*A darkness is swallowing the mountain—and the exorcists are doing nothing.*
When lower ayakashi vanish from the Yatsuhara range without a trace—not exorcised, not devoured, but hollowed out until nothing remains but empty vessels waiting for orders—the Matoba clan's young head, Seiji Matoba, is the only one who sees the threat for what it is. A forbidden art. Ayakashi-name binding. The greatest taboo of the exorcist world, and someone is using it.
But Seiji has spent his whole life learning t
The Law of Ayakashi: Seiji Matoba's Conviction - A Voice Calling a Name — In the Cave in the Valley
The afternoon sun slanted down across the old streets of Kirinotani, falling at an angle over the weathered rooftops. Matoba Seiji stood before a small Inari shrine at the edge of town, a navy haori layered over his black suit. The vermilion torii gate was peeling in places, and the shrine's bell hung eerily silent in the windless afternoon. He folded the map in his hand and glanced around.
The village at the foot of the mountain was strangely quiet for midday. Daikon radishes hung drying under the eaves swayed in the breeze, and somewhere deep in a narrow alley, a dog growled low in its throat. There were few people about; the occasional elderly passerby, upon noticing Matoba, uniformly averted their eyes.
Matoba met those gazes with a gentle smile.
"Good afternoon. I was hoping I might ask you a few questions."
The one he addressed was an old man crouched beside a field. The man set down his hoe and slowly raised his head. Deep wrinkles were carved into his sun-darkened face, and his clouded eyes traveled up and down Matoba's black suit.
"You're not from around here."
"No. I'm staying in town on business. I was hoping you might tell me a little about the mountain."
The man's expression visibly stiffened.
"I don't know anything about the mountain."
"I see. Then—anything unusual you've noticed there recently, anything at all, would be helpful."
The man fell silent, picked up his hoe, and began roughly turning the soil. It was a clear signal that the conversation was over. Matoba kept his smile intact, bowed, and took his leave.
That made five.
Matoba sat down on the stone steps of the Inari shrine and observed the town. Every house had its mountain-facing windows sealed shut. Under some eaves sat old talismans and small dishes piled with salt. The people of this town feared the mountain. And they refused to speak aloud the reason for that fear.
*Interesting.*
Matoba murmured it inwardly.
The disappearance of the ayakashi had not begun recently. The reactions of the townspeople made that clear. They had sensed something wrong with the mountain long before. For years—perhaps decades—they had known in their bones that something was happening up there, and they had chosen to look the other way.
"Excuse me."
He addressed a housewife passing by with her shopping. The woman, somewhere in her mid-forties, gave a startled shudder the moment she saw his face.
"Y-yes...?"
"Have you lived in this town long?"
"Yes, well... born and raised here, actually."
"Do you know anything about the mountain? Anything strange you've seen or heard recently, for instance."
The color drained from the woman's face in an instant.
"The mountain... you mustn't go into the mountain. That's what we've been told since we were children. That place has always had... something in it..."
"Something?"
The woman clamped her mouth shut. Her eyes darted about, flicking between Matoba's face and the mountain ridge.
"...I'm sorry. I have dinner to prepare."
With that, she hurried away.
Matoba watched her retreating figure, his smile never faltering.
*Don't go into the mountain—is that it? When they're this thorough about it, it only makes me more curious.*
He rose and circled around to the back of the Inari shrine. Behind it stood several old hokora, and beyond them a small shrine office. The door was half open, and the scent of incense drifted out.
As Matoba approached, a hoarse voice came from within.
"You there, young man. Have you business with this shrine?"
The speaker was a small old man who appeared well past eighty. His white hair was cropped short, and he wore a navy samue work robe. His back was bent, and he gripped a bamboo cane. His eyes were clouded white, but deep within them burned a sharpness that belied his age.
Matoba gave a slight bow.
"Forgive the intrusion. My name is Matoba. I've just arrived in town and was hoping someone might tell me about the area."
The old priest eyed him keenly.
"Matoba... I see. You're an exorcist."
Matoba's smile deepened.
"You have a keen eye."
"Keen eye, nothing. At my age, you learn to sense that kind of presence. So—what does an exorcist want in this town?"
"The ayakashi are vanishing from Mount Yatsuhara. I'm looking into it."
The old priest grunted softly.
"Nothing's changed about that mountain in a long, long time. Ayakashi vanishing, ayakashi multiplying—that's the mountain's own business. Not the sort of thing an exorcist needs to stick his nose into."
"That may be. But this time, it seems the circumstances are a little different."
Matoba drew from his coat the fragment of the old document. It was a scrap of aged washi paper, its edges charred, its surface densely covered in fine writing. The old priest squinted at it, his clouded eyes narrowing.
"This is..."
"You recognize it?"
The old priest studied the scrap for a while, then heaved a deep sigh.
"Where did you get this?"
"I found it in the mountain."
"I see... I see."
The old man leaned his weight on his cane and narrowed his eyes as though gazing into the distance.
"It must be more than twenty years ago now. Deep in that mountain, there was a man who carried a ledger with the names of ayakashi written in it."
Matoba's fingertips moved, just slightly.
"The names of ayakashi. In a ledger."
"Aye. Someone who used to come pray at this shrine happened to see him up there. Near the hokora in the ravine—the man was sitting on the ground, muttering to himself, writing in that ledger. And the pages were packed with characters nobody had ever seen before."
"Did you know the man's name?"
The old priest shook his head.
"No. But when I heard that story, I had a bad feeling. Writing down the names of ayakashi—that's not something any decent exorcist would do. That's a binding art. And not any ordinary binding, either. It had the stench of something terrible—something that tears a being out by the roots."
Matoba listened in silence.
"Not long after that, the ayakashi in the mountain started to go strange, bit by bit. Empty shells that had lost themselves began wandering the slopes. The townsfolk saw it, and they stopped going up there. These days, the only ones who go deep into that mountain are fools and thrill-seekers."
"Is the man with the ledger still up there?"
"Who knows. I haven't set foot on that mountain in nearly twenty years. But if the ayakashi there really are still disappearing, then maybe that man is still alive."
The old priest fixed Matoba with a direct look.
"Young exorcist. You're planning to go deep into that mountain, aren't you."
"Yes."
"I won't tell you not to. But be careful. That mountain has eaten people since long ago. Not just ayakashi. The mountain itself wears away at the minds of those who enter it, little by little."
Matoba smiled quietly.
"I appreciate the warning."
He bowed and took his leave of the shrine office.
*More than twenty years ago, then.*
As he walked, Matoba turned the old priest's words over in his mind.
A ledger with the names of ayakashi written in it. Near the hokora in the ravine. Intermittently, for over twenty years.
It matched the patterns of a certain man he knew far too well.
Unconsciously, Matoba clenched the back of his right hand. The old burn scar pressed hard against his fingertips.
*It can't be.*
He denied it inwardly. But the more he denied it, the more that "it can't be" took on the weight of reality and spread through him.
Dusk was drawing near, and the mountain's edge had begun to stain crimson.
Back at the inn, Matoba climbed to his room and first drew the document fragment from his coat. Under the lamp, he examined the characters on the paper one by one.
As he'd thought—they resembled the old talisman script of the Matoba clan. But they were subtly different. There were traces of the clan's techniques having been used as a foundation, with original modifications layered on top.
"...Troublesome."
He murmured it under his breath.
In the corner of the room, three shiki in the form of black shadows waited quietly. Of the shiki he commanded, only these three remained. Last night he had lost one, and he had dispatched another into the mountain to investigate.
Matoba folded the scrap and returned it to his coat.
That was when it happened.
One of the shiki in the corner of the room suddenly convulsed.
Matoba raised his head.
The shiki had the form of a small black shadow. Normally it obeyed Matoba's commands, lurking in the shadows to scout the surroundings. Now it rose slowly into the air, as though dragged up by an invisible hand.
"What—"
Matoba rose to his feet.
The next instant, the shiki vanished without a sound.
It was not destruction. Something had called the shiki's true name. From a distance. Ignoring Matoba's contract.
Immediately after, a searing pain shot through Matoba's right hand.
"—nngh."
He dropped to one knee on the tatami before he could stop himself. The burn scar on his right hand throbbed as though a heated iron had been pressed to it. His spiritual power as the contracting practitioner was flowing backward. The destruction of a shiki dealt its master a severe drain.
The pain was the same as the day his father's white fox had vanished.
The white fox dissolving into motes of light in the twilight sky. The small hand reaching out to grasp it. Fingertips that fell short. The searing pain, and the sensation of something being torn away from him.
Matoba gritted his teeth, enduring the pain while a corner of his mind analyzed the situation coolly.
*Again. My shiki has been taken again.*
The enemy was targeting Matoba's shiki. And deliberately draining the practitioner's power in the process.
Matoba exhaled slowly and waited for the pain to recede. Cold sweat traced down his temple.
*At this rate, it's a slow death. But—*
He lifted his head and looked out the window. Fog was crawling up from the valley, blurring the mountain's outline.
*I can't afford to retreat.*
After the pain subsided, Matoba picked up his mobile phone. A request for reinforcements to the clan headquarters. As head of the clan, he would demand personnel for the investigation.
He reported the situation briefly and waited for a reply.
Minutes later, the response came.
What appeared on the screen was a single line.
*"Operate alone. Do not cause unnecessary confusion."*
Matoba stared at the screen and did not move for a while.
*I see. So that's how it is.*
He quietly closed the phone.
The clan headquarters was trying to pin this entire incident on Matoba alone. A head of the clan who had lost his shiki—a disgrace. There were certainly those at headquarters who wished to see the too-young head fall from power.
Matoba stood by the window and gazed at the mountain ridge.
*If I withdraw, the clan will be delighted. But is that acceptable?*
He looked down at the burn scar on his right hand.
*It is not.*
Matoba took up his haori and quietly left the room.
Before dawn the next day.
Matoba descended alone into the ravine of the Yatsuhara mountains.
The sky was still dark, the eastern horizon just beginning to pale. The mountain path, a mix of cedar and scrub forest, was dim even by daylight. Fallen leaves, soaked by the previous night's rain, lay thick underfoot, and every step produced a damp sound. The air was cold, the smell of moss and leaf mold clinging to the back of his nose.
Matoba descended into the ravine with an unhurried, certain stride.
The Yatsuhara mountains were a well-known habitat for ayakashi in this region. The locals whispered that "if you wander in, you won't come back," and they rarely set foot there. Indeed, the records of the Matoba clan noted that this mountain was home to countless nameless lesser ayakashi, which occasionally harmed humans.
But now, the mountain was quiet.
Eerily so.
As he walked, Matoba probed the surrounding presence. He could barely sense any ayakashi at all. The faint murmur of spiritual energy that had once filled thi
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