Solo Streaming: My only viewer is Yandere Goddess

Chapter 39: Silence of Okutama

The world did not end with a bang or a final shout. It ended with the soft, rhythmic sound of a wooden shovel hitting damp earth. Ren Hanshin stood behind the main hall of the Okutama shrine. The iron dust from the Blood-Rust rain had finally settled, coating the pine needles in a dull silver frost. The golden ships were gone from the immediate sky, leaving behind a bruised, purple sunset that looked more like a healing wound than a celestial event.

He dug the grave by hand, feeling the rough wood of the shovel handle bite into his palms. Each scoop of dirt was a reminder that he was still made of flesh. Each drop of sweat that rolled down his nose proved he wasn’t just a collection of code and percentages. Beside him lay Jubei.

The old man looked small. Without the roaring intent of the Shinen-ryu style to puff out his chest, he was just a thin, elderly man in a tattered robe. Ren had wiped the golden oil and blood from Jubei’s face with a wet cloth, but he couldn’t wipe away the peace. Jubei had died with a smile that suggested he had seen the punchline of a joke no one else understood.

"I’m finished, Master," Ren whispered.

The air in the mountains was still. The birds hadn’t returned yet, and the wind was holding its breath. Ren carefully lifted Jubei’s body and lowered him into the earth. He only had his own black coat, which he had wrapped around the teacher like a protective cocoon. As the first handful of dirt hit the fabric, the crimson chat box flickered at the edge of his vision. It was dim, as if the Weaver was hesitant to speak in this place of quiet grief.

[The God of Fate is watching from the shadows of the trees.]

[God of Fate]: Why do you bury him in the cold dirt, Ren? He was a star. He was a spark of the void. Let me take him into the Tapestry. I can weave his memory into a constellation. He will never rot there.

"He belongs here," Ren said, his voice flat. "He lived in the mud, and he taught in the mud. He doesn’t want to be a star in your sky."

[The God of Fate flinches. The red text of the chat box trembles.]

[God of Fate]: You are so lonely now. Can’t you feel it? The tether is snapped. There is no one left on this planet who knows your name. They only know the ’Tyrant’. They only know the ’Executioner’. I am the only one who sees the boy behind the mask.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Ren continued to shovel the dirt. It took an hour to fill the grave. When he was done, he placed a simple, smooth river stone at the head of the mound. He didn’t carve a name. Anyone who knew Jubei would know where he was. Anyone who didn’t wouldn’t care anyway.

Ren sat down on the grass next to the grave. He felt a deep, hollow ache in his chest that had nothing to do with the synchronization. It was just plain, human exhaustion. He wanted to sleep for a hundred years, but he knew the moment he closed his eyes, the Weaver would be there, waiting in the dark parts of his mind.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, bent flask of sake he had scavenged from the ruins of the shrine’s kitchen. He unscrewed the cap and poured a bit onto the ground over Jubei’s head.

"It’s the cheap stuff," Ren muttered. "But that’s all I could find."

He took a long drink himself. It burned his throat, a sharp, grounding pain that made the silver threads in his hair feel a little less heavy.

The quiet didn’t last long. A Demigod’s life has no room for silence. Ren’s vision, now enhanced by the Kusanagi-Vessel resting against his hip, began to pick up vibrations from the base of the mountain.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Footsteps. Many of them. They weren’t the heavy, rhythmic thuds of Paladins or the whirring of Legionnaires. These were soft, hesitant, and uncoordinated. The sound of humans.

Ren stood up, brushing the dirt from his trousers. He felt the Crown of the Zenith hum atop his head, its starlight glowing a little brighter as if sensing a new audience. He hated it. The Crown felt like a neon sign telling the world he wasn’t one of them anymore. He walked toward the main courtyard, passing through the shattered torii gate.

Standing at the edge of the shrine grounds were about twenty people. They were dirty, covered in the grey iron dust of the and their eyes were wide with a mixture of terror and hope. At the front was Tanaka, the ’Iron Wall’. The hunter’s shield was gone, and his arm was in a makeshift sling made from a dirty curtain.

When they saw Ren, the entire group froze. Some took a step back, their hands trembling.

"Ren-sama," Tanaka said, his voice cracking. He bowed low, a deep bow that looked painful with his injuries. "We... We brought the survivors. Like you ordered."

Ren looked at the group. There were children clutching their parents’ legs. There were old women with blankets wrapped around their shoulders. They looked at Ren as if he were a natural disaster, a volcano that had just happened to save them from a flood.

"I didn’t order you to come here," Ren said, his voice sounding colder than he intended. "I said the mountain was safe ground."

"The city is gone, Ren-sama," a young woman whispered. She was clutching a small cat to her chest. "The golden fire... it didn’t just burn the buildings. It burned the spirit out of everyone. We didn’t know where else to go. They say you’re the only one the Gods are afraid of."

Ren felt the synchronization throb in his skull. The Weaver was laughing.

[God of Fate]: See? They come to you like sheep to a shepherd. They don’t want freedom, Ren. They want a King who can kill the wolves.

"I’m not a shepherd," Ren said, looking at the young woman, "and I’m not your King. If you want to stay here, you work. You fix the roof. You clear the debris. I’m not going to carry you."

Tanaka nodded frantically. "Of course! We will work! We’ve already started organizing a kitchen in the lower pilgrim hut. We just... we needed to know if we had your permission to be on the grounds."

"It’s not my shrine," Ren said, turning his back on them. "It belongs to the man buried behind the hall. Do whatever you want, as long as you don’t touch his grave."

Ren began to walk away, heading toward the small, isolated shed where he used to store his gear when he was a porter. He needed to be away from their eyes. He needed to be away from the smell of their fear.

"Wait! Ren-sama!"

Ren stopped, his hand clasped on the spit’s handle. He didn’t turn around.

"The Association... they’ve sent an envoy," Tanaka said, his voice hesitant. "A man from the American branch. He’s waiting at the trailhead. He says it’s urgent."

Ren felt a surge of irritation. The global guilds. Even with the sky falling, they were still worried about politics. They were still trying to find a way to control the "Anomaly."

"Tell him to leave," Ren said.

"He says he has news about the God of Mischief," Tanaka added quickly.

Ren paused. ’Loki.’ The man who had stolen his stats. The man who had turned the world into a joke. Even though the System had declared Ren the victor of the Draft, Ren has a feeling that Loki wasn’t dead. A ’Fool’ doesn’t die just because he loses a fight; he just waits for the next act.

"Bring him up," Ren said, his voice low. "But tell him if he brings more than two bodyguards, I’ll sever the mountain path while they’re standing on it."

An hour later, a man in a crisp, black tactical suit walked into the courtyard. He looked clean compared to the dusty survivors. He had the sharp eyes of a man who dealt in power levels and mana economics.

Ren was sitting on a wooden bench under a dead cherry blossom tree. He was sharpening a small knife, a mundane, non-magical tool.

"Mr. Hanshin," the man said, speaking with a slight New York accent. "My name is Arthur Vance. I’m the Chief Coordinator for the Global Oversight Committee."

Ren didn’t look up. "Vance? That’s a familiar name."

Arthur’s face remained a mask of professional neutrality. "Loki Vance is... or was... a distant cousin. A black sheep of the family. The Committee has officially disowned him after his actions in the Draft."

"Convenient," Ren muttered. He finally looked up, his crimson eyes locking onto Arthur’s.

Arthur flinched. No matter how much training he had, looking into the eyes of a Demigod who was synchronized with the God of Fate was like staring into a sun that was about to go outburst.

"We aren’t here to argue about family trees, Mr. Hanshin," Arthur said, recovering his composure. "We are here because the Sovereigns have declared a ceasefire, but the world is in a state of ’Hyper-Mana Instability’. The Dungeons are breaking open because the core is overcharged. We need your help to stabilize the rifts in the Atlantic."

"I told the Weaver I’m not a puppet," Ren said, standing up. He was taller than Arthur, and the aura of the Severance of Destiny made the air around them feel heavy. "Why would I be yours?"

"Because if the Atlantic rifts break, the tidal waves will erase the Japanese coastline," Arthur said calmly. "Including this mountain."

Ren looked at the survivors huddled near the kitchen. They were watching him, their eyes filled with a silent plea.

[God of Fate]: They are using your ’dirt’ against you, Ren. How predictable. Let them drown. We can build a new Tokyo in the sky.

Ren ignored her. He looked at Arthur.

"You mentioned Loki," Ren said. "Where is he?"

Arthur hesitated. "Our sensors picked up a chaotic mana signature in the London Labyrinth. It matches his ’Fool’ profile. He’s not fighting the Gods, Mr. Hanshin. He’s... harvesting them. He’s collecting the fallen divine cores from the battlefields."

Ren felt a chill that had nothing to do with the mountain air. Loki was evolving, while Ren was busy defending the earth, the Fool was scavenging the heavens.

"I’ll handle the rifts," Ren said, walking past Arthur. "But not for your committee, and not for your god."

He stopped at the edge of the courtyard, looking out over the dark, iron-dusted valley of Tokyo.

"Tell the world," Ren said, his voice carrying the dual toned weight of the Sovereign. "The Executioner is taking a break from the war. But I’m still watching the rifts, and if I find Loki... I’m going to cut the punchline out of his throat."

Arthur bowed, a stiff movement. "The world is grateful, Mr. Hanshin."

"The world is terrified," Ren corrected him, "and they should be."

Ren walked toward the back of the shrine, toward the quiet mound of dirt under the pine trees. He stood there for a long time, the silver hair shimmering in the moonlight.

"The final exam isn’t over, Master," Ren whispered to the stone. "It’s just getting complicated."

The night deepened. In the Tapestry of Genesis, the Weaver watched the screen with a jealous, burning gaze. In the London Labyrinth, a man in a purple suit shuffled a deck of glowing cards, and in the mountains of Japan, a boy who used to carry bags for hunters closed his eyes, trying to remember what it felt like to be human. The war was in the shadows, in the hearts of the people, and in the soul of the man who had killed the Light.