Chapter 152: The Origin Of Mōryō, The Shrine Maiden Clan’s Fate
Hum——!
A beam of white light far more solid and brilliant than before instantly erupted from Miroku, piercing through that thin shield and precisely enveloping Mōryō’s chaotic, convulsing body!
Within the beam of light, countless golden ancient runes flowed, emanating sacred and powerful sealing power!
Almost at the same instant Miroku acted!
“Adamantine Sealing Chains!”
Menma uttered in a low voice, raising his right hand!
Space behind him distorted, and nine enormously thick chakra chains shining with dazzling golden-red light shot out like nine golden wrath dragons breaking through the void, carrying the majestic divine might to pierce all illusions and suppress all evil demons!
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
The chains precisely pierced the eight connection nodes between the snake heads and the core on Mōryō’s chakra body, as well as the most central chakra root!
Mōryō’s body, composed of pure dark chakra, emitted a screech piercing to the soul level under the power of the Adamantine Sealing Chains!
The dark purple chakra boiled and dispersed violently as if encountering its nemesis!
The nine golden-red chains, like the most solid shackles, tightly wrapped and constricted, forcibly compressing and restraining its massive, constantly struggling chakra body!
“Seal!” Miroku exhausted her last trace of spiritual power, her hand seals suddenly closing together!
The brilliant white beam of light and the golden-red chain glows intertwined, forming a massive, rotating sealing array!
At the center of the array, Mōryō’s eight ferocious snake heads let out one final unwilling hiss filled with endless hatred, along with its massive dark purple chakra body, were forcibly dragged and compressed, ultimately turning into a twisted purple-black stream of light, completely sucked into the core of the sealing array!
With a flash of light, the array rapidly shrank, finally becoming a palm-sized purple-black pottery jar covered in profound runes, clanging as it fell onto the blood-soaked stone slab in front of the shrine.
The clamorous, earth-shaking battlefield instantly fell into dead silence.
Only the wind blowing through the blood-scented shrine produced a wailing sound.
The scattered withered corpses, shattered ice crystals, charred marks after burning, and the sealing pottery jar quietly lying on the stone slab silently recounted the fierce battle that had just ended.
Miroku could no longer hold on, her body going soft as she collapsed behind the hall door, with Shion tightly holding her and crying loudly.
Uchiha Hikari slowly closed her Mangekyo Sharingan, the scarlet in her eyes fading, restoring to deep black like a pool, gazing at Kimimaro and White, seemingly scoring their performance on this mission.
Kimimaro silently retracted the bone blades on his body, his pale face showing no emotion, only slightly rapid breathing.
White directly knelt on the ground, panting heavily, his forehead covered in cold sweat, as maintaining the ice mirror labyrinth and follow-up attacks had nearly exhausted his chakra.
Menma slowly retracted the Adamantine Sealing Chains behind him, the golden light dissipating into the air.
He turned around, the white three-eyed fox mask facing the direction of the great hall, its hollow eye sockets sweeping over the collapsed Miroku and crying Shion, finally landing on the purple-black pottery jar sealing Mōryō at his feet.
In the Shura field in front of the shrine’s great hall, soaked in blood and ice, the air was filled with thick blood scent, burnt smell, and corpse odor, which did not dissipate with the end of the battle but became even more pungent and sticky under the stir of the evening wind.
Twisted withered corpses littered the ground, shattered ice crystals reflecting dim moonlight, charred marks after burning like scars.
Everything silently recounted the battle that had just occurred.
Ashikaga, who had been anxiously watching from the battlefield periphery, rushed over this mess almost tumbling after the battle ended, throwing himself at the tightly closed door of the great hall.
“Miroku! Miss Shion!” he cried out with a sobbing voice, his trembling hands forcefully pushing open the heavy hall door.
Inside the door, Miroku slumped on the cold floor, her face pale as paper, dried blood remaining at the corner of her mouth, the front of her wide white miko robe also stained red.
She tightly held the still-sobbing Shion, the little girl’s violet eyes filled with fear, her small body still trembling in her mother’s arms.
“My lord… are you alright?” Ashikaga hurriedly stepped forward, carefully supporting Miroku’s weakened body.
Miroku barely stood steady with Ashikaga’s support, but her gaze passed over him, landing on the open space outside the hall bathed in moonlight and blood light.
There, that dark red figure stood quietly, the white three-eyed fox mask facing inside the hall, its hollow eye sockets seeming to pierce through the shadows of the door.
“You…” Miroku’s voice was weak but clear, carrying a plea.
“You can call me Shura.” Menma’s figure silently stepped into the great hall.
The hall was filled with a faint blood scent and the little girl’s suppressed sobs.
Menma casually stood in the shadows near the door, moonlight through the high windows illuminating only half of his dark red robe and the jawline contour of the cold mask.
He did not speak, just quietly watching as Miroku, supported by Ashikaga, somewhat staggered to sit by the low table in the center of the great hall.
Ashikaga hurriedly placed the purple-black pottery jar covered in profound runes, picked up from outside, carefully on the low table.
The pottery jar felt warm to the touch, as if the evil imprisoned inside was still writhing unwillingly.
Miroku gently gathered the pottery jar in front of her, like holding a sleeping infant, or guarding a danger that might explode at any moment.
Shion nestled at her side, her small hand tightly grasping her mother’s sleeve, her pair of purple pupils still holding tears yet unable to resist curiously sizing up the mysterious person wearing the terrifying mask a few steps away.
Outside the hall, under the clear cold moonlight.
Uchiha Hikari stood with her back to the great hall door, quietly.
Her deep blue high-collared clan robes slightly swayed in the night wind, her vigilant gaze scanning every shadowy corner around the shrine that might hide danger.
Not far away, Kimimaro Kaguya leaned against a broken stone pillar, silently closing his eyes to regulate his breathing, his face expressionless, chest slightly heaving.
White sat on a slightly cleaner stone step, hugging his knees, panting in small gasps, his face still somewhat pale.
Clearly, the battle just now was still a bit too much for the two, after all, it was enemies with jonin level strength.
However, Yomi and the others had reached jonin level strength by borrowing Mōryō’s evil chakra, still some gap from jonin who cultivated it themselves.
The three of Uchiha Hikari, like three silent boundary markers, isolated the conversation inside the hall from the blood and danger outside, quietly awaiting the arrival of the Land of Stars reinforcements.
The air inside the hall was stagnant and heavy, only occasionally Shion’s sniffles and the slight crackling of candlelight burning.
“What exactly is it?” Menma’s voice finally broke the silence, like a stone thrown into a deep pool.
His gaze fell on the pottery jar emanating an ominous aura on the low table.
Miroku’s fingers holding the pottery jar slightly tightened, knuckles somewhat white.
She took a deep breath, the motion tugging at her internal injuries, making her brows furrow in pain.
Ashikaga tensely wanted to step forward but was stopped by a glance from her.
“It is called Mōryō.” Miroku’s voice was very soft, carrying fatigue.
“People all think it is an ancient monster, a calamity descended from another world.” She slowly shook her head, her gaze lowering, staring at the runes flowing on the pottery jar, as if gazing at a nightmare entangling countless generations.
“But it… is actually not an external thing.”
She raised her head, her purple eyes that could foresee the future now filled with sorrow, directly facing the two immeasurable deep points under the mask.
“It is the evil of ‘human hearts’, the dark thoughts bred from countless generations in warfare, oppression, fear, greed, like a turbid river, flowing and gathering on this land… ultimately, triggering violent nature energy, shaping it into this terrifying entity.”
Miroku’s voice carried a destined heaviness, echoing in the empty great hall: “Restraining Mōryō is the mission of our miko clan…”
She gently stroked the warm pottery jar.
“We are vessels, we are dams. Using our pure miko power and lives to contain, to channel, to seal these filth and hatred grown from human hearts and infinitely amplified by nature’s power.”
“We… are inherently the other side of this darkness, coexisting with it yet must restrain it with shackles.”
She paused slightly, as if recalling what Mōryō had said earlier.
An extremely bitter smile floated on her pale lips: “So, Mōryō would say… we are originally one. As long as the darkness of human hearts does not cease, the root of Mōryō will never dry up. Sealing it once is merely temporarily blocking the breach of the flood.”
“As long as there is suffering, injustice, endless desires and hatred in the world… it will eventually return.”
“The destiny of the miko clan is to pass down generation after generation, using lives to fill this bottomless abyss dug by human hearts.”
Shion listened in confusion, her small face full of bewilderment and fear, hugging her mother’s arm tightly, timidly asking: “Mother… why do bad things come out from our hearts?”
Miroku did not answer her daughter’s innocent question, just held her tighter, her gaze turning to Menma again, carrying a near-desperate inquiry: “Lord Shura, the Land of Stars you established claims to end warfare and oppression. This may be the only chance to sever this endless cycle of darkness? If human hearts can find peace, Mōryō will ultimately lose the source of its power.”
Menma remained silent.
The white mask cast shifting light and shadows under the flickering candlelight, completely hiding all his expressions.
Menma made no promise or answer to Miroku’s inquiry, his line of sight still fixed on that pottery jar sealing endless hatred.
He was now basically certain that the power used by the miko was nature energy, and the evil of human hearts gave birth to monsters like Mōryō; even sealing was only temporary.
Just like in the original theater version, ten years later Mōryō would still break free from the seal, even without Yomi there would be someone like Purple Spring or Red Spring to do this.
Inside the great hall, only the uneasy flickering of candlelight and the wailing of night wind over the shrine’s ruins outside remained.
“There is power thicker than yours in her body, why seal her power?” Menma gazed at little Shion behind Miroku, perceiving through Kagura Shingan the massive energy in the other sealed by a bell brooch on her chest.
Miroku was slightly startled upon hearing this, she lowered her head to look at her daughter, holding her tightly, as if drawing the last warmth.
“I just want her to be an ordinary girl, growing up safe and sound.” Miroku, as a mother, was well aware of the power in Shion’s body.
But the destiny of the miko clan made Miroku feel very guilty towards Shion, and earlier she had even prepared to seal Mōryō at the cost of her own life.
