Ten years.
It is enough ti for the world to turn over, for the old order to collapse, and for unknown nas to climb onto the stage and beco the stuff of legend.
The jujutsu world had transford. The Three Great Families had fallen into a deep, quiet decline. The Kamo, Gojo, and Zenin: nas that had once defined the peak of sorcery: were now relics of a fading past. No one knew how long it would take for them to rise again. A year, a decade, or a century. Their intricate webs of power and influence had been washed away by the tide of the era, leaving only ruins for the next generation to ponder.
The New Shadow Style rose to fill the vacuum. The school expanded rapidly, its disciples spreading across the provinces until it threatened to eclipse the forr status of the Great Families.
The Shogunate underwent a radical transformation as well. The power structure within the Tokugawa clan was entirely reshuffled, but the most surprising change was the appointnt of the first female Shogun. The girl who had once stood blood-stained and paralyzed against a tree on a ruined mountain path now sat at the pinnacle of political power.
In Kyoto, the Hisashige Dojo beca a household na, surging forward to beco the premier martial arts school of the Edo period. Fighters ca from across the country to seek entry, and its disciples soon numbered in the thousands.
None of this mattered to Kashimo. He did not care for the shifting of power or the rise of new schools. He was, without question, the strongest man alive.
Two things had occupied his ti over the last decade. It took Kenjaku four full years to teach him the entirety of his barrier techniques. Kashimo had ticulously dismantled and mastered the complex formulas, the layered structures, and the grueling ntal discipline required for high-level barriers. Four years, over a thousand days and nights, had been enough to fundantally rewrite his understanding of sorcery.
The remaining six years were spent in a different kind of partnership. They were nearly inseparable. Kenjaku found the targets, and Kashimo killed them.
Kenjaku would unearth nas from forgotten records or dark corners of the provinces: reclusive sorcerers, mutated curses, and ancient entities that had refused to die. He led Kashimo to each one, and Kashimo's task was simple to the point of being crude: he hit them until they stopped moving.
There was never any suspense. The strong targets Kenjaku painstakingly selected rarely lasted a single exchange. One punch, perhaps two, and the battle was over. Kashimo found himself sinking into a deep, heavy boredom. In six years, he had not found a single opponent who could bring him back to that heated, lethal edge he craved.
However, the rewards of his Binding Vow were significant. Kashimo's total cursed energy reserves and output had reached staggering levels. The power surging through his body felt like a deep, bottomless sea. Most importantly, Mythical Beast Amber was no longer a one-ti trump card. He could now activate the form without the penalty of death, turning the technique into a weapon he could draw whenever he pleased.
At twenty-seven, Kashimo sat on a large stone jutting out from the river. He held a fishing rod in one hand, his gaze lazily fixed on the calm surface of the water. He wore old, faded clothes, and his hair was tied back in a ssy knot. He looked like a man with nowhere to be and nothing to do.
The rod did not move. He did not seem to mind, sitting as still as the stone beneath him. Beneath the surface, shadows of fish flickered past, but none of them showed interest in the hook.
"I've found another opponent for you," Kenjaku's voice said from behind him. "Why haven't you gone yet?"
The black hem of a monk's robe fluttered in the breeze as Kenjaku appeared behind the rock. He wore the sa composed smile he had worn for years, his eyes drifting down to Kashimo's hand.
"Besides," Kenjaku noted, tilting his head to look at the unbaited hook beneath the water, "you don't have any bait. Do you really expect to catch anything?"
Kashimo didn't turn around. He didn't even shift his weight. "The opponents you find ," he said, his voice carrying a touch of casual disdain, "aren't worth the walk."
He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a sharp, sideways look. "I'm starting to think you're running out of lies."
Kenjaku arched an eyebrow but didn't argue. He simply stood there, his smile widening. Kashimo returned his gaze to the water. A light breeze stirred the surface, sending ripples through the reflection of the sky.
"As for the bait," Kashimo said, a small grin touching his lips. "There's an old saying: the willing shall take the hook."
Kenjaku laughed, the sound startling a few water birds in the distance. "The willing," he repeated, nodding slowly. "Then by all ans, keep waiting. We'll see if any of the fish in this river are willing to bite a bare hook."
Kashimo ignored him, adjusting the rod slightly.
After a long silence, Kashimo spoke again. The ripples on the water had smoothed out, turning the river into a mirror. His voice was quiet but clear.
"Kenjaku. Turn into a cursed object."
Kenjaku's smile flickered and then stilled. Kashimo finally looked at him, his expression flat and certain. There was no hesitation in his eyes, only a resolve that had been settling for a decade.
"Take to the future," Kashimo said. "To the era with Sukuna."
Kenjaku blinked and then broke into a genuine laugh. "I can't even guarantee I'll be alive in that era," he said, his tone light, as if he were discussing sothing trivial.
Kashimo didn't laugh. He didn't push. He simply waited for the answer. The wind pulled at Kenjaku's robes. He t Kashimo's gaze for a long mont before finally nodding.
"I will," Kenjaku said.
Kashimo turned back to the water. His rod remained still, the unbaited hook hanging in the deep, waiting for a fish that would not arrive for centuries. Kenjaku watched his back, a strange, unreadable expression crossing his face.
"Good," Kashimo whispered.
The ritual took place that night. Moonlight flooded the riverbank as Kashimo sat on his stone, his fishing rod leaning against his shoulder as if the day's work wasn't quite finished. He didn't struggle. He watched with a quiet curiosity as Kenjaku began to draw out his soul.
The process wasn't painful, but it was heavy. Kenjaku's fingertips glowed with a faint, sickly light as he extracted each strand of Kashimo's essence from his flesh and sealed it into his index finger. The finger began to change, dark sigils creeping across the skin until it looked like an ancient, weathered relic. It was a heavy, condensed vessel for a soul that refused to be extinguished.
The cursed object was complete. In the future, if soone were to consu it, Kashimo would be reborn. It was an anchor dropped across ti, a way to project himself into a distant world to keep an appointnt he had been waiting for his entire life.
Kashimo's soulless body did not crumble into dust. Kenjaku, finding it a waste to simply discard the vessel of the strongest man of the era, leaked word of its existence. The Hisashige Dojo and the Shogunate moved almost instantly, their shadowed struggle for the body nearly igniting a new conflict.
In the end, the Shogunate claid it. They placed the remains of the lightning god in a crystal coffin, sealed with layers of protective barriers and buried deep beneath the capital.
Inside the glass, Kashimo looked as if he were rely sleeping. His index finger was gone: the vessel for his soul had already been taken by Kenjaku, tucked away to wait for the call of the future.
But for now, the moon continued to shine on the quiet river. The fishing rod leaned against a stone, and the unbaited hook hung in the dark water, waiting for the willing.
(End of Edo Arc)
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A/n: So this arc is finally over and we're moving to the modern era now. You guys will start seeing so familiar characters, and i hope Kashimo's character becos clearer to u soon. Thanks for reading, new goal is 1k power stones.
For early access to 15 chapters ahead: p@tre~~/Demonic_Fiction (Link is in the synopsis and my profile).
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