Chapter 17
"To be precise, you're flying on the back of a shikigami," Genji corrected. "Shadow Crane's speed is no slower than an airplane's, and its maneuverability is much higher. And…"
He paused, then reached out and pointed forward. "Look over there."
Eriri looked in the direction of his finger. In the distant sky, a commercial airliner was slowly flying, its lights blinking. And Shadow Crane—obviously huge—was like a ghost, blending into the night. No lights, no sound, as if it were just a part of the night sky itself.
"Won't anyone see it?" Eriri asked quietly.
"Ordinary people can't see shikigami, which are composed of cursed energy," Genji said. "Just as they can't see cursed spirits. Even if someone looked through a telescope, they would only see an empty night sky—at most, they'd think a cloud had a slightly strange shape."
Eriri nodded as if she understood. She loosened her grip and leaned forward slightly, enjoying the freedom brought by the night wind. Her golden twin tails flew behind her head. The tracksuit fabric hugged her body, outlining her slender figure.
"You don't seem afraid of heights," Genji observed.
"Why would I be?" Eriri turned her head, and in the moonlight, her eyes sparkled like stars. "This is much more interesting than a roller coaster—and much safer. Shadow Crane flies very steadily."
"Because I'm in control," Genji smiled. "If I let it fly on its own, you'd feel what 'aerobatics' really means."
Shadow Crane let out a low cry of dissatisfaction, as if protesting its master's assessment.
Eriri smiled too.
She reached out and touched the feathers on Shadow Crane's back. They felt cool and smooth, like fine silk, but with the unique fluffiness of feathers. "Is it… conscious?"
"Yes, but very simple," Genji said. "A shikigami's consciousness is a 'pseudo-consciousness' created based on a technique template. It's more like instinct and basic intelligence. They understand commands, they fight, and they even have basic preferences—Shadow Crane likes flying at high altitudes and hates rainy days."
---
The flight continued. The night view of Tokyo flowed beneath them—from residential areas to commercial districts, from quiet residential streets to brightly lit entertainment zones. Eriri recognized the iconic giant screen at the Shibuya crossing. She recognized the skyscrapers of Shinjuku. And finally, the dazzling neon sea of Ginza appeared before her.
Shadow Crane began to descend.
The speed was still smooth, but the altitude dropped rapidly. Eriri could clearly see the occasional pedestrians on the streets of Ginza, the decorations in the windows of luxury stores, and the doormen waiting for guests outside high-end restaurants.
No one looked up—and if they did, they couldn't see them.
Shadow Crane finally landed on the edge of the helipad on the roof of the Imperial Hotel.
The helipad was empty, with a few helicopters parked quietly. Their massive rotors cast wobbling shadows in the moonlight.
Genji jumped off first, then reached out to help Eriri down. Shadow Crane's figure began to fade after landing, dissolving into indigo specks of light that merged into Genji's shadow.
"Next," Genji walked to the edge of the helipad, looking down at the thirty-story hotel building below, "time to work."
He formed hand seals—a simple, delicate gesture. His right thumb pressed against his middle finger, his left index finger touched his thumb, and the remaining fingers naturally extended. Eriri noticed that when he began forming the seals, the air around them became slightly heavier.
"Curtain. Basic form."
Genji's voice was very light, but each syllable carried a certain strange rhythm.
"Born from darkness, returning to darkness."
His shadow began to spread, rapidly expanding from the small area beneath his feet like ink dripping into clear water, silently covering the entire helipad.
"Remove all impurities and filth."
When the last syllable sounded, Eriri felt something change.
It wasn't a visual change—the night sky was still the night sky, the hotel was still the hotel. It was a change in "atmosphere."
The surrounding sounds became muffled and distant. The traffic noise from the streets below, the faint music from the hotel, even the sound of the night wind blowing against the building—all of it seemed to be separated by a thick layer of glass.
The air became viscous. The moonlight felt colder. The entire world seemed to be shrouded in an invisible veil.
"This is called a 'curtain,'" Genji lowered his hands and explained. "One of a sorcerer's basic skills. A simple barrier that conceals what happens inside, prevents ordinary people from accidentally wandering in, and prevents the effects of battle from spreading outside."
He paused and added, "Of course, for me, the curtain's function is more about avoiding trouble. After all, if a fight breaks out in the middle of Ginza, even if no one sees it, the resulting damage would be hard to explain."
Eriri looked around. Inside the curtain, it seemed darker than outside. The moonlight filtered through the barrier's membrane, casting a lavender halo on the ground instead of the familiar silvery-white.
"Next—investigation," Genji formed hand seals again. This time, the seals were more complex, his fingers interlacing and changing so quickly that Eriri was dazzled.
"Release the rabbits. Transform them. Create a thousand eyes."
The shadow boiled like water.
Thousands—no, tens of thousands—of white rabbits burst out from Genji's shadow. They were the size of a palm, their fluffy bodies and ruby-red eyes flickering in the darkness, agile and looking in all directions.
"Oh my, they're so cute…" Eriri involuntarily crouched down and reached out to touch the nearest one.
The rabbit didn't dodge. Instead, it took the initiative to rub against her palm.
It felt warm and soft, almost identical to a real rabbit.
"These aren't combat shikigami," Genji said. "A rabbit's original function was to distract enemies or serve as bait. But I rewrote their behavioral templates to add a 'visual sharing' function for each rabbit. In short, I can see everything they see."
He closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them again, a glint of clarity in his gaze.
"Found it. Twenty-ninth floor—the west wing suite. The crime scene. The cursed spirit is still there. It hasn't left."
Eriri stood up, still holding the rabbit in her hands, and unconsciously stroked its soft fur. "Then how do we get down? Take the elevator?"
"Simpler than that," Genji reached out his hand. "Hold onto me."
Eriri was momentarily stunned, but she did it anyway. She held the rabbit in one hand and Genji's wrist with the other—his skin was cool but solid to the touch, and she could feel the strength in his arm beneath the sleeve of his hunting robe.
Then the shadows beneath their feet "came alive."
This wasn't a metaphor. The shadow truly rippled like black water, and then swallowed them up like a giant beast opening its mouth. Eriri's vision went dark. There was no sensation of falling, no suffocation—just a strange feeling of "passing through," as if moving through a thin film of water.
In the next second, light returned.
They were no longer on the roof.