Chapter 180

The master was at a loss for words in response to the monk’s resolute statement.

He glanced at the monk, exasperated, feeling an immediate urge to retort fiercely and question the monk’s accountability for his words. However, instead of voicing his inner frustration, he swallowed it down and let out a heavy sigh, as if conceding that there was nothing to be done.

‘Well… the government is blocking foreign shamans, isn’t it…’

From the bottom of his heart, he wanted to say that there was absolutely no such thing.

If the bunker was so airtight, why were rats and pests running rampant inside? Why were rats scurrying about in the confined shipspaces, gnawing on human flesh? What caused supposedly impenetrable fortresses to fall?

No matter how sturdy something seemed, if there were cracks within, it was still possible to infiltrate.

The master didn’t know much about magic or the art of Onmyōdō, but one thing was certain: nothing humans did was absolute. People, by nature, were creatures prone to making mistakes somewhere along the line.

However, living in a society that didn’t let you say whatever you thought wasn’t easy.

‘Since this is a government operation, if you say there’s a problem when there’s no issue, you’ll be labeled as an anti-government person or a bad citizen… Even if there was a problem, it’d just be covered up, and anyone questioning it would be criticized for stirring up trouble.’

In Japan, there’s an expression: “Put a lid on something that smells.”

The phrase essentially means that one shouldn’t unnecessarily expose or make a fuss about something foul-smelling. Instead, it’s better to quietly cover it up and pretend it never existed — to avoid unwanted publicity.

It was about ensuring no bad news leaked out. Or, more specifically, to maintain appearances.

Additionally, there was the concept of meiwaku (迷惑), a particularly Japanese cultural norm that detested causing inconvenience to others. On the surface, it seemed positive, but…

The key question was: What exactly counted as an inconvenience? What was the standard?

If someone got into trouble because of their own bad deeds?

Naturally, that was considered an inconvenience.

If they got involved in something bad and caused trouble?

That, too, was clearly an inconvenience.

Surprisingly, even if someone caused trouble while being a victim?

That was also an inconvenience.

Reporting corruption and creating social issues? That was an inconvenience. Resisting authority by exposing corruption or wrongful practices? Another inconvenience. Leading protests for workers’ rights? That, too, was an inconvenience.

It was a harmful byproduct of the unclear boundaries of what constituted an inconvenience.

One could claim, “You’ve inconvenienced me” without much justification.

And if you were deemed an inconvenience, you naturally became a target for ostracism — either by your immediate group or even by an entire village through the practice of mura hachi bu (village excommunication).

If anything, being excommunicated was the better outcome; at least, in that case, you could simply move elsewhere.

‘One must never meddle in government affairs.’

The government was synonymous with the country.

The government was synonymous with everything.

Japanese citizens were expected to lay down their lives for the great nation and be ever-ready to repay the grace bestowed upon them by the government. This, according to Japan, was the ideal form of a patriotic citizen.

But what if, instead of repaying the government’s grace, someone turned the sword against it?

What could it possibly mean for someone who should protect the nation to instead raise a sword against it?

Treason! Rebellion!

Though in modern times, speaking against the government isn’t outright labeled as rebellion…

‘Then they’ll at least brand you as anti-establishment, anti-government, or a bad citizen…’

If that happened, it would doom the person’s life.

The government would not forget its grudge, continually interfering and preventing them from living peacefully. And the masses, trusting the government’s propaganda, would hurl insults and defilements at this now-perceived punching bag with abandon.

That’s why the master could only say:

“I see. How could there be any issue with the government’s work? It seems I spoke rashly out of excessive excitement.”

“Hmm. Of course.”

“Recently, I saw a movie on TV about foreign shamans. It left quite an impression, and I momentarily forgot that such things aren’t possible in reality.”

That was all he could do.

“I can understand why the spectacle appears so unreal; between the eerie tricks and the supernatural elements, it loses all connection to reality. Haha. Even I, at first glance, almost thought I’d entered a movie set. With magic, it’s easy to believe that anything is possible.”

Fortunately, the monk seemed to accept the master’s explanation without further scrutiny. Whether the monk genuinely believed him, simply found no significant fault to seize on, or simply didn’t care one way or another — it wasn’t clear.

“But Master, there’s a misconception that many people have.”

Perhaps the master’s lack of knowledge about magic struck the monk as a good opportunity to showcase his own expertise in the subject.

“On TV, magic seems incredibly potent — using divination to predict the future, performing great rituals to turn famine into plenty, redirect rivers, or transform deserts into forests. Haha. Naturally, to those who know little about magic, it must seem extraordinary.”

The monk taught the warrior as if he were an ignorant child.

“But all of this requires thorough preparation. A great amount of offerings, master-level shamans, numerous ritualists, and the enormous cost that invariably accompanies these rituals. All these are necessary payments to achieve such feats.”

The monk briefly glanced at the wooden carving of Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva.

“Besides, magic is something practiced by humans.”

“What do you mean?”

“Magic naturally evolves to cater to human needs. To ensure crops grow so no one starves, to cure illnesses that scare us, to teach fighting or fleeing from dangerous bandits — it develops in these ways.”

The monk smirked slightly, his voice tinged with mockery.

“Of course, Japan’s magic and Onmyōdō have grown in this manner. But hahaha! Just what purpose could a spell involving mold possibly serve? Could there really be any merit in a magic that can use mold to draw pictures? Perhaps it has some utility if you’re setting up a mushroom farm? Haha, no, judging by the nature of the mold itself, it doesn’t seem to benefit humans at all. If this is indeed magic, it’s clearly useless and worthless — nothing more than trash.”

With a swift kick, the monk struck a wooden stump on the ground, hitting the carved face of Ksitigarbha.

“Mold causing disease? That’s unnecessary; just cursing would suffice. Fear induced by mold? Who exactly would be frightened by something as trivial as that? And even if someone was scared, how long would that fear last?”

“I see.”

“That’s why this couldn’t possibly be magic. Not only do I fail to recognize it, it’s useless, and its only function appears to be instilling fear. Hmph. The more I talk about it, the more convinced I become that this isn’t true magic.”

The monk paused for a moment.

“Perhaps it’s the work of evil spirits or malevolent ghosts instead. But since there’s no physical evidence, it’s more likely to be an evil spirit.”

“An evil spirit, you say?”

“Evil spirits often use fear to drain a person’s spirit and possess them. And these malevolent entities aren’t shy about performing all sorts of terrifying and bizarre acts to instill fear. Hmm. It appears our protective measures aren’t very effective, or the evil spirit is extremely subtle.”

The monk concluded:

This wasn’t the work of humans.

It had to be the doing of an evil spirit.

Other experts also nodded in agreement with the monk’s conclusion, adding their own corroborative remarks here and there.

This made the master also begin to suspect that it might be the work of an evil spirit.

“If it is the work of an evil spirit, isn’t that even more dangerous?”

“Haha, of course it’s dangerous. But worry not. I shall give you talismans infused with my spiritual power. Displaying them prominently will cause any ordinary evil spirits to flee in panic.”

The monk graciously handed over a few scrolls to the master.

“Haha. I poured all my spiritual energy into drawing these. There’s nothing better for warding off evil spirits.”

“To give something so precious to me… thank you.”

“Your gratitude alone brings me immense joy. I can already feel my depleted spiritual energy being restored.”

The master silently cursed the monk’s self-serving comments in his mind.

“Damn fraud. He’s practically advertising for offerings.”

But outwardly, the master remained composed, thanked the monk politely, and bid him farewell.

Upon returning to the training ground, the master, his irritation evident on his face, hung the talismans everywhere.

“Hmph. At least they’re well-drawn.”

Despite the master’s grumpy demeanor, upon seeing the detailed craftsmanship of these talismans that seemed to have been created with great effort, he somewhat comforted himself that the mischief wouldn’t occur again that night.

—

—

The next day.

“Damn it all!!”

The warrior couldn’t help but roar in rage.

Those con artists!

Every tree around the training ground now bore faces carved into them, mocking him openly.

As if laughing directly at him.