Chapter 173: Yasumoto and Washizu
Gorou didn’t know how to respond.
If he opened his mouth now, his true identity as a man would be exposed.
That thought alone filled him with unbearable sha.
Washizu watched the silent girl before him with a hint of contemplation in his eyes.
He let out a quiet sigh.
Judging by her clothes, she didn’t seem like soone from the Resistance or from Tatarasuna. Most likely, she was a tourist from abroad... or soone from Narukami Island. Still, those ears—
They reminded him of soone.
The Resistance commander Gorou.
But that Gorou was a man, and as far as he knew, had no sisters.
Must be a coincidence... right?
"Best you le—"
Washizu had started to speak, intending to gently persuade Gorou to leave, but midway through his words, he stopped.
His expression shifted subtly—he had heard sothing.
A beat passed in silence.
Then he turned his gaze back to Gorou.
"It’s cold and raining hard. Why don’t you co inside and sit for a while?"
There was still a polite smile on Washizu’s face, but it was no longer the sa as before.
There was sothing... off about it now.
Sothing sinister beneath the surface of that smile.
As a seasoned commander—and one with the sharp instincts of a canine—Gorou imdiately sensed the malice behind the man’s seemingly kind invitation.
His ears, which had been drooping from anxiety, shot up instinctively.
He reached for his bow, ready for a fight—
’—Damn! I left them with Himura-san when I changed clothes earlier’
His hand grasped empty air.
That’s right, he had left both his dagger and his longbow behind to make changing easier.
Now he was completely unard.
"You’ll catch cold, miss."
Washizu’s tone was polite, but his expression twisted into sothing unrecognizable—
The gentle man from monts ago had vanished.
His face now contorted with a sinister grin.
And as if in response to so silent signal, the nearby villagers began to converge, their movents slow and eerie, forming a loose circle around them.
The tension in the air was razor-thin.
The mont of crisis had arrived.
"Chief, it’s ti for your dicine."
A calm voice rang out from the entrance to the village.
Like a splash of cold water in the heat of sumr, it startled everyone present—including Washizu.
The fog that clouded the villagers’ eyes seed to lift in an instant, and their gazes grew lucid once more.
Gorou turned toward the voice.
Standing at the village entrance was a young man dressed like an apothecary.
He pushed a small cart through the rain. A single oil-paper umbrella was propped atop the cart, shielding the dicine barrels from the downpour.
Rain and sweat had long mingled on his body, indistinguishable from one another—yet his hands held the cart firmly, as though it were the only thing keeping him upright.
His determined eyes locked onto the scene before him.
"...Y-Yasumoto..."
Washizu’s voice trembled as he spoke the na.
He realized sothing was wrong with himself—sothing deeply wrong.
With a gasp, he dropped the hoe he was holding and staggered back, unable to et Gorou’s eyes.
His chest heaved rapidly, rain veiling his expression.
"It’s ti for your dicine, everyone. Co on over."
Yasumoto gave Gorou a quick glance, signaling him to head toward the village entrance.
Then he calmly went about handing out the "dicine" he’d brought.
The villagers, perhaps fully aware of their own condition, didn’t resist.
They lined up quietly, drinking down the sweet-slling liquid without complaint.
Those already too far gone, however, would simply stare blankly at the sky—
And then, one night, they would vanish quietly from the edge of the village.
No one knew where they went.
Back when the village was still healthy, Yasumoto’s teacher had once tried to follow a patient.
When she returned, she had gone mad.
To protect the others, the village chief had locked her away in the cellar.
She hadn’t made a sound in days.
"...Yasumoto, this dicine... it will cure us, right?"
Washizu held up the warm bowl of fragrant dicine, his voice low and hesitant as he looked to Yasumoto for an answer.
Yasumoto’s hands paused briefly as he distributed the dicine—
But only for a mont.
Soon, he was moving again as if nothing had happened.
"It will. I promise, it will work."
With that quiet vow from Yasumoto, Washizu said no more.
He tilted his head back and drank the dicine in one long gulp.
"...You should help that girl leave. It’s too dangerous here."
After collecting the empty porcelain bowls from the villagers with Yasumoto’s help, Washizu lowered his voice and spoke those words.
He understood it well.
If not for Yasumoto’s sudden call just monts ago, they might have...
No. Even he had already begun to fall under its sway.
"Village Chief... are you going to the shrine again today?"
As Washizu turned to leave, Yasumoto couldn’t help but ask.
"The seal may be broken... but it should still have so effect. I have to do what I can to maintain it. Otherwise..."
He trailed off.
There was no need to finish that sentence.
Both of them had already witnessed the Tatarigami’s power firsthand.
Even Yasumoto’s teacher—Naoko-sensei—couldn’t stop it.
And now... it seed that prayer to so unseen, unknowable deity was their only hope.
"Chief Washizu, I want you to look at this."
Yasumoto hesitated. Then, with a grim expression, he pulled sothing from within his robes.
A crumpled piece of cloth... no, a bedsheet, which he had kept hidden against his chest.
It was a notice, one that had been posted to his front door by a Shogunate scout who had slipped onto Yashiori Island:
"Residents, remain calm. Kujou Sara-sama of the Tenryou Commission is deeply moved by the plight of Yashiori’s refugees and has co to rescue you."
"The Commission will escort all who wish to leave safely off the island."
"If you require assistance, please proceed to the Tenryou frontline encampnt imdiately."
Logically, this should’ve been good news.
The authorities were offering help—Washizu should’ve been relieved.
Instead, his expression twisted again.
His calm, collected mask cracked, revealing a face full of suppressed fury.
"The Shogunate... the Resistance... they’re all the sa garbage!"
It was both of them—both sides—that had turned Higi Village into this living hell.
They were just farrs.
Ordinary people.
All they had ever wanted was to survive—was that too much to ask?
Why should they suffer for the sins of the Shogunate and the Resistance?
Washizu felt it again—that creeping sense of instability.
Realizing he was losing control, he quickly forced himself to calm down.
But the veins bulging across his forehead said otherwise.
"Show the flyers to everyone," he muttered. "If anyone wants to leave... I won’t stop them."
As village chief, he bore the burden of responsibility.
But when it ca to life and death, he couldn’t—shouldn’t—make the choice for them.
What if the Shogunate was sincere this ti?
What if so of them could survive?
So he left the choice to the villagers.
He wouldn’t hold back those who wanted to go.
Nor would he drive out those who chose to stay.
"...Hey, Yasumoto. Are you leaving too?"
Washizu turned back for one last question before walking off, watching the young apothecary silently sorting through the flyers.
Yasumoto, like his teacher Naoko-sensei, wasn’t originally from Higi Village.
They were traveling physicians, healers who wandered from place to place.
No one would bla them if they had left when the Tatarigami first appeared.
But even knowing the risks—Naoko-sensei had stayed behind.
Even if it ant her own death.
"...I’m the only doctor left here now. My skills can’t compare to my teacher’s... But—who isn’t afraid of dying?"
His answer began with a hint of noble resolve...
But ended with a whisper of despair.
"...So you are planning to leave?"
. . . . .
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