I planted a sacred tree in Tokyo.

Chapter 129 Priest
Wakayama Prefecture, Shingu City.

This is a small coastal city surrounded by several famous shrines and temples.

But it was clear that, faced with the onslaught of the 'demon tide,' these shrines and temples without any supernatural powers had been deserted, and the hundreds of thousands of people in Shingu City had also fled.

In broad daylight, in an empty city, a white fog covered half of the urban area; such an abnormal scene was undoubtedly the work of an extraordinary hand.

"I don't want to waste my time with you,"

In the mist, Jun Kishida, holding an umbrella, frowned as he looked at the person blocking his way.

“I’m going to deal with the demons. As a government ‘lackey,’ why aren’t you dealing with the demons? What are you doing blocking my way?”

"Gululu~~"

"Wang Wang!"

Two giant dogs, each three meters tall, growled softly.
Even amidst this dense fog, they can pinpoint each other's location.

"You killed Watari,"

Between the two giant dogs stood a girl with an icy expression.

"So, you've come here for revenge?"

Upon hearing the words of the 'Rain Woman' being disturbed by the rushing water in the mist, Tanimura Hoshino shook her head slightly.

"No,"

Even if you kill the 'Rain Woman', you cannot bring her back to life.

"I want to see 'Ghost Messenger White'."

"As a messenger of the underworld, he has the ability to resurrect people."

"That's why you'd risk your life for him, isn't it? I can too."

As long as she can revive Wataru Tanimura, it doesn't matter whether he serves the government, the underworld, or some other being.

Jun Kishida, who was holding an umbrella, had already guessed what the 'big sister' with two extraordinary giant dogs wanted.

"Feel sorry,"

"I do not have the means to contact Lord Ghost Messenger Bai."

"In that case——"

"Roar!!"

Next second,
The fog was suddenly pushed aside by a violent force.

A giant dog with three heads lunged toward Kishida Jun's location!

Wow~~
The dragon-shaped streams of water lunged at the three-headed giant dog with claws outstretched.

Two beings, both considered 'strongest' among the many extraordinary beings, began a fierce battle in the mist! Claws swung and tore through the reinforced concrete, leaving marks dozens of meters long; water dragons roared and surged, smashing and sweeping away everything in their path.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"soul,"

While the two were fighting, the "Ghost Messenger White" they were talking about was actually in this area.

Floating above an abandoned village, 'Ghost Messenger White' looked down at the corpses lying on the ground: they were all clutching their necks with both hands, and judging from their twisted bodies, they had died of suffocation.

The reason is simple: a thermobaric bomb exploded over the village.

Many people believe that thermobaric bombs burn violently, depleting the air supply and causing people to suffocate and die. This statement is both true and false.

Yes, because those who died in the village below did indeed die of suffocation; no, because they did not die from exhaustion of air: no matter how powerful a thermobaric bomb is, it cannot burn for very long. The consumed air will rush in from other areas in a short time to fill the gap here.

What's truly deadly is the scorching air at the center, reaching a temperature of 2500 degrees Celsius, that spreads outwards!

When a living organism breathes such hot air, its nasal cavity, respiratory tract, and lungs will be burned and stuck together.

A person who is not yet dead will instinctively scratch their neck and then die of 'suffocation': not because there is no air, but because they cannot breathe.

But none of that mattered. What truly concerned 'Ghost Messenger White,' or rather, You, was the point of light that only he could see, swirling at his fingertips:
"This world has a soul,"

Tanimura Wataru and Onoda have already proven the existence of the soul.

What Yu is experimenting with now is how to preserve the soul.

Or,

How can we create a space for the soul to exist?

Pure Land
The Sage of Six Paths used the 'Pure Land' to preserve the souls of all ninjas in the ninja world. Combined with the 'White Zetsu' army, that would be a formidable undead legion. Regardless of whether this conjecture is correct or not, at the very least, the Pure Land was indeed the Sage of Six Paths' backyard, where he could come and go as he pleased.

If we can simulate and create a 'pure land', then in a sense, we are the true 'gods'!
After all, if you can control even the soul, what else can't you do?

"Unfortunately, we have no clue."

The souls of ordinary people swirl like quicksand at our fingertips.

The 'Ghost Messenger Bai,' who is seen by the world as a messenger of the underworld, is actually troubled about how to open up the 'underworld'.

It seems that more practice of the Yamanaka family's secret techniques is needed to develop soul ninjutsu.

While I'm at it, I'll find something for the little octopus's church to do.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

new York,

Clinton District.

It may sound like just an ordinary area, but if you change its name, many foreigners will suddenly realize its significance.

Hell's Kitchen!

That's right, this isn't some 'fictional' area from a movie, but a real place.

Half a century ago, this place was known as a slum and a place that produced many criminals or gangsters; however, due to its proximity to the Midtown Manhattan business district, it has experienced rapid development thanks to the continuous investment of real estate developers, and real estate values ​​and rents have grown significantly, even exceeding the Manhattan average.

Today, this area is no longer a place where ordinary people can live;
The place is frequented by America's 'elites', and the name Hell's Kitchen has been largely forgotten for many years.

However, this does not mean that evil is unrelated to this. When night falls, large numbers of men and women of all skin colors take to the streets to release their pent-up energy, which also brings a lot of security problems. Even though the New York City government has deployed a lot of police force, it cannot stop those troublesome black people.

By the way, the mayor of New York City is also a Black man.

As the city that claims to be the most 'diverse', it is a place where a large number of races and forces are intertwined, and its complexity is terrifying, especially in this era of supernatural arrival.

"This is America,"

A red-haired girl was walking down the street.
His gaze swept over the black men setting up stalls nearby.

These black men carried a rope that was connected to the four corners of the canvas stall in front of them. With just a pull of the rope, they could pack up the canvas stall in front of them, carry it on their backs, and run away!

These street stalls, however, sell only top-tier luxury goods: Chanel cosmetics, Boucheron jewelry, Estée Lauder shoes, and Louis Vuitton bags.
This isn't some counterfeit; it's the real deal. The seller, Lao Hei, can vouch for you with his own hands that he got it from the XXXX authorized dealer.

Hearing this, the origin of the goods is self-evident.

Traditional zero-dollar purchase
"What a country with absolutely no manners!"

The red-haired girl quickened her pace and hurriedly left the street.

She had a pair of eyes as green as a lake, three-dimensional features, fair skin, and long wine-red hair, which was braided and hung down in front of her right chest: this was not a dyed hair color, but the girl's natural hair color.

Because she was Scottish, or Celtic.

This is because the climate conditions in the Glen region, combined with genetic mutations, have led to the hereditary phenomenon of red hair among the residents there.

Redheads have lighter skin and are more sensitive to ultraviolet rays. With the increase in global inter-ethnic exchange and the increasing frequency of inter-ethnic mixing, the probability of inheriting red hair has been greatly reduced. Perhaps in a few decades, there will be no more redheads.

But in this era where you can dye your hair at will, who cares about these things?

"Although I left a letter, Mom will definitely be angry."

The girl muttered to herself that her parents divorced when she was very young: her father, yearning for freedom, went on an adventure to America alone; while her mother, rational and calm, inherited the family business.

As she grew older, the adventurous spirit within the girl gradually emerged, and she eventually chose the same path as her father.

"I wonder if there's any information about supernatural powers this time."

Supernatural powers have existed for quite some time, but unlike the island nation where the fighting is 'fierce', other countries don't even have a single 'supernatural hair'.

Under the joint blockade by island nations and America, it seems that the extraordinary has become their exclusive domain; at the United Nations General Assembly, there is constant bickering, and other countries are almost joining forces to force America to 'share' the extraordinary information and resources!

Forget about island nations; they're surrounded by the sea, making illegal immigration virtually impossible.

To enter the island nation, you need to wait in line for several years!

But America is different.

There were no traffic restrictions in America, and given America's character, they would definitely bring good things home.

Therefore, there are quite a few people like this girl who come to this city to "try their luck".

Arriving at a bar on a back street, the girl knocked on the door.

Knock knock knock,

Dong Dong,

She waited quietly, and a few seconds later, the door opened, revealing a face whose upper half was covered by a hood.

The other person glanced at the girl from under his hood and then stepped aside.

As the girl entered the room, the door closed silently.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

This is an ordinary bar.

Both the decor and the lighting were typical of any bar: except there were no strippers or customers whistling and drinking.

Only a group of girls dressed in yellow robes, their hoods covering the upper half of their faces, sat quietly in the bar, causing the girl with her hands in her pockets to frown slightly.

"Where is the intelligence I purchased?"

As the girl cautiously inquired, a group of men in yellow robes stood up.

"Ha, naive girl, you think you can buy information related to 'extraordinary' things with that little bit of money?"

The person who opened the door for her turned around and looked at her with a half-smile under his hood.

Are Englishmen all so easily fooled?

"As expected, it was my mistake to rely on scum like you."

But apart from these scumbags, the girl had no other way to contact the 'extraordinary'.

"Catch her!"

The hooded man who opened the door waved his hand, and two men in yellow robes immediately stepped forward with sinister smiles.

Bang!Bang!
The next second, the two brazen guys who had rushed forward fell backward to the ground, blood gushing from their mouths and noses, clutching their faces and groaning in pain.

? !
"Let me show you."

As the two men in yellow robes fell, the girl had already clenched her fists and held them in front of her.

He charged forward in a standard boxing stance, and to the man's horror, his fist flew upwards, delivering a perfect uppercut to the man's chin.

"The Scottish lady's fist."

Contrary to the stereotypical image of Englishmen as 'elegant and composed'.

Modern boxing originated in England. In 1867, the Marquess of John Shoreto Douglas, as a boxing champion, compiled the rules of boxing, which were recognized worldwide in 1891, and boxing was truly codified in the world.

It was only later popularized and developed by the United States.

"Woo~~~"

The excruciating pain in his jaw caused the hooded man to fall straight down, and the other men in yellow robes immediately rushed over.

But they soon discovered that their haphazard, unpredictable swinging and grabbing was no match for their opponent in the complex environment of a bar.

When some people realized what was happening and were about to grab their weapons, they were shocked to find that most of their companions were lying on the ground.

Bang!
With the last man in the yellow robe,

The red-haired girl, who had been punched in the stomach and was slowly falling to the ground, finally let out a long breath.

"You shouldn't underestimate me."

"You are mean!"

The man in the yellow robe who had fallen to the ground looked up and was met with a cold metal blow to his face.

Thump,

"Aren't you despicable to have so many people ganging up on me, a girl?"

Perhaps inheriting her father's adventurous spirit, the girl's academic performance was not outstanding, but her athletic talent was exceptional.

Years of practice, along with the brass knuckles she wears, are what give her the courage to pursue the extraordinary alone.

Another bunch of scammers, don't they have any—

Sizzle sizzle sizzle

The next second, the girl trembled violently and fell straight to the ground.

"Pah, you damn bitch!"

The hooded man, who had gotten up from the ground and was holding a taser, cursed angrily.

Do you think you're extraordinary?

In America, fists and feet alone are not enough: if it weren't for the goal of capturing them alive, American Iaijutsu could easily take down any fighting champion.

Two long wires were connected to the convulsing girl. The hooded man stood up, stepped forward, and kicked her hard in the stomach before waving his hand.

"take away."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"Sing praises to our Lord,"

"He sleeps among the distant stars, He watches over the decaying world. May the Black Star rise as usual, may the Black Star never fall."

In a daze, the red-haired girl regained consciousness. The prayer in her ear startled her, and she instinctively tried to get up, but only managed to produce a futile metallic clanging sound.

He's handcuffed!

The coldness in her hands and feet quickly brought her to her senses, but what filled her with even greater despair was:

A chill ran through my entire body.

Tilting your head, you can see a complex, bright red magic circle on the ground, as well as rows of lit candles.

Further away, a group of people dressed in yellow robes stood with their heads bowed, their prayers echoing throughout the room, creating an eerie yet sacred feeling.

“My Lord, this is the virgin blood offered by your humble believer.”

Amidst the footsteps, the hooded man approached, looking down at the girl in the 'altar,' and pulled out a dagger.

Wow, what a beauty!
Oh, my Lord, I had absolutely no intention of blaspheming the offerings.

The hooded man banished his habitual 'distractions' and slashed the girl's wrist with his dagger.

As blood gushed out, the red-haired girl, who had witnessed everything with her head tilted to the side, slowly closed her eyes.

I'm sorry.
Mother, father.

Her journey has come to an end.
'interesting,'

Just then, a strange voice rang out.

No, this wasn't a 'sound,' but a consciousness: it was echoing directly in her mind.

Want to understand the meaning of life? Want to truly live?

(End of this chapter)