Chapter 430
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Chapter 430: He Can See
The golden tree talisman.
The shrine’s layers were carved by the bloodline witches in Kamiji Village using the natural resin that flowed from the golden tree during its growth.
It was a handcrafted item.
To outsiders, it only held slight commemorative value, but for the shrine sword witches and the followers blessed by the golden tree, it was far more significant. In times of crisis, it could even protect against disaster. By using this talisman, one could receive the blessings of the golden tree.
Originally, these handmade items were not given to outsiders. However, during the New Year’s visit, the shrine decided to open its doors to the public, offering a rare opportunity to worship the deities. To prepare, they hurriedly made dozens of extra crafts, varying in quality. These were given as gifts for the New Year’s visit, with the hope of attracting followers to the shrine. If they succeeded, it would be a blessing; if not, the items would simply be kept as souvenirs, with no harm done.
Nowadays, people collect stamps, and so the handmade crafts that were not sold outside the shrine naturally became even more valuable for collectors.
The shrine acted with goodwill and good intentions.
Therefore, when the talisman was stepped on and shattered, the situation quickly escalated.
This wasn’t merely the act of putting fruit on pizza in front of Italians or snapping chopsticks in front of Chinese people. It was almost as if someone had smashed the statues of the Holy Child, Father, and Mother in someone else’s church.
Most of the sword witches present had received education in Kamiji Village. They had personally experienced the golden tree’s blessings and witnessed the transformation of sword witches who had regained their former appearances.
In the days to come, they knew there was no need for uncertainty. It was more than just a blessing for a fresh start.
Beliefs are contagious. The deep-rooted convictions of the older generation in Kamiji Village profoundly impacted the younger generation. Beyond strong-willed individuals like Kokonohana Nori, there were traditionalists like Kokonohana Reiko. Now, the factions had merged, and any fundamental differences had been erased.
No priestess could tolerate disrespect towards their deities.
A chilling aura of danger spread as the sword witches’ eyes lowered, and the previously lively hall grew unnervingly quiet.
Saki Jingūji, feeling somewhat disconnected from the others due to her prolonged hospital stay and lack of witch bloodline, didn’t directly empathize. However, she understood the gravity of the situation and quickly stepped aside, choosing not to get involved.
Her decision to distance herself, positioning herself as an outsider, was a clever one. She would merely observe the unfolding spectacle, unlike the funeral attendant whose presence often caused headaches for others.
Jingūji, as a sword witch of the shrine, would never sit idly as a mediator. She anticipated that things would not end well.
But she underestimated the fury of the sword witches.
It wasn’t just anger—it was a thirst for blood.
The leading sword witch moved slowly, kneeling and carefully picking up the broken golden tree amulet.
Saki Jingūji didn’t have a strong impression of her, as they hadn’t been together for long.
Igarashi Shimizu said, “That’s Shaki.”
Saki Jingūji had heard of Shaki and Izumi, the two sword witches who had once contemplated jumping off a cliff to avoid the painful transformation into monsters. They were saved at the last moment, and when they awoke, the transformation had disappeared, replaced by new supernatural abilities. They described it as a true miracle, though their memories of that time remained unclear.
Inside Kamiji Village, they were the first to receive the golden tree’s blessings.
Later, they returned to the shrine, taking part in the intense training, where they were beaten by Bai Wei. They likely didn’t know Mr. White’s true identity.
It was better that way.
Igarashi Shimizu didn’t know much about the two sword witches, but she could understand Xia Shu’s feelings at that moment very well.
The pain was immense, and she could deeply empathize.
She, too, had no difference—her heart felt like it was filled with gunpowder, waiting for a spark to ignite it.
May our emperor be blessed…
This was a blessing from our divine emperor. The lowly people of Yingzhou deserve to be trampled upon!
Sophia’s memories had left a deep mark on her. Even after a hundred years, the strength of her determination, memories, and emotions hadn’t faded.
Sophia had treated the emperor like a worshipper treats a deity—devoted with every fiber of her being. Whether rational or mad, persistent or lost, she had always remained steadfast in her faith, pure and untarnished.
Normally, she could maintain her composure, but today, she couldn’t hide her emotions. She burst into laughter—sweet yet gentle, graceful yet icy, like cicadas signaling the end of summer.
Her laughter was loud and jarring.
But it wouldn’t last long.
Congressman, oh, what does it matter… This is a shrine. Hundreds of Yingzhou congressmen exist. If one dies, countless replacements will follow.
Congressman Asakura realized something was amiss. He quickly attempted to apologize, bowing deeply in humility.
Takeshi held the shattered amulet, knelt down, and ignored the apology, staring blankly for a moment.
After ten seconds of silence, she stood up and looked at the congressman. “The god remains silent. I didn’t hear any divine message.”
Asakura thought this comment had given him an out and hurriedly said, “Thank you for your generosity. I will definitely educate my daughter when I return…”
He assumed the matter would end there, but to his surprise, he heard a sharp sound.
Takeshi tucked away the broken amulet, then pushed the hilt of her sword with her thumb, unsheathing her personal dagger.
Sword witches, much like police officers, are exempt from the Blade Hunting Act. They are allowed to carry real swords and knives, though typically, they don’t. But during the New Year shrine visit, where they are responsible for arrangements, it was customary for each of them to carry a weapon. No one expected the shrine’s sword witch to draw her sword, not against an assassin or monster, but against a congressman paying respects.
“The gods didn’t say they would forgive you… Therefore, your actions will be seen as blasphemy!”
Xia Shu calmly stated the conclusion she had drawn from the silence.
She was an excellent problem solver, always sharp in reading comprehension, never doubting the facts.
The cold gleam of her sword illuminated Asakura’s face. As a member of parliament, he had some knowledge of swordsmanship. Seeing this, he remained calm, refusing to panic. He didn’t seem weak—he was a powerful figure, having climbed the ranks from city councilor to his current position.
If this were a normal situation, he might have even shouted back, using the sword’s drawing as an opportunity to strike.
But now, as his words choked in his throat, he couldn’t speak.
Because their eyes were different.
Those who drew swords in front of him were either outlaws or irrational. But the sword witch remained composed. She was angry, yes, but there was restraint in her anger. Despite drawing her weapon, she held herself back, as if some noble sense of duty prevented her from losing control.
What shocked Asakura even more was the similar expression shared by the other sword witches standing behind Xia Shu.
It reminded him of past events, like followers of an evil god.
Faith is like this—it’s neither good nor bad by itself. It only depends on what one believes in.
Clang… Clang… Clang…
The sword witches unsheathed their swords, one after another. They had killed mountain monsters and fought demons. They were seasoned warriors.
Since the shrine’s establishment, no sword witch had ever expected to retire. Most who did were severely wounded.
The guests in the room shivered as more than half a dozen glittering blades were drawn, their cold light freezing the air.
The congressman struggled. If he were alone, he might have considered kneeling and begging for mercy.
But he was not alone. There were other congressmen and high-ranking officials present. Kneeling would humiliate him, taint his political party’s reputation.
The shrine held equal power with the police department but was not under its control. It was accountable only to the shogun. Kneeling would diminish the authority of the cabinet and ruin his political career.
Normally, the shrine remained neutral, with its sword witch priestess shedding blood for the country, avoiding political entanglements. That’s why he could come to worship without concern—demonstrating that despite the emperor and the shogun, there were two suns in the sky, without ulterior motives.
Chao Kang, with a brave face and a self-mocking heart, stood protectively in front of his pale wife and daughter, even though it was his daughter who had caused the trouble.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
Xia Shu replied, “Of course…”
Apologizing and showing remorse is essential. A shrine can’t bully the weak, but neither can it tolerate insults.
She intended to say this, but to her surprise, Igarashi Shimizu stepped forward.
“Before going to the shrine, bow to the deity nine times. No one else can do it for you!”
She spoke loudly, intentionally making her voice clear, wanting him to hear and understand.
