With Kamo Masaki's promise secured, Kamo Itsuki's patience evaporated. His body dissolved into a fine crimson mist, swirling for a moment in the space he had occupied before dissipating into nothingness. It wasn't teleportation; it was a total, seamless transmutation into his own element—blood—and a dispersal so complete it defied conventional tracking.
Kamo Masaki stared at the empty spot, his rational mind cataloging it as a supreme application of Blood Manipulation, but his gut churned with primal awe. A man had just turned to mist and vanished. The line between sorcerer and natural phenomenon had blurred.
The clan, still buzzing from the residual euphoria of the Resonance, slowly realized their benefactor was gone. Their eagerness to test their newfound potential became a palpable, frantic energy. Sensing the crowd's impatience and wishing to conceal his own adjustments, Masaki wisely dismissed the assembly.
What followed was a stampede. The orderly plaza transformed into a scene of chaotic exodus as hundreds surged toward the exits, their discipline utterly forgotten in their hunger to verify Kamo Itsuki's gift. By the time the last clansman had left, the perimeter walls were scuffed and trampled, the ground a mess of footprints.
Kamo Masaki looked at the damage, then turned a cool gaze to Kamo Aoo, the administrator. "You will oversee the restoration of this plaza. And you will commission a statue of Kamo Itsuki for its center. The funds will come from your personal coffers."
Aoo's shoulders slumped, but he offered no protest. He had been standing right there when Itsuki had likened the clan to "loose sand." He had felt Masaki's displeased glare. A financial penalty was a light sentence.
His personal grievances, however, were quickly forgotten as he rushed back to his family quarters, his mind on his grandson. He found the young man in their private training room, his face alight with exhilaration.
"Grandfather! You were right! I should have returned!"
"Of course I was right! Tell me, what changed?"
"Everything… it's like my body has been recalibrated. My senses are sharper, my stamina feels deeper. But the most dramatic change is her."
With a flourish, the grandson summoned his Shikigami, *Kagehanehime*. Before the Resonance, she had been the spectral image of a solemn young girl. Now, she stood as a breathtaking young woman. Her hair was a cascade of midnight, her skin porcelain-perfect. Her eyes, once simply eerie, now held depths of ancient knowledge. She was clad in a magnificent kimono of black and violet, intricate patterns whispering of shadowy power, and from her back unfurled vast, elegant wings of pure darkness.
Kamo Aoo's breath caught. The maturity of a Shikigami was a direct reflection of its master's power and the depth of their bond. "She's… fully manifested," he whispered.
"More than that," his grandson said, pointing to a deep, clean gash scored into the reinforced floor of the training room—a feat far beyond the previous Kagehanehime's capability. "Her cursed energy output has more than doubled. The precision, the potency… it's on a completely different level."
The evidence was undeniable. Kamo Itsuki's "benefit" was not a vague promise. It was a quantifiable, monumental leap in power for every clansman who had answered the call. The Kamo Clan had not just gained a protector; its very genetic legacy had been upgraded. The ones who had stayed away, thinking themselves clever, had irrevocably chosen to be left behind in the old world. The new era of the Kamo Clan had begun, forged not by a ruler on a throne, but by a benefactor who had rewritten their potential from the inside out.
Kamo Aoo's triumphant laughter echoed in the training room. "The gamble paid off!" he crowed, relief and vindication washing over him. His initial hesitation—weighing the Clan Head's stern order against potential risk—had been resolved by a simple calculation: obedience was the safest bet. Now, his grandson's transformation was the jackpot.
Across the compound, a very different scene unfolded. Kamo Katou, the spymaster, was a storm of cold fury and simmering panic. His call with his indulged, vacationing grandson had ended with the young man's petulant whines still ringing in his ears. The boy had missed the single most significant event in the clan's modern history. Worse, his disobedience was a public slap to Katou's authority and a black mark of disloyalty in Masaki's eyes.
I need to see Aoo's list, Katou thought, his mind racing into damage control. I need to know who was there. A marriage alliance, perhaps with a main family branch that attended… His thoughts snagged on Kamo Itsuki's words: "The likelihood of their descendants awakening Blood Manipulation will also greatly increase."
A desperate, calculating light entered his eyes. If he couldn't get a second chance for his current heir, he would manufacture a new one. More sons, more grandsons—a fresh line imbued with the enhanced potential. The Katou lineage would not be left behind.
Throughout the clan, similar calculations and celebrations were taking place. Those who had attended tested their heightened abilities with growing elation, their loyalty to the clan cementing into something fervent and personal. Those who had stayed away were plunged into bitterness and regret, their cleverness revealed as profound shortsightedness. They had traded a genetic legacy for temporary convenience. Kamo Itsuki's name was no longer just that of the "Divine Child"; it was becoming a foundational myth, the architect of their newfound potential.
Unaware of and indifferent to the domestic dramas he had ignited, Kamo Itsuki was already miles away, his mind on a different purge. The list of compromised higher-ups—several bearing the Katou name—was a festering problem. He had not forgotten them. Replacing them required careful candidates, not just brute force.
He would not run the clan. But he would clean its house. The parasites who had conspired with Kenjaku would be excised, not for the sake of clan politics, but because they were obstacles to the stable, orderly environment he required for his true work. The gift of blood had bought him the clan's fervent support. The coming purge would be a demonstration of the price for betraying the new order he had silently established. The Kamo Clan was now his instrument, willingly polished and empowered by his hand, to be wielded as he saw fit.
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