A Ksitigarbha statue, split in half.
The torso of the Ksitigarbha, soiled with bird droppings and all sorts of filth.
A clean cross-section contrasting with the dirty body.
The Ksitigarbha, expertly severed, looked just as the Master had envisioned.
But the problem lay in its surroundings.
“What is this?”
To the Master’s eyes, countless Ksitigarbha faces appeared.
So many they couldn’t even be counted.
No, there were exactly as many Ksitigarbha faces as there were trees.
“What on earth is going on?”
All the trees densely growing around the Ksitigarbha bore its face, and the blackened faces looked as if they had been pressed from black ash into the soil—truly bizarre.
Trees dying, shriveled from lack of sunlight, and others warped by nutrient shortages or inhospitable environments, laying deceased or barely standing.
Every single tree was engraved with a face.
Mouth tightly shut, eyes closed, seemingly benevolent.
Yet, the grotesque faces looked as if etched from a dark print, twisted with mockery.
Black faces with stark white eyelids, white lips, and a white nose.
The Master could only stand there, his expression freezing as he gazed at the profusion of faces carved into the fragmented Ksitigarbha statue. Tremors ran through his body—not a fearsome shudder, but something else.
Disdain.
Fury.
Not a cold, descending fear, but boiling emotions rising within him.
Shaking, he managed to let out a roar.
“Who-What bastard dares to pull this stunt—–!!!”
His suppressed rage erupted, shaking the entire mountain.
Flap!
The birds perched on the trees fled in a panic, spreading their wings and taking to the skies. The mountain beasts, jolted awake, scattered in all directions, breaking through the bushes. Moreover, whether due to his voice or by coincidence, the wind rustled the leaves of the trees.
“Daring to play such childish tricks on us, Shiheng Style—!”
The Master roared with wrath.
Boom!
He could not contain his anger and struck a nearby tree with his mighty energy, causing the once vibrant tree to become a fallen husk.
The trunk shattered under the impact, sending splinters flying, and the hollowed-out tree began to tilt before crashing to the ground with a resounding thud.
Along with it, the Ksitigarbha face imprinted on the tree hit the ground.
“This is a challenge! A challenge to our Shiheng Style!”
He screamed, his voice brimming with bloodlust.
He believed what he saw had crossed far beyond mere pranks.
It could be regarded as natural.
To scare a warrior into becoming the ‘coward’ that Shiheng Style detested.
Invading their training grounds without permission.
And to not just stop there, but to personally come out at night to scare them—flaunting the deed, as if boasting about it everywhere by imprinting Ksitigarbha faces.
This wasn’t merely childish pranking; it was akin to graffiti on the dojo’s signboard or dashing away after throwing paint.
A smear!
A blot on the prestige of Shiheng Style!
How dare they tarnish the face of the school, known for being the most combative and practical!
The Master ground his teeth in frustration.
“Ah, they must have thought I wouldn’t make a big deal out of this for the sake of face, even after being pranked?”
In the world of warriors, image was paramount.
Unlike the realm of mages, where meritocracy thrived, and success was all that mattered as they banded together, or the summoners who flaunted their summons and helped one another, or shamans, who mostly kept to themselves unless tricked—this was a world of warriors.
Image.
Specifically, the ‘image of appearing strong’ was the beginning and end for a warrior.
In simple terms, the world of warriors was about living and dying by that image.
If they practiced martial arts, they boasted about how they could take on a tank with bare hands.
If they wielded a sword, they proclaims they could cut a mountain in half with a single stroke.
If they mastered qi, they claimed they could shatter cliffs with a single breath.
If they wielded a spear, they declared they could pierce anything.
A warrior’s pride differed from that of other capable persons.
They were not like mages who banded together and developed as a unit.
Nor like shamans, who conducted bizarre rituals and used strange spells that required sacrifices.
And certainly not entrusting their lives to some bizarre creatures that crawled out of who-knows-where.
Only by their own strength.
By training and moving forward, not by hacking away at their bodies.
They took responsibility for their lives solely through their own merits.
That was a warrior’s pride; that was the fundamental essence of being a warrior.
Thus, warriors loathed smearing their own faces with failure.
Of course, they accepted differences in martial arts and battle techniques.
If they lost, they would use it as a stepping stone for growth, and if they won, they would regret their inadequacies and work hard to climb higher.
They gave their utmost in battle, yet were not obsessed; they grieved over the outcomes but didn’t dwell upon them.
Yet they reacted tremendously to anything beyond martial arts itself.
Such as attacks using extrinsic means.
And now, to the Master, those countless Ksitigarbha faces looked like the ultimate affront to a warrior’s honor.
“How dare you mock our Shiheng Style as cowards.”
Snap.
The Master saw the Ksitigarbha faces mocking him.
The kind, generous smile twisted horrifically into a cruel sneer, and the wind that whistled through only sounded like condescending laughter from a faceless criminal.
A mere bunch of warriors scared silly by urban legends.
A sect filled with ‘cowards’ who couldn’t even act like men.
In broad daylight, they hadn’t perceived anything wrong.
The Master seethed with a chilling determination as he returned to the training hall.
He stormed into the lodging of the warrior he had reprimanded earlier.
Crash!
He banged open the door, ready to confront the warrior.
“You! Describe that college student you saw yesterday!”
He grabbed the warrior, who looked utterly baffled, by the collar and dragged him along.
“No, that’s not it. You! Bring the one good at drawing! Have him sketch a montage. Got it?!”
“Yes!”
The warrior, bewildered by all that was happening, could only shout “yes!” out of reflex, doing his best to follow blindly as he had been trained.
“Whoever it is, once I catch them, they’re going to have a terrible day.”
*
“Hmm. I don’t understand this at all.”
“What do you mean?”
Contrary to the Master’s determination, things were not progressing smoothly.
He had brought in all manner of experts to trace the perpetrator’s footsteps, but each one simply shook their heads.
“What do you mean by that! Did you think I called you here to listen to such nonsense?!”
The Master vented his anger toward the self-proclaimed experts staring awkwardly at him.
Security experts hailing from the Japanese police’s anti-terrorism squad, ex-special forces.
A profiler and mana trace analysis expert in the field of magic.
A well-known detective reputed for his skills in tracking down human trails.
A monk brought in from a nearby temple of the Jōdo Shinshū sect.
Any combination of these professionals should have been able to find traces of a person.
Yet….
“We’re not saying this with the intent of making excuses. But given your reputation and accomplishments, we felt we had no choice but to state the truth.”
“We are notable figures in the entire country of Japan. We know the weight of our names and realize our duty is to be honest with our clients. That is our professional integrity.”
“Indeed. And with the integrity and honor of professionals on the line, we must report that it’s exceedingly difficult to find any trace of the supposed ‘culprit.'”
Every expert present unequivocally insisted that they could find no trace of the ‘criminal.’
“First, we can’t find any mana remnants. In fact, we can affirm no special ability or artifact functioning on mana has been employed.”
“There are methods to erase mana traces, isn’t that so?”
“Certainly, that is one consideration. However, erasing mana traces quickly is, frankly, not feasible. Even if done meticulously, minute traces tend to linger. To eliminate that completely requires a significant amount of time. As such, considering your words, it seems this incident occurred overnight, which makes it impossible to erase traces of mana in such a short window.”
“Is it truly impossible?”
“Of course, nothing is ever 0%. It’s conceivable that a state or large corporation possesses such hidden technology or that special forces or spies may have access to it. But at least within my knowledge sphere… such a method does not exist. It would be difficult to erase mana traces in this brief time.”
The mage confirmed they couldn’t find any mana traces.
“I did discover some traces, but the marks of the ‘college student’ you mentioned were nowhere to be found.”
“That’s impossible! Are you saying that they must have seen hallucinations?”
“That possibility… cannot be completely dismissed.”
“What?!”
“I’m merely discussing probabilities. All that’s visible are traces performed by those of Shiheng Style….”
The security expert insisted they could find no traces of anyone other than the warriors.
In fact, the other two had similar reports.
“I checked everywhere, but this doesn’t seem like the work of a person. As you have heard, there have been no traces of any other person, and the engraved Ksitigarbha faces appear far too unnatural to be the work of human hands.”
“So are you implying it was a ghost’s doing?”
“To be honest, I’d prefer that interpretation. It seems too bizarre to just be a trick…. Honestly, it simply doesn’t look like a human job.”
“What do you mean by bizarre?”
“This black stuff—it’s not paint.”
“It’s not paint?”
“No. This isn’t paint; it’s mold.”
“Mold…?”
“Furthermore, I’ve searched thoroughly to see if any medications, curses, or magic were involved—and found none. Moreover, this mold grew from the roots of the trees, spreading outward in the shape of faces. No matter how I think about it, it simply doesn’t seem like the work of a human.”
The detective furrowed his brow in confusion.
“Hmm. Based on my observations, it doesn’t seem like it involves curses either. Although I may not be very old, I take pride in my knowledge, and I’ve neither heard of nor seen such curses.”
“So it’s not a curse?”
“The curses and onmyōdō practices of Japan each have their own characteristics and roots. Even if they look entirely new, if they sprout from the same root, recognizing them shouldn’t be hard if one knows the underlying roots. Yet this is so vastly different from what I know that I can only conclude it isn’t a curse.”
The monk insisted that it wasn’t a curse.
However, if that were the case, it truly meant the culprit could be a ghost.
But if it were a ghost, it wouldn’t have escaped the security devices.
The Master simply could not comprehend the current situation.
“Since it wasn’t caught by security devices, it cannot be an evil ghost or evil spirit. So it must exclusively be a curse, right?”
“Haha. Again, let me reiterate: it’s not a curse! How can there be a curse that diverges from the roots of Japan?”
“Could it be a foreign curse, then?”
“Haha. Do you truly believe that? How could our Japanese citizens commit such acts that reek of nonnationalism? Japanese curses are strictly regulated by onmyōji, temples, and the government. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”
“So, what about the possibility of foreign spellcasters?”
“Hahaha! Are you serious?”
The monk chuckled, amused by the Master’s persistent questioning.
“Japan is scouring the entire nation, hunting down foreign spellcasters. It’s as unyielding as the net of the heavens, as meticulous as the eyes of the skies. So how could any foreign spellcaster roam about freely in this land?”
