Breakfast was warm.
Machiyoi barely ate a thing. Handkerchief in hand, she fussed over Ren the whole time.
Ren, for his part, had long since grown used to it.
Days like this
had lasted eighteen years.
After they finished, Machiyoi gently wiped the corner of Ren's mouth and stood to tidy up.
"Oba-san, I'm going out for a walk," Ren called toward the kitchen as he rose.
"Go on. Training matters—but so do stillness and focus," came her soft, waterlike voice, without her stepping out.
Ren left the main hall, left the manor, and wandered through the shattered streets of the ruined city.
Stillness and focus.
That was Oba-san's way of putting it.
In her words, having power is only the first step—you must also master it.
Otherwise…
you're just a beast ruled by power. A yokai isn't a yokai merely for having wit and wielding yokai energy; you have to control that power. If you can't, you're only a frenzied monster.
Humans are the same.
If you possess strength, you must master it—be able to control it.
Because of that, over the years Ren didn't just grind fists, blades, and sword every day; he also calmed his mind and grew according to his aunt's methods.
A quiet stroll after breakfast to empty his heart had become unshakable routine.
"Come to think of it," Ren murmured as he walked among the broken walls, "should I fix up this city?"
A city.
A city lord.
In this chaotic world, those qualified to be city lords are rarely ordinary.
Of course,
this city isn't large—at most it could hold thirty to fifty thousand people.
Those qualified to live within the walls are the big houses; common folk have no such right.
They live in the villages beyond the walls—nominally subjects of this city.
Whether the city lord or the noble households actually care about them…
is another matter entirely.
Unwittingly, Ren had wandered to the city gate. The heavy doors had long since collapsed into rubble.
For a moment,
he stared at the gate and drifted into a daze.
He was a true-blue womb-reborn; in theory, this city really was his property.
Yet he'd never truly considered
whether he should restore it for real.
"Restore the city, become city lord? Keep a few maids, shrine maidens, yokai girls… and live every day in song and dance?"
"Don't say it."
"Don't say it."
"No, really—don't. That kind of life sounds… exciting."
Ren chuckled to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
Truly—no denying it.
Any man would yearn for that life.
In this chaotic world, being a city lord isn't just office—it's ownership. Even 'emperor' doesn't quite fit.
In principle,
everyone attached to the city—and those villages outside—are your household, your servants. If you fancy someone and bring her back to warm your bed, it's taken for granted.
"Enough. I'll think about it later."
"Back to the fists."
"I don't buy it—Lv 8 is not my ceiling."
After a brief bout of musing, Ren let it go.
Life ahead was long.
In a world of night-parading yokai and human-spirit coexistence,
power mattered most.
Otherwise—
even if he poured his heart into rebuilding, a top-tier great yokai—or a top onmyoji clan—could just take it.
And then he wouldn't even have a place to cry.
In a world of the hidden and the mighty, your own fist is forever the core.
Ren didn't return to the manor. He planted himself amid the rubble of the fallen gate and started boxing.
Move by move.
Motion by motion.
His form grew ever more precise.
That was the gift of his Traits: though he still hadn't fully grasped their limits or rarities,
so long as he worked, every punch brought improvement.
Effort yielding return—
that was the truly frightening part.
Countless people—countless yokai—no matter how hard they tried, could not advance an inch.
But as long as Ren was willing to train, to improve, he could shed his skin and transform.
Time always ran fast while training.
By late morning, the sun was high.
Ren slowly breathed out a turbid breath. As he drew back his fist, his whole body crackled like popping beans.
"All these years,"
"and still, every session brings gains."
"This feeling… it's intoxicating."
Only effort, and you rise.
How could one not be addicted?
"By the time, I should grab lunch—better head back."
Ren turned toward the manor.
Only—
on this path he'd walked who knew how many times, a road he could traverse with his eyes closed,
the farther he went, the stranger it felt.
"I ended up… in a bamboo grove?" he whispered, staring at the swaying stalks ahead.
A city is the city lord's private domain.
On paper it could house thirty to fifty thousand, but in reality far fewer lived here.
Courtyards, estates, bamboo groves, ornamental lakes—
all of it the city lord's private constructions.
Naturally,
there was a bamboo grove.
Only,
Ren had never tended it; it grew wild. Sometimes he came here to watch the moon.
But why was he here now?
"Trouble?"
"Except…"
His instincts flared—something was off.
If there were trouble, Oba-san would rush over at once.
Unless—
"Looks like the trouble's… big."
Ren changed direction and kept walking, but no matter which way he went, he wound up back at the grove.
He altered course again and again—many times over—yet the result never changed.
In the end,
he couldn't say how long he'd wandered.
The bamboo grove still stood before him.
(End of Chapter)
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