Chapter 35: Shrine, Breach!

The motorcycle sped along the deserted mountain road. On both sides, black mountains and forests loomed and rushed toward them. In such a place, there were naturally no streetlights; they relied entirely on the headlight, making the world feel as if it were fast asleep, save for the dream-like roar of the engine.

Without a helmet, Mutsumi Wakaba’s long hair danced in the wind. She tucked her chin in, trying to hold tightly onto Sakiko’s waist. Through the knitted cardigan, the radiating warmth of Sakiko’s body was something to cherish.

The feeling was subtle. When she used to watch television, dramas featuring her mother often included scenes where the heroine sat sideways on the back of the protagonist’s bicycle, resting her head against his back.

Mutsumi had never quite understood the significance of that gesture. Now that it was her turn, she finally grasped it. It was truly comforting, as if the person in her arms belonged to her—as long as she held on, she possessed the whole world.

"Are you afraid?" Sakiko asked softly.

"I am a little," Mutsumi paused. "But because you are here, Sakiko, it is not scary."

It was her first time out so late, her first time in such a secluded place. Honestly, if she were alone, she might have been frightened to tears; those pitch-black branches felt like ghostly claws, and she couldn't help but worry that monsters might emerge.

She had awakened and evolved, her bones and muscles reinforced, ancient dragon blood flowing through her veins. She could handle knives and guns without blinking.

Yet, she was still Mutsumi Wakaba. Her heart could not be made impenetrable. She could not be as dazzlingly indomitable as Sakiko; only when following Sakiko did she feel her existence had meaning.

"We’re almost there." Sakiko looked at the GPS on her phone; the little dot representing her was slowly approaching the target.

The shrine was called the Shiraha Tengu Shrine. It could be found on the map, marked as private property, with opening hours displayed upon clicking.

At a glance, it looked like a tourist spot, but online forums claimed it was impossible to enter. No matter when you visited, the priest would always find a different excuse to turn you away.

It was three in the morning. At this hour, she didn't expect the yakuza to be out welcoming them, and besides, she wasn't coming with good intentions.

Both she and Mutsumi carried knives, and between the two of them, they had sixteen filled magazines secured to their waists and thighs. These weren't live rounds, but Frigg bullets engraved with red patterns.

Her mother’s armory claimed these had a rapid anesthetic effect. Sakiko had tested them; it was true, which spared her the psychological burden of shooting people.

Their opponents were yakuza, and the yakuza were never reasonable. They had used violence to capture Taki Takamatsu, labeling her an incurable "dead servant," and elimination was their final solution.

Although unknown reasons had spared Taki from immediate execution, keeping her temporarily safe, no one knew when the moment of the strike would come. There was no time to lose; every second wasted increased the probability of Taki’s death.

She wanted Taki to live, and they wanted her dead. To save her, they had to use force.

Such a mindset was truly hardcore. As Taki had once said, the dragon blood had truly turned Sakiko into a delinquent girl with a gentle exterior and an iron heart.

But when she heard those words from the crow, this thought had surfaced naturally, without a second of hesitation.

It was as if someone had snatched away something she loved, leaving a sudden, hollow ache in her chest that made her want to cry. Regardless of their reasons, regardless of the "justice" they preached—a dragon has reverse scales, and to touch them is to die. Every single member of CryChic was one of Sakiko’s reverse scales.

This would be an action based purely on violence to combat violence. Only the one with the harder fist had the right to speak.

Half an hour later, the motorcycle arrived at the foot of the mountain. The Shiraha Tengu Shrine was built halfway up the slope.

The place did not even lock its doors at night. A long flight of stone steps led upward, like a path to the heavens. Every few dozen steps stood a vermilion torii gate, flanked by blooming cherry trees hung with beautiful, antique-style glass lanterns. The dim yellow light illuminated the night, and the pale pink cherry blossoms were shrouded in an ambiguous glow, appearing as if they belonged to a bygone era.

Despite being a yakuza lair, it truly felt like a classical shrine, as if people in kimonos came to worship every year, their wooden clogs clattering against stone steps carpeted in cherry blossoms, carrying pious hearts to hang votive plaques for the coming year.

The motorcycle stopped in the open space beside the stone steps. Sakiko and Mutsumi exchanged a look, checking their gear one last time.

Their plan was simple: walk through the front door. Having no plan was the entire plan. Whatever demons or monsters blocked their way, they would just fight through. If they met someone, they would beat them to their knees, kick them over, force them to reveal where Taki Takamatsu was, and once found, they would carry her away.

"It’s not too late if you want to quit now," Sakiko said, sliding her magazine into a position for quick access. "Such a dangerous thing—I can do it alone. You don't need to get involved."

"I told you, I am your comrade-in-arms, Sakiko," Mutsumi said softly. "Whatever you have to bear, I will walk with you forever. If you are the sword, then I am your shield."

She drew the katana from her waist. It was so long that she had to press down on it while standing, or the scabbard would drag on the ground.

A flash of bright red seemed to cut through the night. The blade was slender with an exquisite curve, and so sharp it reflected the fine features of its wielder.

Just then, a cherry blossom petal drifted toward the blade. The moment it touched the edge, it was naturally sliced in two, the two symmetrical halves landing on Mutsumi’s shoes.

The alchemical katana, "Scarlet Stain," was one of Uesugi Etsu’s prized antiques. As a sign of the importance he placed on his second female disciple, it had been gifted to Mutsumi.

It was a sacred sword. Since its forging, it had never truly been unsheathed for battle. It had been worshipped by a cherry-blossom priestess, purified daily with melted snow and cherry blossoms, giving it that clear, water-like cherry-red hue—hence the name "Scarlet Stain." It was as delicate as a high-born lady.

Since joining Uesugi Etsu, even a famous blade had to endure the smell of miso soup. Now, it was finally in the hands of someone worthy of its status.

If the sword could speak, it would surely raise a middle finger and shout, "Bastard! Finally, I’ve escaped that old geezer! If I stayed there any longer, I’d be reeking of abalone ramen!"

Compared to firearms, a katana of this length was better suited for Mutsumi. Her familiarity with guns was nowhere near as refined as Sakiko’s; while she could understand them, shooting required practice. The sword was simply easier.

She and Sakiko had once conducted an experiment. Knowing a gun was about to fire, Mutsumi could easily cleave the incoming bullet. Her sword speed was faster than the bullet—not just splitting it in two, but decomposing it from different angles in the instant it traveled.

Uesugi Etsu called this technique the "Katana-Slicing-Mosquito Technique," and he had bought several large bags of mosquitoes, releasing them in a sealed room to let Mutsumi spend an hour cutting them all down.

One or two pistols could not break through Mutsumi. That was why she called herself a shield; such a long blade was for both faster attacks and a wider range of defense.

Sakiko’s lips curled into a silent smile. The happiest thing in the world is having someone willing to be foolish along with you when you want to act foolish.

As the wind ruffled their skirts and hair, they stepped onto the stone steps together, their different footsteps blending into a single, light harmony.

The road to the main hall was long. If the people living here had to go out every day, it must have been an adventure in itself. They walked neither fast nor slow, conserving their strength because they didn't know what they would encounter.

Suddenly, fine snow began to fall, and a moist, cold wind blew against them. The world turned white, but the snow made a faint, rustling sound as it struck them.

Sakiko held out her hand, and small white ice pellets landed on her palm. She realized immediately: this wasn't spring snow, but tiny hail. Because it was so small, it looked like snow.

The entire Shiraha Tengu Shrine was shrouded in this false white snow, as if some special magic had completely isolated this quiet mountain shrine from the outside world.

A PPK landed in Sakiko’s palm. Her pace slowed, and Mutsumi followed suit, the two drawing closer together.

A brief hailstorm in the mountains of April wasn't strange, but it had come too suddenly, like a preordained coincidence. As they passed each vermilion torii gate, the paper streamers on the sacred ropes danced in the wind, and an invisible domain descended.

The scent of danger permeated the air from all directions. Sakiko couldn't describe the specific feeling, but after training with her master for so long, she understood what novels called "killing intent." It was easy to detect when someone looked at you with hostility.

But now, it wasn't just one—it was dozens... or even hundreds! Imagine how it felt to be watched by hundreds of glowing beastly eyes in the darkness.

As if to confirm Sakiko’s suspicion, the cherry tree branches swayed precariously. A wave of bloodthirst wafted on the fresh night breeze. Gray-black shadows leaped into the interlaced tree branches, looking down from above.

Then, from the stone steps behind them, the torii pillars, and the roof beams of the shrine—in just a few breaths, they were surrounded.

At first glance, one might think they were domesticated dogs, but their slender limbs, heads, and broad muzzles were not those of any dog. Their faces were more vicious, sharp teeth protruding from their lips. Every feature indicated they were only distant relatives of dogs; their real name was wolf.

But the Japanese wolf had gone extinct in 1905! Yet, there were at least a hundred surrounding them—likely an entire massive pack.

Sakiko and Mutsumi stood back-to-back, gun and sword drawn simultaneously.

In the world of the Dragon, nothing was strange. Sakiko had even seen gods; why would she fear wolves?

It was just surprising that her first opponents weren't yakuza, but a pack of extinct wolves.

She had seen documentaries where Finns hunted wolves on snowmobiles. Every wolf would run in a different direction. Watching their comrades fall with no hope of escape, wolves would fight back even when shot, leaping at the snowmobiles with jaws wide open. At the closest point, the hunter only had to extend the barrel to fire inside the wolf's mouth; a second too late, and they would be bitten.

These were creatures that didn't fear death, and they would deplete their limited ammunition. While sword skills could counter humans, they couldn't handle dozens of wolves attacking at once.

The wolves stepped cautiously, their impenetrable circle slowly tightening. They were well-trained, moving in formation, waiting to swarm them once they were close enough.

Sakiko held her Murasame in her right hand and her PPK in her left. It seemed there was no way to enter the shrine gate without passing this trial. She had to save as much ammo as possible.

A bark rang out; the alpha had given the order. The wolves in front of Sakiko lunged from different directions. She had just taken a step when she heard Mutsumi’s forceful, low growl.

"Sakiko, crouch!"

It was Mutsumi’s voice, but wasn't she behind her? How was this coming from above? Though she didn't understand the situation, Sakiko instinctively ducked.

During their recent training with Uesugi Etsu, after being humiliated, Etsu had banned real swords, saying they were "too taxing." But he was still very serious. The two of them fought together but couldn't gain any advantage, always getting smacked on the buttocks with wooden swords. They had developed a silent rapport.

With her background in ballet and swordsmanship, Sakiko was incredibly flexible. Mutsumi leaped over her, executing a mid-air flying kick at the wolf pack. Simultaneously, a powerful gust of wind swept Sakiko’s long bangs, several blue strands dancing in the air. Had she been a second slower to dodge, that blade might have sliced her neck.

There was no sound from the wolves, but Sakiko saw a figure tumble past her, babbling.

Those long stone steps were like a perfect slide. The person rolled down until they hit a protruding platform meant for buffering, finally stopping. A gray shadow hurried over to lick the owner's cheek—it was a Saarloos Wolfdog.

"Oh, Sakiko, Sakiko, look at you. You fell for it the moment you arrived. How would you manage without me?"

'Mutsumi' proudly tossed her light green hair, the individual strands rising high before slowly falling.

Her smile was so coquettish and cute, her shimmering golden pupils looking like she was wearing golden colored contacts. She stood on the stairs several steps higher than Sakiko, allowing her to speak from a position of superiority.