, hardly anyone did. People would just make offerings at the village shrine. But lately…"
"So now, a lot of villagers have their own statues at home?"
"Just about every household does."
"And where did these statues come from?"
"One of the people who came a few days ago didn't leave. He stayed in the shrine and carved them himself. Said bringing the god home would protect the family. If he weren't so slow at carving, every single house would've had one by now."
...Seriously? You all just went along with that?
The old man saw the look on Sōjun's face and offered an explanation.
"None of us believed him at first. But he… looked very professional."
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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