I loaded the geek game

Taking the short, thin-handled sword from Zhongfu's hand, the heavy metallic feel of it traveled through his palm, putting Daoman at ease. Regardless of what happened later, at least the "deposit" for this deal was now in his pocket.

His face immediately became extremely solemn, and he said sternly to the distracted samurai:

“This matter is of utmost importance. Fei Nu’s resentment is almost fused with the corpse, and ordinary talismans will likely be insufficient to move it. I need to prepare some special items and set up a special ritual. I will come to see you again at this time tomorrow.”

Having said that, he no longer looked at the longhouse shrouded in deathly silence and resentment, nor at the pair of wet, angry eyes that seemed to pierce through the wooden planks through the crack in the door. He turned and quickly disappeared into the shadows of the alley.

Zhongfu practically scrambled and crawled after him as they fled.

In the short term, he would rather sleep on the dock than dare to step into that house again.

On that day, Daoman naturally did not go to purchase any "proper talisman materials".

The cinnabar talisman paper sold on the market varies greatly in quality and is overpriced. It may not even be suitable for use, and it is far less practical than figuring it out himself.

Clutching the small handle, he meandered back to the place where he had been staying for the past two months.

A Tsujido hall located at a crossroads near the port.

Despite being called a Tsuji-do (palace hall), it was really just a small Jizo-do hall that could barely accommodate a few people to take shelter from the rain. The wooden structure was showing signs of decay, and the lowered eyebrows of the Bodhisattva statue were blurred in the dim light.

Daoman sat down on the ground, and by the dim light filtering through the broken walls, he carefully took out the scroll of his father's notes, which was carefully wrapped in oilcloth, from his bosom.

The paper rustled softly as it was rubbed together.

In the air thick with the smells of mildew, dust, and a faint sea odor, his fingertips traced the hastily written characters, yet they carried the last vestiges of his family's "orthodox" incantations, rituals, and fragmented insights. These were combined with the unorthodox techniques and taboo tales he had pieced together over the past three years from local shamans, visiting monks, and even itinerant sorcerers…

"Use a substitute to avert disaster... Hmm, let's do it this way."

Daoman muttered something and closed his notebook.

He got up and first rummaged through the corner of the Ksitigarbha Hall and found a thin, planed piece of wood that he had taken from some abandoned cargo box. Then he took out a small cloth bag containing his "special cinnabar ink," which he had made himself by mixing cinnabar with some indescribable materials.

Having prepared everything, Daoman sat cross-legged again and slowly drew the newly acquired short sword from its scabbard. The short sword gleamed with a cold, hard light in the dimming light, its blade well-maintained.

This is a personal item of the loyal samurai; using it as a medium for casting spells will enhance their effectiveness.

Dao Man held his breath and carefully dipped the sharp tip of the small handle into the dark red-brown ink from the cloth bag. Then, with his wrist suspended and his mind focused, he meticulously wrote the two characters "忠辅" (Loyal Minister) stroke by stroke on the relatively smooth side of the planed wood.

He spent a long time writing those two simple words.

The handwriting wasn't exactly beautiful, but the strokes penetrated deep into the wood grain, and the dark red color, under the dim light, revealed a somewhat startling and eerie quality.

"It's done."

……

The following afternoon, at the appointed time, Doman and Tadakatsu met again outside that ominous longhouse. Dusk had not yet fallen, but the air around the house seemed to have settled earlier than elsewhere, carrying a sticky chill.

"Can't we...can't we start yet?" Zhongfu's face was even worse than yesterday, his eyes were sunken, clearly he hadn't slept well all night, and his voice was full of suppressed tension and anxiety.

"Wait a little longer," Daoman said, looking completely unperturbed.

He paced leisurely around the longhouse, sometimes squatting down to trace seemingly random patterns in the dust with his fingers; sometimes taking out strange powder from his pocket and slowly and solemnly sprinkling it on the corners of the walls and the lintels.

This seemingly ritualistic act served two purposes: first, to make the loyal servant who had paid the "deposit" feel that it was "worth the money"; and second, Daoman was indeed waiting—waiting for the "moon hour" when the sunlight shifted, yin and yang alternated, and resentment was most active, yet also most easily manipulated.

Time passed slowly amidst Chungsuke's torment and Doman's "busyness," and the sun finally began to set, turning the sky orange-red. But this brilliant afterglow seemed to deliberately bypass the longhouse, and the area around it was plunged into an untimely gloom, where the light became obscure and distorted, as if blocked by an invisible veil.

"That's about it." Daoman looked up at the sky, finally stopped his "arrangements," and turned to Zhongfu, whose face was ashen.

"go in."

After saying that, he reached out and pushed open the door to the longhouse.

The door hinges creaked dryly, and a chilling, rotten smell, even stronger than yesterday, wafted out.

The scene inside was eerie; it wasn't completely dark, but rather filled with a hazy, bluish light that eerily illuminated the outlines of the room. The source of that light seemed to be the female corpse lying face down in the center of the room.

Ah He's body was still lying there in the same position as yesterday, emaciated, stiff, with long hair disheveled.

The bell in Daoman's arms trembled violently again.

The resentment here is several times stronger than yesterday, almost solidified into a viscous substance.

"R-Are you really alright?" The fear of approaching night, coupled with the increasingly eerie and terrifying atmosphere inside, completely shattered Zhongfu's last bit of courage. His teeth chattered, and his voice trembled, barely forming coherent sentences, "Just... just looking at it... and..."

“Just looking at you won’t save your life, sir.”

Daoman, however, showed no mercy. He practically dragged and pulled the trembling, weak-legged Zhongfu into the house and led him directly to the corpse that was emitting a ghostly light.

“Okay, listen carefully.” Daoman lowered his voice. “Now you get on her back. Like riding a horse, sit firmly on her back… hold on tight.”

"Ride...ride it?!" Zhongfu was struck dumb, staring in utter horror at the female corpse on the ground radiating an ominous blue light, especially the withered face facing him. His body trembled so badly that he almost collapsed.

"If you want to live, you have to do this." Daoman said each word slowly and deliberately, each word like a cold nail, driving Zhongfu to the brink of collapse.

Upon hearing the word "survive," the last glimmer of resistance in Zhongfu's eyes vanished, replaced by a resigned despair. He closed his eyes, trembling as he stepped over the cold body, then almost collapsed, straddling his deceased wife's corpse.

“Now, grab her hair.” Daoman’s command followed immediately, giving him no time to breathe. “Grab half with your right hand, half with your left… yes, like that. Like grabbing a horse’s reins, wrap it around your hands, squeeze tightly with both hands… then, open your mouth—”

Zhongfu did as he was told, opening his mouth in a daze and obedient manner, making hoarse breathing sounds from his throat.

Doman then took out the planed wood chips he had made the night before, stuffed them into the samurai's mouth, and gave his final instructions:

“Listen carefully, you must remain in this position until dawn. Needless to say, it will be terrifying at night, that’s for sure. But no matter what happens afterward, you must not open your mouth again, and your hands must absolutely, absolutely not let go of this hair. Otherwise, you will be close to the Yellow Springs, and even the gods cannot save you.”

"At dusk, the world of the living and the world of the dead intersect, and demons and monsters reign supreme. Tonight, due to the activation of my magic, your wife... will awaken ahead of schedule."

"Ugh——!"

Upon hearing that his deceased wife was about to "wake up," Zhongfu was terrified, tears streaming down his face. Yet, he was determined not to speak, only managing to let out a suppressed sob from deep within his throat. He gripped her cold, smooth, yet remarkably resilient black hair with all his might, his knuckles turning deathly white.

“It’s much easier to deal with her if she wakes up early than if she actually becomes a Flying Girl. Once the Flying Girl takes shape, she’ll probably chase you to the ends of the earth.”

Ignoring Zhongfu's reaction, Daoman continued calmly, "Please rest assured, I have made all the necessary arrangements. As long as you follow my instructions and ride steadily on her back, she will not be able to find you. Furthermore, because her resentment has not yet fully merged with this incorruptible body, our early activity tonight will cause her resentment to continuously leak out, and her power will diminish accordingly..."

"So, as long as you hold on until dawn. At sunrise, after the first crowing of the rooster, the boundary between reality and the mortal world will become clear again... At that time, you can get off your wife's back and throw this piece of wood in your mouth at her in front of her. By then, the resentment in Fei Nu Fang will have largely dissipated, and she will take this piece of wood as your own body and tear it apart in revenge... Once this last bit of resentment has been vented, you will be safe."

Limited resources, cobbled-together skills and knowledge, plus a touch of audacious resourcefulness—

This is Daoman's method of "using a substitute to avert disaster".

Upon hearing this entire explanation concerning life and death, even Zhongfu's suppressed sobs changed tone.

However, things had already come to this point, and he was "stuck on a corpse with no way out."

Moreover, recalling the merchants at the docks mentioning "Master Feng" with a tone that was both teasing and somewhat convincing; the "cinnabar wood piece" that the other party had spent "a whole day" meticulously crafting, exuding a strange aura; and witnessing Dao Man's mysterious and tightly-knit "magic array arrangement" back and forth in front of and behind the house that afternoon...

All of this, like a few fragile straws, allowed Zhongfu's drowning mind to barely grasp a sliver of "reliability".

you get what you pay for.

If Zhongfu's salary, equivalent to half a year's worth of rice, were sent to the Yin-Yang Bureau, those high-ranking officials in brocade robes probably wouldn't even lift their eyelids.

Those who live by the unorthodox methods of the streets... perhaps... do have unique and unconventional solutions.

In short, Zhongfu has no choice but to place his precarious life entirely on the shoulders of this strange "Encounter Mage".

Seeing that Zhongfu had calmed down a bit, Daoman felt somewhat relieved.

The elaborate "preparations" that had been made before did have some effect in calming people's minds.

Without further delay, he immediately lowered his body, leaned close to the ear of the female corpse emitting a faint blue glow, and recited a mantra that was a mixture of family secret incantations and Buddhist mantras at an extremely fast pace.

After finishing his incantation, he abruptly took two steps back, giving Zhongfu, who was riding on the corpse's back like a puppet, one last look: "Remember, hold on tight, hold on tight. I'll be nearby... to stabilize the situation."

After saying this, he didn't linger. He quickly turned around, took a few steps outside, and gently closed the door behind him.

Click.

A soft sound shut out the inside from the outside.

With Doman's departure, the longhouse fell into a deathly silence, and the hazy blue light seemed to freeze as well. Only the muffled pounding of his heart in his chest and the throbbing of blood rushing to his temples reminded Tadatsugu that he was still alive.

I don't know how much time has passed—a quarter of an hour?
Just as Zhongfu's nerves were about to snap from the silence—

The corpse beneath him moved.

First came the extremely faint sound of bones grinding together.

Then, the woman's stiff, prone torso began to slowly twitch. Her withered, bony hands braced themselves against the cold floor, the fingernails scraping against the wooden planks with a chilling, soft sound. Then, the corpse raised her upper body.

His disheveled hair slipped down with the movement, cascading over his ashen, withered face. His moist, dark eyes darted about behind the strands of hair, lifelessly scanning his surroundings.

The next moment——

bass!
The female corpse sprang straight up with an agility that defied common sense!

Zhongfu was so terrified that his soul almost left his body, but his mournful cry was choked back. The instinct for survival overwhelmed everything. He used all his strength to steady himself, his legs clamped tightly together, and his hands dug deep into his deceased wife's cold, resilient hair, as if he had grown onto the back of her rapidly rising corpse.

Fei Nufang twisted her neck, straightened her body, her long hair brushing against Zhongfu's arm, and a hoarse, inhuman sound came from her throat: "Ah—! Too heavy! How could it be... so heavy...!"

"Loyal sir... Loyal sir..." she murmured, her voice sometimes mournful, sometimes shrill. "I must... seize you... and bite off piece by piece... of your flesh!"

Before she could finish speaking, Fei Nufang leaped up, smashed open the door, and rushed into the thick darkness outside, accompanied by a chilling, pungent wind.

"Chungsuke...where are you...?"

The mournful cries echoed through the empty alleyways. At the same time, Fei Nufang, carrying Zhongfu on her back, began to run at full speed!
Zhongfu simply kept his eyes closed, biting the wooden plaque tightly in his mouth and gripping the hair in his hand.

In the darkness, the only sounds he could make were the slapping of the woman's bare feet on the ground and her labored breathing...

……

Ksitigarbha Hall.

Outside Tsujido, the night at Hakata Port presents a completely different scene from the daytime pier. The dim yellow lights of the distant taverns, the intermittent and ethereal singing and shamisen music from the covered walkways, all blend into the restless atmosphere of the damp and salty sea breeze.

However, all this noise seemed to be shut out by the decaying threshold of the Ksitigarbha Hall and the lowered eyes of the Bodhisattva.

Under the blurred, compassionate gaze of the Ksitigarbha statue, Daoman sat cross-legged.

"He said he fell in love with the courtesan Sayo at first sight... but in the end, he's just a fool who's blinded by beauty."

He repeatedly stroked the small dagger in his hand, drawing it from its sheath with a faint glint of cold light, then sheathing it with a soft click.

"I wonder how things are going over there."

Daoman went through the entire process of "using a substitute to avert disaster" in his mind again: the wooden substitute, riding and suppressing, the release of resentment, and throwing cards at sunrise...

There are no major flaws. As long as the samurai loyalist can remember it well and strictly follow the instructions, his life should be saved... without much problem.

If that's the case, then the equivalent of half a year's salary in Chikuzen silk would be in my pocket.

Thinking of that smooth, crisp, and valuable silk, Daoman felt a sense of peace in his heart.

But what if... the samurai broke down halfway, let go, or was so frightened that he opened his mouth...?

Daoman's fingers unconsciously tightened around the scabbard.

That was the warrior's fate to die here, and he had no one else to blame.

Daoman took the money and did the job; he made all the necessary arrangements and gave all the necessary explanations, which can be considered as doing his utmost. After that, life and death are left to fate, each according to their own destiny.

At least, I still have this well-made little handle in my hand, so the "hard work" of the past two days has not been in vain.

As night deepened, Daoman remained wide awake.

He simply closed his eyes to rest, but his ears involuntarily caught the sounds of the outside world. Gradually, even the last lingering sounds from the distant veranda faded away completely, and Hakata Minatozu fell into the deepest sleep of the night.

And at this zenith of utter silence—

The family heirloom bell in her arms suddenly burst into a scorching heat without warning!

The heat was unlike anything before, as if a red-hot coal was being branded directly onto the skin of the chest.

"hiss--!"

Daoman suddenly opened his eyes, gasped, and hurriedly pulled the small golden bell from his bosom.

The bell lying in his hand was still trembling slightly, emitting a sharp ringing sound, and its surface was even faintly tinged with an ominous dark red!

Almost simultaneously, a cold wind suddenly rose outside Tsujido!

The wind, without any apparent cause, swirled up dust and withered leaves, whipping them against the decaying wooden walls and making a strange, howling sound. It was completely different from the usual damp sea breeze, carrying a chilling, fishy feeling that went straight to the bone.

From far and near, the startled wild dogs began to bark wildly, their barks shrill and urgent.

Daoman's pupils contracted sharply, and cold sweat seeped from his palms as he gripped the bell.

No... this commotion is too loud!
Before he could sort out his thoughts—

Boom—crash!

The already dilapidated door of Tsujido was violently smashed open from the outside in by an incredibly brute force!

Wood chips flew everywhere, the door panel twisted and crashed to the ground, and the cold night wind and the thick, overwhelming resentment filled the small space like a flood that had burst its banks!
Against the backdrop of the hazy night, a distorted figure stands at the broken doorway.

Fly to the girls' room!
She was still as thin as a ghost, her body wreathed in a more frenzied, almost tangible, blue, malevolent light than when she was in the longhouse. She stood barefoot, her long hair dancing wildly in the eerie wind.

And on her back, she was carrying a person—

It was Zhongfu, whose face was ashen but whose eyes were still tightly closed, his teeth clenched on a piece of wood, and his hand gripping Fei Nufang's hair!

"I can't find you... I can't find you anywhere... Chungsuke... where are you...?"

Fei Nufang's ashen face slowly turned, her moist, angry eyes locking onto Daoman in front of the Jizo statue.

Then his tone suddenly rose, filled with a mocking rage and madness: "Was it you...was it you who...hid Zhongfu?!"

The barking of dogs echoed mournfully in the night, and Fei Nufang was filled with boiling resentment. That cold gaze, filled with death and hatred, was like a tangible shackle, firmly pinning Daoman to the spot.

This is not what I expected!
Fei Nu Fang did not exhaust her strength in chasing after the "unreachable" Chungsuke. Instead, she followed some kind of connection and found this place, and found Doman, the "caster".

"Roar--!"

A piercing, inhuman scream exploded!

Fei Nufang carried the half-conscious Zhongfu on her back, leaped up, and rushed straight towards Daoman, bringing with her a bloody wind and bone-chilling cold!

It moved so fast that it left only a distorted afterimage in mid-air!

"Oops!"

Almost instinctively, Doman drew his short sword and, without even bothering with any fancy moves, swung it forward to block.

clang--! ! !
A piercing, metallic clang erupted, but it wasn't from the clash of blades; rather, it was from Fei Nufang's withered, iron-like fingers gripping the blade tightly!
An unimaginable force surged forth along the blade!

Daoman felt a violent tremor in his hand, followed by a sharp pain as his skin and flesh tore open, and warm liquid instantly stained the hilt of his knife red.

He couldn't hold on to it at all; the short knife flew out of his hand and struck a wooden pillar in the distance with a clang, still trembling.

The immense force did not stop, and it slammed solidly into Daoman's arm as he tried to block, before crashing into his chest!
"puff--!"

As if struck in the chest by a battering ram, Daoman's vision went black, and his internal organs seemed to have been displaced.

He flew backward like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily onto the base of the stone shrine of the low-browed Ksitigarbha behind him!
"Ahem!"

The violent impact of his back against the hard rock almost knocked him unconscious. A mouthful of scalding blood gushed uncontrollably from his throat, splashing a glaring dark red onto the dim ground in front of him.

Clang...

As Daoman collapsed to the ground, the family heirloom bell, which he had been clutching tightly in his hand and which was burning hot, finally slipped from his grasp.

The bell rolled to the ground, making only a few faint but clear sounds before finally falling silent.

Excruciating pain, dizziness, a feeling of suffocation... all sorts of suffering overwhelmed Daoman like a tidal wave.

His vision blurred and swayed, and his ears were ringing. He could only barely make out that ferocious and stiff figure, dragging the almost unconscious Chung-fu behind him, step by step, stepping on broken wood chips and dust, slowly approaching.

"Hand over Zhongfu...hand him over!"

……

The rooster crows, and the sun rises at dawn.

The morning breeze, carrying the unique salty and chilly scent of the harbor, swept over the dilapidated Tsujido.

Ashiya Michimitsu awoke with difficulty, experiencing a mixture of dull pain and bone-chilling cold.

Consciousness rises slowly from the bottom of murky water.

What came into view was not the dilapidated ceiling of Tsujido or the blurry face of Jizo that I had expected, but a bright red that was as fiery as fire and as flowing as the sunset.

Is this... a skirt hem?

With difficulty, I slowly moved my gaze upwards.

Daoman saw that a figure was sitting upright on the simple stone shrine of the Ksitigarbha statue.

It was a woman.

She wore a bright red dress, its vibrant color dazzling, as if it contained the most intense rays of the rising sun within its hem.

On the woman's forehead, a crimson, flame-like cloud pattern shone brightly. Her eyes, a strange, almost bewitching red, gazed down calmly, with an indescribable air of scrutiny.

As for Daoman, he was lying on his back in front of the shrine, his head almost touching the edge of her fiery red dress.

"Am I...dead?" Daoman's mind was still lingering on the fear and agony of his near-death experience last night, yet his gaze lingered boldly on the woman's face above him for a long time. "The goddess who will guide me to the underworld...is...unbelievably beautiful..."

Finally, his gaze met the red-dressed woman's lowered eyes in mid-air.

The woman did not respond to his ramblings about life and death, but merely shifted slightly. Her bare right foot emerged from beneath her red dress, a subtly gleaming gold anklet loosely adorning her ankle.

The toes lifted slightly, then landed lightly on Daoman's wrist.

The touch was slightly cool, yet it carried a strange and undeniable sense of "presence," instantly dispelling his lingering daze.

"You won't die." The woman's voice rang out, initially clear and cold, befitting her ethereal appearance. But then, a hint of almost imperceptible speechlessness and helplessness crept into her tone, "You've been chosen."

She paused, a complex and enigmatic glint flashing in her crimson eyes.

"Chosen to become the immortal and indestructible sovereign of gods and spirits who walk between the mortal world and the world of the living, from dusk till dawn."

"……what?"

The woman seemed too lazy to explain any further. She lightly tapped his wrist with her foot, a little harder, and this time her words were somewhat less dignified: "And... how much longer do you plan to lie here? Now that you're awake, get up."

The realistic touch, delivered with a commanding tone, completely cleared Daoman's muddled mind.

He stood up and only then did he belatedly realize that not only had the excruciating pain from the tearing of his hand last night disappeared, but the dull pain and congestion in his chest, as if he had been hit by a heavy hammer, had also vanished.

"So, I'm really not dead?"

Daoman still couldn't quite understand what was happening, but the unusual healing of his injuries convinced him that the mysterious woman in the red dress had come to his aid.

And because he had stood up, he could now finally see his savior's full face clearly—

The woman held a strangely shaped short metal staff in her hand. The staff was smooth and had a matte, dark gold sheen. The head of the staff was shaped like a huge bell, with ancient and intricate patterns. It was strikingly similar in shape to Dao Man's family heirloom bell, which was now nowhere to be found, only several times larger.

Her dress was a fiery red, with the bodice completely open, revealing layers of white bodices that outlined her curves. Beneath the red dress were her bare feet, adorned with gold rings, which were now crossed and casually hanging at the edge of the shrine.

This is not the attire or demeanor one would expect from a human being.

Daoman was about to tidy himself up and thank the woman. Whoever she was, the fact remained that she had saved his life—

"Crack... crack... crack!"

Just then, a chilling sound of frantically chewing hard objects suddenly came from behind him!
Daoman turned around in horror.

The emaciated Fei Nu Fang, whose resentful aura had dimmed and almost dissipated, was lying not far behind them.

I almost forgot about this!
However, at this moment, Fei Nufang stopped attacking Dao Man.

She lay prostrate on the ground, her posture stiff and eerie, her withered claws gripping the piece of cinnabar wood inscribed with the name "Zhongfu" tightly, desperately stuffing it into her mouth, and frantically gnawing and grinding it with her deformed teeth!
Wood chips and dark red cinnabar fragments spilled from the corners of her mouth.

As for Zhongfu himself, he had already slipped off her back and collapsed on the ground not far away, his eyes closed, his face ashen, and his life or death unknown.

As the last piece of wood was swallowed, the illusory figure of Fei Nufang fluctuated violently in the increasingly bright morning light, letting out a hiss that sounded both relieved and unwilling, before finally fading away completely and disappearing without a trace, leaving only a pile of black ash on the ground.

Amidst the ashes, there were also a considerable number of grayish-white crystals, shimmering with a faint, translucent light.

Success! ?

A fleeting sense of relief, a feeling of having survived a disaster and that the "plan had gone smoothly," had just crossed Daoman's mind.

"Using a substitute to ward off misfortune... coming up with such a half-baked idea to deal with Fei Nu Fang, are you an idiot?"

That clear, melodious voice, yet tinged with undisguised helplessness and a hint of disdain, rang out again from behind him, precisely puncturing Dao Man's newly emerging smugness.

"Uh……"

Daoman's expression froze, and he turned around somewhat awkwardly.

Above the shrine, the woman in the red dress still sat gracefully, her posture light and dignified, her bare feet touching the ground, her red dress like flames.

Her expression was cold and indifferent, but her eyes did not look at Dao Man, instead glancing to the side, as if the sarcastic comment that was "unbecoming of her status" had nothing to do with her.

"I am Kunitsu-no-Kami, Suzuhiko-hime." After a moment, she spoke, her voice finally regaining its almost formulaic, cold, and steady quality, as if she were reading some kind of predetermined document. "My mission is to assist the Lord of the Demons and Gods in finding the lost Takamagahara Shrine, and ultimately to help the Lord of the Demons and Gods ascend to the throne of Takamagahara."

"Gaotian Shrine? Gaotian Shrine?"

Daoman repeated these grand, almost illusory words, words that had absolutely nothing to do with him, a half-baked monk who frequented the docks and could make up stories about two pickled fish. The first thing that arose in his heart was not awe, but an instinctive sense of alienation.

However, his gaze once again involuntarily fell back onto Suzuhiko-hime—

The morning light, like a pale golden veil, slanted down through the cracks in the dilapidated ceiling of Tsujido. Dust motes floated quietly in the beams of light, eventually settling gently on the crimson figure on the shrine, gilding this solemn, light, and somewhat casually graceful silhouette with a soft, delicate golden edge.

Daoman was slightly stunned.

Then, a thought he had previously used to harshly criticize the samurai Tadatsugu, now inappropriately yet with unparalleled clarity, crashed into his mind:

[In the end, he's just a fool blinded by beauty.]
"Ahem." Daoman snapped back to reality, coughing twice to cover his embarrassment, forcibly tearing his gaze away from Suzuhiko. "Anyway, you saved me, so I should repay you, right? So... what exactly do you want me to do?"

"Come with me to Hida, to find the god Amatsumari of that land. He is an exceptionally skilled craftsman and will assist us."

Suzuhiko-hime finally stopped talking about her grand ambition of becoming the ruler of all demons and gods, and instead gave a specific instruction.

However, as soon as Suzuhiko-hime finished speaking, Doman seemed to suddenly remember something extremely important. His eyes lit up, and he walked straight toward the unconscious samurai Tadatsugu not far away, clearly having temporarily put Kunitsu-gami and the divine craftsman out of his mind.

He squatted down, extended two fingers, and carefully probed under Zhongfu's nose.

Immediately, he rubbed his hands together excitedly: "Ha! He's still alive! He's breathing! That's great, at least we've secured half a year's worth of Chikuzen silk for our stipend!"

"..."

Seeing the jubilant Daoman, Suzuhiko's usually aloof and expressionless face, which was trying to project a divine and dignified air, finally revealed a clear and undisguised hint of human hesitation.

Is choosing this guy... really okay? (End of Chapter)