Chapter 323

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Chapter 323: Shrine = Gathering Branch of the Yingzhou Witches

Kokonohana Nori lost her way.

She had arrived at Sengoku Shrine, where she found amulets left behind by Saki Jingūji and Mizuko.

Following the amulets, she entered the shrine’s interior and discovered a mysterious entrance leading to the underworld.

After hours of hesitation, she resolved to step into the labyrinth of the underworld.

And then, she became lost.

The Underworld labyrinth was treacherous. Without a map or understanding its spatial distortions, no amount of determination or “follow-the-wall” tactics could guide someone out.

For Kokonohana Nori, the labyrinth was like a sprawling spiderweb, trapping her tightly. She found neither traces of Jingūji and Mizuko nor an exit. She left talismans to mark her path, but even when she retraced her steps, the markings seemed to contradict themselves. Two paths, both marked, sometimes led to the same place, suggesting that the space overlapped.

This wasn’t an isolated occurrence. Soon, she was entirely lost.

To make matters worse, the Scarlet Curse lying dormant in her blood was reaching its breaking point.

The night of December 14th approached, when the crimson moonlight would be at its peak.

No witch should wander during this time. They were meant to find shelter and resist the enthralling songs of the Chaotic Witch.

In Europa, witches resisted the Scarlet Curse with ceremonies that invoked the remnants of a king—a golden legacy passed down through generations.

But this was Yingzhou. Here, the blessings of emperors could not reach. Prayers offered across the ocean would be too faint, too distant to be heard.

Collapsing in the labyrinth, Kokonohana Nori struggled against the curse. Beneath her skin, her blood writhed like restless worms, and rebellious forces coursed through her body.

She heard distant songs—waves erasing the edges of her mind. Her bloodline was awakening, but it came with a rapid, grotesque transformation.

It was a metamorphosis most witches feared.

In the shrine, when witches began to transform, they were either treated—if symptoms were mild—or exiled to remote villages. Those in exile rarely lived longer than a decade.

If their transformation spiraled out of control, they became vessels for the Chaotic Witch.

It was cruel but necessary.

A Sword Witch who succumbed to the Scarlet Curse became monstrously strong, their power tripling in their corrupted state. But their madness grew tenfold.

Such witches were disasters in human form.

Kokonohana Nori had long known the curse festered within her. She hadn’t expected it to flare so soon. She leaned against the labyrinth wall as her body and senses spiraled into chaos.

Her back burned; her fingertips tingled sweetly; her tongue pricked as though it tasted needles. Every pore seemed to breathe. Her vision distorted as her ears perceived strange sounds.

Her body was mutating.

This transformation, she knew, would likely turn her into a monster.

She gritted her teeth, raising her ceremonial sword. If she was to transform, she resolved to die first.

Yet, as much as she tried, her body refused her commands. Cuts to her wrist healed within seconds. Her blood, charged with chaotic vitality, foamed and crystallized. Finally, she raised the sword to her chest, but each attempt to pierce her heart faltered.

In her half-transformed state, Kokonohana Nori collapsed into unconsciousness.

Her fate was left to luck.

If she was unlucky, she’d become an irredeemable monster.

But luck favored her.

She awoke to a voice and a sharp slap.

“Wake up, Kokonohana Nori. I am Saffron.”

Pain flared on her cheek where she had been struck. Forcing her eyelids open, she saw a translucent figure standing before her.

“Who… are you?” she whispered.

Her vision was blurry. The transformation had robbed her of her sight. Her pale gray eyes were useless. She couldn’t tell if the figure was human or something else.

“I am neither a resident nor a visitor,” the figure said. “You need assistance.”

“You can’t help me,” she replied weakly. “The Crimson Moon has claimed me. If you are kind, I ask you to take this sword and drive it into my heart.”

“When you are ill, you don’t die—you get better,” the figure said.

“I don’t want to become a monster,” she murmured. “Look at me—do I still seem human?”

The figure examined her.

Her body was a grotesque blend of melting flesh and crystalline formations. Scarlet blood crystallized as it touched the ground, and her exposed bones gleamed like translucent gems.

“Not much has changed,” the figure said.

“Don’t mock me,” she whispered.

The figure didn’t answer but instead placed a hand on her forehead.

“Focus your energy,” the voice instructed. “I will help you adjust. Trust me.”

Heat surged through her body, burning like molten lava. Yet, she felt no pain. Golden flames spread across her body, purging the Scarlet Curse. Slowly, her chaotic transformation stabilized.

Her eyesight returned. Her hands, once grotesque, now held a red crystal—a beautiful, radiant object born from her new energy.

“I thought I was doomed,” she said, tears streaming down her face.

“What is happening to me?”

“You are awakening,” the figure explained. “This transformation is part of your bloodline.”

Her vision cleared completely, and she saw the figure clearly—a young man with golden hair and eyes. His features were faint, translucent, and blurred. Yet, his attire was unmistakable: traditional palace robes from Europa.

Kokonohana Nori froze.

She recognized this attire. A portrait of it was kept deep within the shrine.

The man in the painting—the origin of the shrine itself—stood before her.