I. Road to Ryousa
The old roads leading to the shrine were covered in weeds and ash. Every meter Akihiko and his small group advanced was an affront to the centuries of neglect and abandonment that had reigned over the region. The air had a different weight, laden with something unnameable.
"It's been over three generations since anyone set foot in Ryousa," murmured Seiji, a broken-faced tracker. "Maps here are becoming unreliable. The land moves as if it remembers... and doesn't want to be found."
Akihiko didn't reply. His katana was sheathed, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Ever since he'd read the message, something inside him had been stirring. A pulse. An echo of memory that wasn't his own, but not entirely foreign either.
On his neck, under his clothes, the tattoo he had carried since childhood began to burn.
Not for pain. For recognition.
II. The Legion of the Forgotten
On the border of Tartarus Valley, the Shadows of Tartarus mafia organized themselves like a silent army. They carried no visible banners or symbols, only dark robes and masks carved from bone. Their leader, Mael Zelar, did not speak; he issued orders with gestures and silences. His presence was an open wound in the air.
The objective was clear: penetrate Ryousa, find the Third Verse of the Ash Scroll, and enshrine the sealed root. Not by knowledge.
By absolute power.
The Shadows believed that the Tree was not a passive entity, but a sleeping beast. And like all beasts, it could be tamed if its ancient rituals were known.
"The Third Verse has not yet been read aloud," said one of the shadow priests. "Because the language in which it is written... does not belong to men."
Mael nodded and raised his hand. The army advanced. Their steps synchronized, like a single soulless body.
III. Broken sanctuary, living land
Akihiko and his group reached Ryousa as evening fell. But what they found was not what they expected.
The sanctuary was no longer a building. No columns, no roof, no walls remained. Only gigantic roots emerging from the earth like the ribs of a forgotten corpse. Nature had reclaimed its dominion, but not as life… but as something more ancient.
The roots were alive. They moved. They breathed.
"Is this... conscious?" Seiji asked, stepping back.
Akihiko knelt, placing a hand on the main root. He felt something instantly: not words, not emotions... but visions.
People screaming. Fire. Priests breaking the ground with blades. Scarred children. The Tree weeping black sap.
When he opened his eyes, there was blood on his nose. But he also had a phrase engraved in his mind:
"The root does not choose. It recognizes."
IV. Fire and Ashes
The Shades of Tartarus arrived at Ryousa before dawn. They circled the valley soundlessly, like wolves in mourning clothing. In the center of the circle, Mael descended with his elite group. They carried black torches soaked in ritual oil. One by one, they placed them in a ring.
—Today... the Verse is rewritten —said one of the elders.
Akihiko emerged from the fog, alone. His katana still sheathed.
—Are they going to force the Tree to respond?
Mael looked at him from behind the mask. Then he spoke, for the first time in years.
—We don't ask permission from what bleeds.
The first priest raised the ash scroll. The root beneath him began to writhe. The ground shook.
The Tree wasn't asleep. It was just deciding whether it was worth waking up.
Akihiko didn't wait.
He drew his sword.
The katana ignited with a faint, purple glow, like the sap of the Tree. In its reflection, the faces of the condemned could be seen. He dashed toward the circle, dodging the first line of shadows, slicing through not only bodies, but names.
Because in Ryousa, death was not physical. The true execution was to be forgotten by the root.
V. Interrupted ritual
The priest managed to pronounce the first words of the Verse.
The air cracked. The sky opened for an instant, revealing a false star.
But then, the main root erupted violently, piercing the priest's chest and tearing him from the ground like an insect. The body didn't fall. It dissolved into red particles, absorbed.
Mael attempted to continue the rite, but the Tree marked him: his mask cracked, revealing a featureless face, as if his identity had been erased by trying to control the uncontrollable.
Akihiko, wounded, managed to reach the center. The Tree saw him.
And he accepted it.
The roots stilled. The ground closed. The Shadows retreated, confused. Many began to scream, realizing they had forgotten their own names.
Akihiko fell to his knees.
And he heard the voice.
"You... are not the root. You... are the wound."
VI. Raven Council, Shadows of the North
At Kurobane Fortress, a blood messenger arrived in the early morning. He carried a piece of wood wrapped in dark silk.
Renjirō took it. It was a splinter of Ryousa's. On its surface, written in dried sap, was a word:
"He woke up."
Renjirō smiled for the first time in years.
—So we no longer need strategies.
"What shall we do, Patriarch?" his second-in-command asked.
Renjirō stood up.
—We're going to do what we were taught.
-What's that?
The old patriarch looked south, toward the sanctuary that had just opened the scar of the world.
-War.
END OF CHAPTER 79