Chương 32: The Onryo Pandemic and the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons

At the exact same time. Outside the inner palace. Naosu Yari, who was keeping watch, scowled as the Geiger-counter-like device in his hand began registered anomalous, off-the-chart readings.

"... This is bad." The needle of the gauge was completely pinned to the maximum.

"The [Onryo Virus] across the entire capital is turning hyper-active... Is the negative energy being drawn in by mutating in resonance with MURASAKI's live writing?" Rumble, rumble, rumble... The very earth trembled. From beyond the gates of the palace, countless "shadows" began to ooze forth.

It was a shifting horde born from the condensed envy of the aristocrats, the bitter resentment of the commoners, and the profound sorrow of abandoned women—a materialized manifestation of malice: the [Night Parade of a Hundred Demons].

"Hehehe... I want to rise in rank..."

"Look at me..."

"I'll kill you... I'll kill you all..." The shadows possessed human silhouettes, but they were entirely faceless. Or worse, they had far too many eyes. Like a black avalanche, they surged forward, converging on the single tsubone where MURASAKI was writing.

"Kataru-kun, MURASAKI." Yari drew his handgun, loaded with anti-spectral plasma rounds, and spoke coldly into his communicator.

"Hurry up. Your deadline just got moved up.... Your 'fans' are storming the venue, dying to get your autograph." Bang! Bang! Yari's gunshots tore through the silent night. Yet, no matter how many times the shadows collapsed, they simply reformed from the mist like a persistent virus and stood right back up. Physical and energy attacks were entirely ineffective. Because they were not physical entities—they were the "diseased psyche" of humanity itself.

"Our only choice is to exorcise them with literature," Yari muttered while reloading his weapon.

"Finish it in time, Introvert Alliance.... Before this entire country literal dies of depression." RIIIP!! The violent tearing of shoji paper shattered the frantic silence of the tsubone. Instantly, a foul stench resembling rotting mud flooded into the room.

"Kataru-kun! The defensive barrier has been breached!" Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Naosu Yari burst into the room. It was the first time I had ever seen him completely out of breath, his shoulders heaving. Smoke was curling from the barrel of his plasma handgun, but he had clearly failed to register any fatal hits.

"My weapons are useless here. They have no physical substance. They are [Concepts] itself!" And then, from right behind Yari, it appeared. The [Night Parade of a Hundred Demons]. These were not the comical, stylized monsters painted on ancient folklore scrolls. This was something infinitely more grotesque—amorphous, shifting shadows woven entirely out of pure human malice.

"... So envious..."

"... Why wasn't it me..."

"... Just die... Everyone should just die..." Though the shadows wore the elegant, draped robes of ancient aristocrats, their faces were void of eyes or noses. Instead, there was only a gaping, pitch-black void—a hollow "mouth" that continuously spewed a relentless stream of curses. They crawled forward, dragging their formless bodies across the floor, making the tatami boards groan and creak under their weight.

"Eek...!" MURASAKI let out a sharp shriek, dropping her holographic folding fan onto the floor. Shaking violently from head to toe, she scrambled backward into the furthest corner of the room.

"MURASAKI-san?!"

"No... stay back! Don't look at me!" She buried her head in her hands, weeping.

"Those are... my own mind! The exact ugly, filthy parts of humanity I was trying to flesh out in my novel... the jealousy, the hatred, the inferiority complexes... they've materialized and come to hunt me down!" The sheer imaginative power of a genius creator had resonated with the Onryo Virus, manifesting her worst nightmares into the physical grid. For her, this was the ultimate psychological torture—being forced to stare directly into her own exposed entrails.

"How resentful..." A particularly colossal shadow—an Onryo taking the form of a noblewoman, likely the tragic blueprint that would inspire Lady Rokujo—extended a decaying hand toward MURASAKI. The moment her spectral fingertips brushed against the tatami, the mats instantly rotted away into a putrid black stain.

"Watch out!" On pure instinct, I lunged directly in front of MURASAKI, tearing up a heavy wooden writing desk to use as a shield. CRASH! The ghost's ethereal talons gouged into the wood, making the timber shriek under the volatile force.

"Kataru! Get out of the way! You'll get infected by the curse too!"

"I'm not backing down! I am your managing editor!" I dug my heels into the shaking floor, my legs trembling. My stomach was twisting in agony. I felt like throwing up right then and there. The monstrosity looming over us was a walking cluster of primal, visceral disgust. But this was the ultimate threshold.

"Prime Minister! Isn't there any way to buy us some damn time?!"

"... There is one option." Yari reached into his coat, pulling out several glowing metallic discs.

"Gennai's custom-grade [Positive Thinking Grenades]. They forcibly disperse high-vibe, cheerful data into the local space to neutralize the negative atmosphere!" As Yari threw the discs, a blinding flash erupted, projecting a massive array of holographic data into the room. Videos of adorable fluffy kittens. The dazzling, sparkling smiles of modern pop idols. And giant, neon text reading:"Tomorrow is bound to be a wonderful day!" However.

"... So annoying..."

"... It's too bright... it pisses me off..." The effect was a complete system error. The Onryo didn't weaken—they became hyper-activated. To a psyche that is profoundly diseased and depressed, the forced enforcement of toxic positivity is a lethal poison. Their shadowy volumes doubled in size, swelling into a mountain of rage as they lunged forward with deafening roars.

"It had the exact opposite effect!!" Yari was violently blown away by the shockwave, crashing into the wall. With that, the room was completely transformed into a closed, inescapable chamber of pure despair.