“Uchi, kawa!”
Michisige’s expression turned to one of shock as he laid eyes on the figure that appeared before him.
He couldn’t possibly forget that face.
Beginning with a press conference where he lamented being threatened by a warrior, there was no way he could miss the fact that Yatadoarangkryu had descended into chaos.
No. It was a face he couldn’t afford to forget.
Uchikawa Ryosuke was the enemy of Yatadoarangkryu, his sworn foe, and a malevolent force that had overturned the natural order of things, sending everything into disarray.
But—
“What the hell are you doing here?!”
Yet, what reason could that wicked individual have for being here?
What on earth was with that vacant expression, as if his soul had left him?
Michisige’s face twisted in confusion as he grappled to comprehend the incomprehensible situation.
However, Ryosuke did not respond to his question.
Whether he had no intention to answer or simply couldn’t, Michisige could not tell.
“I am but a calf raised on fresh grains, nourished under the warm light of the sun, brimming with life force. A delicacy fit for the taste of Joganes, and I wish to offer all my flesh with my unmatched skill in slaughtering.”
Ryosuke merely mumbled on like a broken radio, lost in his own world.
He pulled out a well-honed stone knife from the corner of the cart and without hesitation pierced the throat of the calf, which was breathing heavily, its chest rising and falling. Blood poured from the hole created by the knife, and as if to save it for a special occasion, he positioned a jeweled basin beneath it. Then, from a clay pot nearby, he plunged a strangely shaped stick into it and stirred, lifting it as he did so.
A thick honey dripped from the groove at the end of the stick, and he carefully poured the honey into the basin, making sure not to waste a single drop.
“Mixing honey with blood freshly drawn from the neck will rival the wine of the gods.”
He stirred the mixture of blood and honey to blend them well, then pushed it aside, picking up the stone knife again to slice open the belly of the calf.
With a sound reminiscent of a drum being torn asunder, the calf’s belly split open, and its innards spilled out as if waiting for this very moment.
He reached inside the steaming cavity, sensing there was something he needed to retrieve, grabbing onto something, twisting his hand, and pulling it out.
Thump.
Thump.
In his hand was a still-beating heart, which he handled as if it were a priceless jewel, placing it delicately on a gold platter.
Then, with the gold platter, silver basin, and an empty silver goblet in hand, he strode up to Michisige and suddenly knelt on one knee.
“Joganes, the feast is prepared.”
He bowed deeply, raising the gold platter before him, and when Michisige did not accept it, he carefully set it aside and filled the goblet with the blood from the basin, holding it out to Michisige.
“The heart freshly extracted, the blood mixed with honey. This is the height of luxury and the feast of feasts. Please savor this delicacy, indulge your body in sweetness. Etch a luxurious sense of pleasure within yourself before the fifth day passes.”
An expression of disbelief.
A disturbing muttering that felt almost as if reciting from a textbook.
Even Ryosuke’s demeanor, as if possessed by something, gave off an uneasy sense of incongruity.
Bam!
Clang!
Michisige could no longer endure this bizarre spectacle that screamed of insanity.
He swiftly knocked the goblet from Ryosuke’s hand, which sent it flying and rolling across the floor.
“…”
However, Ryosuke remained unmoved by the situation.
Just like before, his face was blank, his head bowed in the same position, and as if still holding a goblet, his arm was raised high.
“You bastard! Get a grip!”
It was enough to make one question whether the person before him was human, or perhaps a ghost.
Smack!
With a foul-mouthed curse, Michisige slapped Ryosuke’s face.
A desperate hope that Ryosuke would regain his wits and explain the situation lay behind that backhand.
Yet even after being struck hard enough to turn his head, Ryosuke’s vacant gaze remained unchanged, and drool dripped from his slightly open mouth.
“Damn it.”
To add insult to injury, Ryosuke’s moldy face cracked a smile as if mocking Michisige’s futile actions.
“The Second Sun. The Second Demand.”
“Joganes desires a being to mix bodies with. The one called king stands above all and, by the favor of the gods, may borrow everything in this world to himself, thus it would naturally be right to seek pleasures of the flesh.”
“Bring forth an esteemed favorite who has captured the king’s affection. Entwine your arms around her waist and indulge in her delicate body, seeking peace in the soft sensation of her skin. Sow seeds and whisper sweet nothings, holding her as if she were your wife.”
“All women, regardless of their beauty or horrors, belong to Joganes. Only Joganes shall hold them. With a single word, the most beautiful woman in the world shall lay in your embrace, and a mere gesture will send her away, replaced instantaneously by another.”
“Therefore, O servant. Bring forth a woman deserving of Joganes’ dignity. Fetch that favored concubine of the king, lay her upon the bed, and make her a source of Joganes’ delight.”
Long ago, during the Edo period, the term “yarou” was used derogatorily for male prostitutes.
His face had twisted that term into something grotesque, unknowingly attributing it as a “request” from Michisige.
Fuming, Michisige seethed at the jumbled “request” that distorted his words, as Ryosuke pulled out a nendoroid from his pocket.
Hii.
Hihihihih.
A sinister female voice emerged from the nendoroid.
Bang!
A chill reminiscent of midwinter coursed through the room as that woman’s voice echoed from the doll.
Realizing instinctively that it was a divine object that sealed away a ghost, Michisige didn’t hesitate, coated his hand with mana, and stabbed it into the wall.
“Get a grip! Get a grip!”
In this underground space, where Ryosuke was the only other person aside from Michisige, he desperately tried to restore Ryosuke’s senses, shaking his shoulders.
He slapped him repeatedly, hard enough to send teeth flying, and roared loudly enough to make the walls tremble.
But…
“The Third Sun. The Third Demand.”
“Joganes declares that he desires diversions to shatter the monotony and to awaken the senses.”
“Thus, the servant must procure something that will pique the interest of the king.”
His pleas for Ryosuke to regain his wits had transformed into a mere “request,” twisted by the mold into an intrinsic part of the ritual.
“The Fourth Sun. The Fourth Demand.”
“Violence, the embodiment of primal pleasure, stirs the blood of all. Only through struggle will Joganes’ blood boil and excite him. Countless entertainments pale in comparison to the horrific struggle that scatters blood and flesh, and only in the fleeting existence of life can value truly blossom.”
“Oh, Joganes, indulge in this scent of blood and seize the joy within it.”
“The Fifth Sun. The Fifth Moon. When the fifth day comes, you will be dragged from your throne and forced to kneel upon the ground, stripped of your authoritative garments.”
“A dreadful beating and a future hanging in the void approaches. Do not waste the remaining time, fill it only with pleasure. Spend the time heatedly like the fireworks exploding, though ephemeral like raindrops seeping to the earth—live a life that bestows blessings upon all.”
“Only for a day. Only for a day.”
“To enjoy the day when you may wield the authority of Joganes.”
“Great Joganes, Great Joganes! Joganes Hiramoto Michisige!”
“Indulge in blood! Delight in the fading of life!”
“Therefore, O servant! Devote everything to that pleasure!”
Even the violence Michisige employed in an attempt to snap Ryosuke out of his trance had become a “request,” further entwined in the ritual.
“Ugh.”
Only one demand remained.
As Michisige’s demise drew near, only that singular demand remained.
“Hehehe.”
Ryosuke gazed at Michisige, who had little time left to breathe, wide eyes glazed, erupting in manic laughter as he began to tear at his own hair.
“Argh! Aaaahhh!”
The self-inflicted damage continued until skin was stripped away, blood gushing forth like a river.
As if that wasn’t enough, he picked up the stone knife and repeatedly stabbed his own body, creating holes all over like a rag, until the pool of blood forming beneath him was substantial.
And in the height of that madness, Ryosuke wore a hazy smile.
“Yes. You will forever remain a politician.”
“Rather than living in uncertainty, not knowing when you may be thrust out into the wild.”
“You’re making a wise choice to die with the title on your back, becoming an immortal politician.”
“You are a politician.”
“You can.”
“You will.”
The wise voice in his ear whispered the way to fulfill his wish.
“I am.”
He smiled, envisioning a blissful future.
Smiling.
He drew his last breath.
