I have an unlimited number of shikigami

Just then, a heart-wrenching cry suddenly came from outside the door.

"My son—"

The tent flap was suddenly flung open, and a man in his fifties stumbled in.

Hideki Kitahara, who was lingering at the door, hadn't even had time to recall the happiest moments of his life before he was suddenly overwhelmed by his old father.

The old monk quickly clasped his hands together, bowed his head, and silently chanted, "Being separated by Father, you must have left with a smile, Amitabha..."

"Officer," Mr. Kitahara rushed to Inspector Suzuki, his eyes red and choked with sobs, "Where is my son? Where is he? Can you let me see him...?"

“Uh, well…” Inspector Suzuki looked at him sympathetically and pointed to the old monk next to him, “Please ask the master, Mr. Kitahara, I don’t know anything about that kind of thing.”

"master--"

Mr. Kitahara turned around and grasped the old monk's hands: "Where is my son...?"

"Well……"

The old monk was at a loss for words.

“Sir,” the young monk, sensing his master’s predicament, cleverly interjected, “your son was just…”

The old monk interrupted him directly: "Wuchen, stop talking nonsense!"

"Master?" A big question mark appeared above the little monk's head.

“Come here, let me tell you,” the old monk whispered in the young monk’s ear, “This benefactor is currently in great grief, we should not upset him further, understand?”

"Mmm." The little monk nodded, seemingly understanding but not quite.

“We should use a more tactful way of putting it,” the old monk continued, “We monks are compassionate, and we should try our best to reduce the pain of the deceased’s family and help them accept the facts with a calm mind.”

"clear."

The young monk responded to his master's words.

Looking at the grief-stricken Mr. Kitahara, he thought for a moment and glanced at the minced meat on the ground.

If the husband cannot know that his son's spirit was scattered by his own actions, then simply reminding him of the fact that his son had already been killed by a vengeful spirit would make him more accepting of it.

I was so clever!

Silently praising himself, the young monk put his hands together, bowed, and said, "Mr. Kitahara, your son is being trampled under your feet."

"...?"

Mr. Kitahara looked down at the debris scattered all over the ground.

My son is so big...

Is this all that's left?

moment.

Mr. Kitahara felt a wave of dizziness, his vision went black, and his body collapsed weakly to the ground.

"Watch out!" Fujiwara Izaya reacted quickly, rushing over and catching Kitahara-san in his arms.

At that moment, the young monk with rosy lips and white teeth turned to look at his master, with a look that seemed to say, "Quickly praise your disciple!"

The old monk's face darkened.

“Uh… well, we’ll head back now,” he said to Fujiwara Izaya with a smile, trying to maintain the demeanor of a venerable monk. “I’ll leave the rest to you, Fujiwara-kun. If you need anything, you can come to Senso-ji Temple to find me anytime.”

That's all.

Fujiwara Izaya could not reply.

The old monk grabbed the young monk and hurriedly ran outside.

Those who didn't know the situation might have thought that Senso-ji Temple was on fire and they were rushing back to put it out.

I hope there's no corporal punishment at Senso-ji Temple... Fujiwara Izaya silently prayed for the young monk, handed Mr. Kitahara over to the doctor outside the tent, and turned to talk to Inspector Suzuki about the case.

Chapter 29. A Mountain-like Pressure

"At 3:15 a.m. today, according to surveillance footage, Hideki Kitahara and Hayate Momose did not leave the bar. After saying goodbye to their friends, they drove from Yoshiwara toward Asakusa."

As Inspector Suzuki spoke, he opened his laptop on the desktop and retrieved the surveillance footage along the route.

"Have you asked those friends?" Fujiwara Izaya asked.

“My colleagues questioned them early this morning, and they were all still hungover. There are no useful clues for now. By the way, I’m going outside for a smoke. Little Master, you can check the surveillance footage along the way.”

At this point, Inspector Suzuki lit a cigarette and crawled out of the tent.

Fujiwara Izaya was looking at the screen alone.

The surveillance footage was limited. At 3:30 a.m., when Hideki Kitahara arrived at the crime scene, his car braked suddenly, skidded, and crashed into the roadside guardrail. Just as he opened the car door and got out to check, the surveillance footage went black.

Needless to say, something must have deliberately sabotaged the surveillance system.

"Hey, little mage, what would you like to drink?" Inspector Suzuki poked his head in and asked.

"The cola is ready."

"It'll be here soon!"

Soon, Inspector Suzuki came in with two cans of cola, handing one to Izaya Fujiwara.

"It's obvious, premeditated murder!" the officer concluded.

Fujiwara Izaya sipped his cola.

Quietly pondering, in the now-quiet tent, Inspector Suzuki could almost hear the sound of his mind racing.

It can be concluded that this is a paranormal case.

The scene was terrifying!

Even the most ruthless and perverted murderer couldn't chop a corpse into such small and irregular pieces.

But then an even more serious problem arises.

The vengeful spirit couldn't have appeared out of thin air; it must have been brought here by someone!

In other words, the culprit behind this murder case involving vengeful spirits may possess methods for controlling and creating vengeful spirits.

Getting rid of vengeful spirits is simple...

The real challenge is figuring out the more dangerous culprit behind it all.

After thinking for a moment, Fujiwara Izaya finished a can of cola and asked Inspector Suzuki, "Does Kitahara Hideki have any enemies?"

“This kind of spendthrift young master has a lot of enemies…” Inspector Suzuki smiled bitterly, his hands resting on the table. “It’s only been four months this year, and he’s already been to the police station three times for fighting. Who knows how many people he’s offended.”

"Who else is in his family?"

“His older brother is on his way. Hmm, I need to tell you about this,” Inspector Suzuki bent down and pulled up a file on his computer. “This is his brother’s information. Take a look.”

Fujiwara Izaya read the entire document carefully.

Compared to his younger brother, this older brother, Kitahara Takaki, is much more impressive. A genius student in the architecture department at Keio University, he had already won numerous awards in the architecture industry while in school. Upon graduation, he immediately took over the family's architecture company, and his business is thriving.

“It seems that Kitahara Hideki’s friend mentioned something,” Inspector Suzuki said. “Kitahara Hideki used to be an optimist and a confident person, but ever since his brother got into Keio University, he has become cynical and started to give up.”

“I have no interest in other people’s family affairs,” Fujiwara Izaya said, rubbing his head with his hands to relax his muscles.

At this moment, a man in his late twenties walked into the tent. He was not very tall, and wore a gray suit with broad shoulders, a snow-white shirt underneath, a dark gray silk tie, and shiny black leather shoes.

This is Kitahara Takaki, the older brother of Kitahara Hideki and the president of Kitahara Architectural Design Office.

"Mr. Kitahara, come this way." Inspector Suzuki beckoned.

"Hello." Kitahara Takaki bowed before walking over and listening to Inspector Suzuki give him a brief overview of the case.

Fujiwara Izaya noticed that although his clothes and hair were neat, his eyes were dry, swollen, and lifeless, like those of a patient suffering from chronic insomnia.

"We arrived at the crime scene at 4:15 a.m. today after receiving an emergency call from our colleagues..." After briefly explaining what happened, Inspector Suzuki rubbed his nose. "The murderer who killed your brother is probably not human."

If an ordinary person heard this, they would probably think the police were talking nonsense.

But Kitahara Takaki's expression remained unchanged, as if he knew of the existence of ghosts. He simply took a deep breath, then slumped his head, his gaze seemingly examining the luster of his leather shoes.

Fujiwara Izaya was somewhat curious about his reaction.

Even if one knew there were ghosts, a normal person's first reaction would be to ask the police to help catch the murderer. But this man seemed to have resigned himself to his fate, letting his energy drain away from his body little by little without struggling at all.

There's definitely something wrong.

“Hello, Mr. Kitahara,” Fujiwara Izaya stepped forward and introduced himself. “I am Fujiwara Izaya, a priest of Asakusa Shrine. I will be taking over this case.”

Kitahara Takaki looked up at him and said, "Greetings, Master Fujiwara."

My throat is hoarse.

The voice lacks variation, is monotonous, and devoid of emotion.

"What problem have you encountered?" Fujiwara Izaya asked.

Kitahara Takaki remained silent for a few seconds, then shook his head: "No, thank you for your concern, Master."

Inspector Suzuki glanced at Fujiwara Izaya, knowing he had something to do, so he immediately turned around and crawled out of the tent, thoughtfully zipping up the curtain before standing guard at the door.

In the now dimly lit tent, Kitahara Takaki frowned, sensing something was wrong.

Fujiwara Izaya didn't say a word, but just turned his neck and pinched his knuckles.

"You don't mean to hit me..."

Before he could finish speaking, Kitahara Takaki's vision was instantly consumed by the extreme darkness.

It's like being inside a black hole, where nothing tangible can be recognized, including your own body. You can't even sense the existence of anything; all you feel is black nothingness.

"you……"

Kitahara Hideki opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.

My throat was so dry it felt like it was on fire, and even swallowing saliva was difficult.

An overwhelming sense of oppression washed over him. His shirt was soaked with cold sweat, almost dripping wet. He felt as if he were being crushed by a mountain, unable to move his limbs.

"Mr. Kitahara, I hope you can help me honestly."

After saying that, Fujiwara Izaya removed the pressure from his physical body and stretched out his hand forward.