Chapter 77: Transcendents Created the Yōkai World

At this moment, online.

As Professor Nakata revealed the old monk’s identity, others online also recognized him.

My King Saber: “My god, he’s lived over a thousand years and still isn’t dead? This is what transcendence means? He’s no longer human—he’s a deity.”

AirDrop 98K: “Kūkai is still alive? A historical figure from over a thousand years ago… Holy shit!! I just thought of something—something terrifying. If Kūkai is transcendental and still alive, then what about other legendary figures in Shinto and Buddhism? Could they also be transcendental and still alive?! What about Amano no Kōmei, the greatest onmyōji? Is he still alive?!”

His thought wasn’t unique—many had arrived at the same conclusion.

Kūkai is transcendental; the source of his power—obviously Buddhist—is plain to even a fool, proving Buddhism possesses transcendence, and that Buddhist transcendental teachings exist.

Based on this, combined with ancient historical records and the Yunhu incident, much can be deduced—including that Shinto and Buddhism both possess transcendence, which is precisely why humanity survived alongside yōkai in ancient times: it was the protection of Shinto and Buddhist transcendents that kept them alive.

Further deductions followed.

Think of the great figures of ancient Shinto and Buddhism—like Ashiya Dōman, Amano no Kōmei, Saichō, and others.

In that era when yōkai and humans coexisted, and within Shinto and Buddhism—both of which possessed transcendence—how could such renowned figures possibly be ordinary? They were undoubtedly extraordinary.

The likelihood of them being transcendental is nearly one hundred percent.

Katō Taka Banzai: “Amano no Kōmei, the greatest onmyōji of Shinto—he must be transcendental!!”

Kōsan My Wife: “You say yōkai now have no contact with humans and have all gone to the Yōkai World—could it be that Shinto and Buddhist transcendents joined forces to banish them there?”

As soon as the netizen named “Kōsan My Wife” posted this, countless people at their desks felt dizzy and lightheaded.

Some trembled as they lit cigarettes; others hurriedly rubbed Tiger Balm on their temples to avoid fainting from shock; or…

Since the Yunhu incident, the world had come to understand: yōkai exist, and after analysis by experts and scholars, they unanimously reached one conclusion.

Yōkai have existed since ancient times alongside humans; ancient historical records are the best proof. But for some reason, at a certain point in history, all yōkai vanished, departing for the Yōkai World, severing all contact between yōkai and humans—hence why no yōkai exist today.

From the moment this conclusion was drawn, experts, scholars, and even the Japanese government launched research to uncover why yōkai left this world and went to the Yōkai World.

Now, it seemed, the reason might be revealed.

“You mean the transcendental humans like Kūkai joined forces to drive the yōkai into the Yōkai World?”

Mori Takeshi stared in disbelief at Professor Nakata, who had proposed this theory.

He lit himself a cigarette, drew a deep breath, then pushed up his glasses, their lenses gleaming under the sunlight.

Seeing this, everyone else immediately turned their gaze toward him.

Whenever Professor Nakata made a deduction or uncovered something new, he always did this same gesture—clearly, he had another revelation.

“First, from the Yunhu incident, the yōkai’s own words, and this recent incident where the six-eyed yōkai devoured humans—it’s clear yōkai have a strong appetite for humans. So why would yōkai who love to eat humans leave a world full of them?”

Just from this, we can conclude: the yōkai didn’t leave willingly. Something forced them out.

Then consider Kūkai—he’s transcendental, no doubt. But since modern times, who has ever seen a transcendental? No one, right? Transcendents, like yōkai, have vanished from human sight.

Now that yōkai have reappeared, transcendents have reappeared too—and they destroyed the yōkai. It’s not hard to infer that transcendents possess the power to oppose, even suppress, yōkai.

I said earlier: something forced the yōkai into the Yōkai World. But these are yōkai—immensely powerful. Whatever forced them to leave must be equally powerful, powerful enough to compel them to abandon this world.

Transcendents! Transcendents are powerful enough to force yōkai into the Yōkai World.”

Even without further words, Director Takahashi and the others understood.

Yes—transcendents and yōkai are opposites; transcendents are humanity’s shield, its protectors. They would never allow yōkai to devour humans. For a permanent solution, they might very well have driven the yōkai into the Yōkai World.

Director Takahashi instinctively reached into his pocket for a cigarette to light another, only to realize he’d already smoked them all—he hadn’t even noticed.

He then asked Professor Nakata for one.

The events of today had shattered his worldview completely.

Humans could be powerful enough to alter the weather—and live for a thousand years without dying? This had thrown his decades of scientific education, his entire scientific worldview, onto the ground and stomped it into pulp.

Faced with a shattered worldview, all he could do was smoke to calm himself.

But then.

Just as he was about to light the cigarette, a sudden insight struck him.

In an instant, his fingers trembled, the cigarette dropped from his hand, and he stared rigidly at Professor Nakata, mouth opening and closing, speechless—then finally whispered, trembling:

“Professor Nakata, according to your theory—is it possible… is it possible the Yōkai World didn’t exist at first? If it had always existed, why didn’t the transcendents drive the yōkai there from the beginning? Why only later? Could it be… the Yōkai World didn’t exist before?”

His words echoed.

Professor Nakata’s body jolted; for a moment, his heart felt as if it had stopped.

He snapped his head up, locking eyes with Director Takahashi.

He wanted to reply: perhaps the transcendents weren’t strong enough at first to drive the yōkai away—they only became powerful enough later. But that was just a guess. Takahashi’s guess was equally plausible.

Unsure whether he’d heard correctly—or simply to steady his nerves—he asked Director Takahashi:

“Director Takahashi, are you suggesting the Yōkai World didn’t exist originally, so the transcendents couldn’t drive the yōkai there—until the Yōkai World appeared, and only then could they banish the yōkai?”

Director Takahashi nodded frantically, then trembled: “That’s exactly what I mean—I’m asking you: was the Yōkai World something the transcendents discovered later… or did they create it? Did they forge a massive prison to lock all the yōkai inside—that prison being the Yōkai World?”

Director Takahashi paused, then exhaled sharply.

“Could it be… the transcendents created the Yōkai World?!”

His worldview was already in shards—he had no intention of picking it up. Not only that—he stomped on it, determined to crush it into ash.

After all, transcendents lived a thousand years and drove yōkai into the Yōkai World—so why couldn’t they create the Yōkai World? The possibility was low, but not impossible.

Professor Nakata froze. Everyone stood stunned, horrified by Director Takahashi’s words.

This was creating a world!!

Director Takahashi, can you please stop making such explosive guesses? I haven’t even recovered from the transcendents yet!

“Creating a world? Is that even possible? That’s beyond human capability—it’s the domain of a creator god.”

Mori Takeshi’s voice grew quieter as he recalled Japan’s ancient myth: Ameno-Minakanushi created Takamagahara!

If ancient records contain creation myths, doesn’t that suggest they might be true? After all, legends that have endured for millennia aren’t necessarily false—look at yōkai and transcendents: once dismissed as myth, now proven real!

Swallow.

Everyone in the room, and countless online viewers who had just posted that the Yōkai World might have been created by transcendents, all swallowed hard.

Clearly, like Mori Takeshi, they had all thought of the Japanese myth of Ameno-Minakanushi creating Takamagahara.

The more they thought about it, the more plausible it became—if ancient humans could create worlds, why couldn’t transcendents?

Their heads throbbed, as if about to split open.

Never before had they felt so certain that something so absurd—humans creating a world—could be true.

“Could it really be possible?”

Everyone pondered, each silently asking themselves.

The next moment.

They all turned, without speaking, toward the old monk—the only transcendental now visible to the world.

And as they looked, they froze, overwhelmed by an uncontrollable surge of emotion, crying out in shock…

…

(PS: Guess what worldview Kamikawa Mitsu is preparing to shock humanity and alien invaders with—heehee)