Famine 153: Divine Attendant Warriors

“Most of the time… they are conscious.”

At those words, Nidhogg’s pupils abruptly contracted.

He slowly turned, his voice cold as steel as he looked at Zhong Yanqing and spoke: “…Are you sure?”

—How long had it been since Tenman Fukuchi was destroyed?

Eight hundred years? Nine hundred? Over a thousand? Or even longer?

So long that the remnants of the Tenmai spell formations had long since turned to dust, so long that lakes and seas had frozen into glaciers, and the mines beneath the Gem Territory had utterly decayed, without a trace of civilization remaining.

Si Zhiyan’s farm stood atop the former site of the shrine; wherever you looked, the hills were covered in dark, foreboding blackthorn trees, with no sign left of the once-glorious Tenman Shrine.

Except for anomalies, nothing else survived here.

Whoosh!
Nidhogg’s dragon wings unfurled; flames blazed in his pupils.

“Such things cannot be allowed to persist!
If they still hold on to their memories, shackled here for so long, their mental state would be worse than any anomaly—who knows what kind of madness they’d descend into! When they finally snap, they’ll slaughter anyone in sight, like rabid dogs—what a nightmare that will be!”

Zhong Yanqing replied, “No. They no longer want to kill anyone.”

Si Zhiyan said, “Convince me. Make me believe that.”

Zhong Yanqing closed her eyes. “They never fought back.”

Nidhogg’s eyelids snapped up.

“All these days… I mean, since the day we arrived. The Blackthorn Forest has been watching us.”

Zhong Yanqing handed over a folder.

“This is my experimental report. Please look it over, both of you.”

Si Zhiyan opened the report; Nidhogg leaned in too.
Over these days, Zhong Yanqing had conducted many experiments. The Blackthorn Deadwood never produced any [points] from communicating with anomalies. They reacted to many things, especially to things related to Tenmai and Kazuko. Occasionally, they responded to Zhong Yanqing’s questions. Sometimes, when all was silent, their positions would shift.

There were even a handful of rare eyewitness accounts: players soaking in [Hot Springs] who found themselves in life-threatening danger were—on the rarest of occasions—helped by the trees.

Taken together, it all pointed to one conclusion—

“The blackthorn trees have never truly been bound. To be precise, they haven’t been restricted at all.
“They are here by choice.”

“We grew, we survived, we gained a foothold, we expanded, we mined, we cut down Blackthorn Deadwood…
“They knew. They felt it all. They observed our existence, our growth, our deaths… and now, watched as we chopped at them, stroke by stroke.”

Zhong Yanqing bowed deeply to both Si Zhiyan and Nidhogg, then raised her head.

“They never fought back. Not once.”

“And… during the defense against the [Eye]… Did you notice?” Zhong Yanqing said softly, “[Blackthorn Deadwood]… never actually killed a single person?”

Si Zhiyan and Nidhogg both looked up.

Strictly speaking, Nidhogg’s self-sacrifice hadn’t really been directed at fighting the [Blackthorn Deadwood].
Even at the height of its power, when Shi He burned away his own lifespan to fire [Poseidon’s Trident], it was hardly enough to shake the [Eye] high above.

Nidhogg ignited the blood-sacrifice array upon himself simply to drive that one battle-turning strike.

All the casualties on the wall had come at the hands of the anomalous [Human-faced Moths].

And the Blackthorn Deadwood itself—had caused far less harm than one might think.

On the frontline against [Blackthorn Deadwood], no one felt this more keenly than Zhong Yanqing.

During one operation covering Shi He’s assault, Zhong Yanqing was nearly impaled through the heart by a blackthorn branch. By the time she realized it, there was no time to evade, and in that split second, all she could do was close her eyes.

But when she opened them again, the branch that ought to have pierced right through her heart had deviated by an inch, scraping only her side and leaving just a minor wound.

The battle changed a thousand times in a moment—shaken, she only stood there dazed for a second before rising to fight on.

Yet that instant stuck in her mind like a splinter and would never be forgotten.

At the very end of the battle against the [Eye],
on the front occupied by the Virtual North Team’s Chosen and the Blackthorn Deadwood—there were no fatalities.

The Chosen were battered and bloodied, leaning on each other, but all returned alive.

And thus, after the battle, Zhong Yanqing began her research on the Blackthorn Forest.
She needed to know why.

——

The Blackthorn Forest was the [Beginner Zone].

This was a well-known fact.

The difficulty in this area was low; survival was far less pressured. The chief danger came from the forest’s ever-present mist. Compared to the treacherous icefields or the scorched lava, it was easily the most habitable region in all Tenman.

Many had at first viewed the forest with suspicion. Gao Zhai had once tried cutting the blackthorn trees for building, and when he saw them bleed, was terrified of being cursed and spent a long while in fear… Yet nothing ever happened.

The only time the forest showed aggression was during the [Eye] attack, when it activated under command and charged.

[Blackthorn Deadwood]
The warriors’ bodies still stood in death; until the very end, they fought for their gods.
They too had things they wished to protect.

But when their master’s orders vanished, they slowly retreated back to their original places.

The forest, vast as the heavens, gazed quietly and kindly upon all that survived. It endured all things.
Whether anomaly or player, all could coexist.

The more Nidhogg listened, the deeper his frown grew, incredulous as he looked back.
“You’re kidding, right? How did they become like this? And those berserkers who turn into monsters at a word of command—why are they so docile the rest of the time?”

Zhong Yanqing pressed her lips together. “I tried asking them about it. I was always given the same answer.”
“They just told me, they no longer want to kill anyone.”

“If I pressed further, they stopped answering altogether.”

“That’s why I came to you—to see if there’s any room for negotiation.” Zhong Yanqing exhaled. “Sorry. I just wanted to tell you what I’ve learned. The decision is yours, of course. Whatever you choose, I have no complaints.”

Si Zhiyan said nothing, turning each page of Zhong Yanqing’s report in silence. After a while, he looked up and said, “Let’s go.”

“Let’s take a look outside.”

…

By now it was dusk.

The sun sank in the west, red mist brimming but not yet risen, and the heavy fog churned in the dim light of evening.

The blade-testing players had already finished for the day and returned to the farm. All around, the ground was mottled and streaked with blackthorn sap—blood spattered by the trees. Countless blackthorn trunks, rigid as corpses, stood dead and tall, casting silent judgment over all in the waning light.

Si Zhiyan stood knee-deep in a pool of blood, gazing intently at the Deadwood.

Some trees were upright as spears, while others had cracked, broken bark, dried blood coiled around them.

Zhong Yanqing watched Si Zhiyan nervously. Nidhogg rolled his eyes and said nothing.

Si Zhiyan observed for a while, then suddenly said, “You’re here.”

A cold wind stirred behind him.

Zhong Yanqing shivered involuntarily. Looking up, she saw that high above, the branches were hung with threads of red; overhead, suspended midair, hovered a small, eyeless girl in ceremonial kimono, her presence both eerie and sacred.

[Tenmai Maiden] Kazuko.

Si Zhiyan said, “There’s something I’ve long wanted to ask.”

“Back then, when Aiko issued the order of [Sacrifice], what if someone refused to offer themselves for the greater cause… What then?
Although people were used to following the fate decreed by the Tenmai, the land was so wide—there must have been the rebellious few.”

Kazuko gazed at Si Zhiyan and after a moment, replied in a hollow, ethereal voice:
“…The Divine Attendant Warriors did it for them.”

Zhong Yanqing’s expression changed instantly. Nidhogg sneered.
Si Zhiyan, having expected this, only sighed without comment.

To Si Zhiyan and those around him, the Divine Attendant Warriors were just a name in history.

But for Kazuko, they had been uncles and elder brothers who raised her from childhood.

Kazuko was never fond of spiritual exercises, always running wild. The shrine maidens scolded her for it, but the warriors never cared.

One warrior, Uncle Yamada, had been converted and recruited from the ranks of rebellious ronin. He was unkempt, never shaved, always with a stalk of grass in his mouth—a constant target for the group’s nagging. Whenever Kazuko snuck off, playing in the woods, she would always stumble upon the lazy Yamada.

Uncle Yamada would hoist her onto his shoulders and barrel through the mountains, letting her ride atop him as they crashed through forests—watching brooks, birds, and deer, kindling fires with stones in a clearing, and rigging up grills from branches. The two of them would stare wide-eyed at the venison roasting slowly, turning from bloody red to a perfect, roasted brown, the thin, gleaming fat hissing and sizzling down the sticks.

Amidst the drifting smoke of the back hills, warrior and little shrine maiden would clap their hands in prayer, giving thanks to Tenmai and the mountain gods.

Before the last words of the blessing were recited, Kazuko would always peek open her eyes and snatch up the best skewer.
Uncle Yamada would shout, “You brat!” spitting out his blade of grass as he wrestled with her.

Sunlight filtered between the leaves above; their laughter and bickering echoed faintly in the forest, drifting away with the birdsong and streams.

When full, when tired from play, they would finally rest. Yamada would lean against a rock in the shade, hat pulled low over his face, stubbled chin showing. Kazuko would use his stomach as a pillow and declare, “When I’m the mightiest Tenmai Maiden, I’ll make you the clan leader!”

“Oh, please—Little Saint putting on airs now,” Uncle Yamada would drawl, waving the grass stem between his lips. “Clan leader’s got too much to manage. Even if I got offered, I’d never take it.”

He’d pause, hat tipping back just a sliver to reveal a squinting, amused smile:

“If you can still be happy and alive when you’re my age, still have the heart to hunt down a deer for a little girl to eat, I’ll… I’ll be content.”

…

Kazuko never lived to see Yamada’s age.

On the day Aiko steeled her heart and bitterly fought to the death with her sister, Yamada stood on duty at the main shrine’s entrance.

Kazuko’s screams, her hot blood, flowed through the sanctuary. She begged her little sister, begged the Tenmai Maiden, and cried out every name she knew.

Aiko had come prepared; as the ritual began, she sealed the hall with forbidden arts.

Uncle Yamada stood with his back turned, guarding the hall’s entrance. He gripped his sword so hard his hands shook, and in the end, couldn’t even stand, collapsing to his knees, his whole body trembling.

He never turned around, not even as Kazuko’s breath faded.

…

After her return, Kazuko never once returned to the Blackthorn Forest for a look.

She regarded the forest now with a cold detachment, and after a long pause, said:

“I should have realized it sooner. For all their origins—ronin or no—to practice in Tenman Shrine, they would have been chosen from the very best. Whether in skill or devotion, they were the finest. No one who idled away their days could have made it there.”

“In those days, I thought my sneaking out was flawless, but how could a child ever fool the Chief Priestess or the shrine elders?”

“At such a young age, the Tenmai Maiden could never understand how dangerous it was, running about the wild hills…
They had to assign someone reliable to ensure the maiden’s safety.”

Si Zhiyan paused. “But he never dragged you back.”

“Of course.” Kazuko smiled faintly. “Yamada always said that serving the Tenmai would strip you of your humanity. I was too young to bear that yet… You know, I never understood at the time. I used to tease him, said he was lazy, not acting like an adult at all.”
“Now I realize he endured plenty of pressure just to preserve a little of my useless, innocent childhood—dragging me off to roast a deer or a pheasant…”

“Haha, and of course Aiko would support him too. Aiko always spoiled me.”

The wild, laughing girl Uncle Yamada had protected with all his strength, was utterly defenseless before the Aiko who had been through that same “inhuman” spiritual training.

When Doomsday came, blood was spilled, and in the brief twilight of Yamada’s survival, did he regret the sky he’d once tried to shelter for that little girl?

“…I don’t blame them, really.”
Kazuko slowly covered her face.
“To realize I might end up like Aiko someday… It’s terrifying.”

“But he didn’t save me.”

“I’ll never know if he couldn’t save me, or just didn’t want to. And I’ll never know. When no one answered my cries, part of me was even grateful Aiko sealed the hall.”

“Tenman Fukuchi had many shrines. Only the warriors whose hearts were truly pure, who would give everything for the Tenmai and the people, could serve at the main shrine—becoming the core Divine Attendant Warriors. Every one of them was a good person. Even Aiko was a good person.”

“But they killed so many good people. So many, many good people.”

Kazuko had no eyes—no way to shed real tears. She doubled over, fresh blood seeping between her fingers and dripping from her chin.
Though she usually recounted the past calmly, this was the first time Si Zhiyan had seen her break down so utterly.

“At this point, why are they still here? Why are they still standing here? Why are they still fighting even now?”
“And for them to say ‘we don’t want to kill anymore’—isn’t it a little late?”

“When we go to war with Aiko, does it mean they’ll turn their swords on us too?”

“What a mess.
It’s all so complicated.
I hate it.

“I didn’t want to come. Not here, not now.

“I don’t know what to do.

“What about you? What does any of this mean? Why just stand here? Am I supposed to kill them all for your sake now? Why all this guilt? If defeating Aiko means slaughtering you too, is that what you want? I…”

“What am I supposed to do? What am…”

Her voice stopped abruptly.

Si Zhiyan reached out, pressing his fingertips to her shoulder, cutting off her collapse.

“It hurts, doesn’t it. Don’t think about it anymore.”

Kazuko looked up, her empty sockets trembling as they fixed on Si Zhiyan.

“Forget about blood, the Tenmai, the world—forget it all. Just answer me one thing.”

His voice was as always, calm and gentle.

“—Do you want to see them one more time?”

Not as the Tenmai Maiden, but as Kazuko.
Do you want to see that warrior again—the one who napped under the trees and roasted wild meat with you?