The sun dipped toward the horizon, and a thin mist rose from the sea. In the distance stood a reed marsh. About two hundred meters north along the coastline was a grove of trees.
The hard landing had made quite a commotion. The plane had then split in half—it was hard to say whether it would attract nearby enemies or wild beasts. Bella's condition was poor, so she didn't dare linger. Grabbing the flight attendant by the ankle, she rushed into the grove. Her senses told her this area was safe.
Finding a random spot, Bella leaned against a tree trunk, closed her eyes, and rested, desperately trying to recover her strength.
After sitting for five minutes, she suddenly remembered something.
She used her psychic energy to communicate with a mark she'd previously inscribed, then hooked her finger. "Come!"
After waiting a full ten minutes, her suitcase finally flew over from the distance.
She'd come to Tokyo to study, not to cause trouble.
Her suitcase contained no firearms, and she hadn't brought the Golden Apple this time either. However, she'd packed her flying carpet inside. Seeing it intact, her heart finally settled a bit. Whatever else happened, she could fly on the carpet—that greatly increased her chances of survival.
After drinking some bottled water and eating two chocolate bars, she finally exhaled deeply and closed her eyes to rest against the tree.
"Who's there?" An extremely faint sound of breathing suddenly came from the shadows nearby. Bella turned and called out.
The figure shot off like an arrow, running away and leaving only a dark silhouette.
Bella stood in place, coldly watching the shadow flee into the distance. She didn't move a step.
Countless movies and shows had this kind of scene—someone rushes off to chase a shadow, only to run into an ambush or lose the trail. Then when they circle back, they find their captive's throat has been slit.
The person on the ground could provide intel. Why would she waste energy chasing some shadow?
She moved her body around, feeling her strength had recovered to about thirty percent, with most of her psychic energy restored.
She wasn't going to waste any more time. Pulling out an especially thick Bible from her suitcase, she grabbed the unconscious flight attendant by the collar and—slap, slap, slap—delivered three hard strikes with the book.
The Bible was thick, with substantial paper quality and a hard cover. Three consecutive hits swelled up the attendant's previously pretty face.
"Awake? Talk! What's your conspiracy?"
The female attendant barely opened her eyes. Her gaze toward Bella held no fear—only fanaticism. "We will reunite in Black Sky's spiritual world. Foolish woman, embrace what little time you have left."
Bella was completely confused. What the hell was Black Sky? Why did this person have the face of a fanatical cultist?
She was about to ask more when the attendant bit down hard. Within three seconds, dark brown blood flowed from her eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. She died on the spot.
Something like a soul fragment or mental fragment separated from the attendant's body and was absorbed by the world itself through some peculiar method.
It was this very thing that kept the air filled with violent, brutal impulses, planting seeds of hatred and madness in people's hearts.
"This place is really strange. I haven't ended up in hell, have I?" Bella had an epiphany—she'd better avoid killing people here. The negative emotions in this place were using slaughter to nurture something.
With her mental discipline, she could resist this level of corruption, but ordinary people would struggle.
Bella kept her guard up, then bent down to search the attendant's clothes, trying to find clues.
An extremely gentle female voice came from behind her, speaking English with a bit of hesitation.
"These people are all death warriors. You won't find any valuable intelligence."
Bella had noticed the person behind her before she even spoke. This was the shadow from before—she'd circled back.
Bella turned to look. Her first impression: refined, gentle, graceful, virtuous.
The woman had her hair pinned up, a slender neck, and wore a plain kimono with white tabi socks and somewhat faded straw sandals.
Her hands rested naturally on her lower abdomen, maintaining a distance from Bella that was neither far nor particularly close.
You could see people wearing kimonos on Tokyo streets—nothing unusual about that. But in this wilderness, such attire was rather strange.
The woman's English was honestly mediocre. To facilitate communication, Bella switched to Japanese. "Who are you? How much do you know about these people?"
The gentle woman was surprised by her excellent Japanese. A hint of joy appeared in her eyes. She bowed slightly and also switched to Japanese. "Your Japanese is very good. When I study your barbarian language, it never feels quite right. I hope we can get along—I'm Emma."
Barbarian language? Emma? A flood of questions surged through Bella's mind.
Did Japanese people nowadays refer to Americans this way? No—this was a term Japan used for all Westerners before the Meiji Restoration!
The name Emma triggered some unpleasant memories.
Bella felt like a thick fog surrounded her. She was just missing that one crucial insight.
She also bowed slightly. "Um... Bella. Just call me Bella. May I ask, where is this place?"
Emma seemed to have answered this question many times before. She replied with practiced brevity: "The land of Ashina—a country you barbarians call Japan. Including your group, this is the third batch in three years to descend upon our land aboard those iron birds from the sky."
Bella's expression remained calm, but her heart churned with shock that took a long time to settle.
The land of Ashina? The world of Sekiro?
She'd played Sekiro—it had been a brutal gaming experience that made her want to smash her controller. Truth be told, it was embarrassing to admit, but she'd beaten it using a trainer mod...
She still had an impression of Miss Emma, the anti-assault specialist, but hadn't connected her to reality.
"Ashina... Ashina... Three years?" She carefully analyzed the information.
"What year is it now, exactly?"
Emma was also very familiar with this question—clearly not answering it for the first time. "The eighth year of Keichō."
Bella was dumbfounded. She hadn't studied Japanese era names, but that didn't matter—as long as it wasn't Meiji, Taishō, Shōwa, or Heisei.
Had she traveled through time? Or space?
With too little information, even her mental powers couldn't figure it out, no matter how hard she thought.
She pointed at the corpse on the ground. "Miss Emma, who exactly are these people? Are they your enemies?"
Emma shook her head. "No, they're also outsiders. More accurately, they should be your enemies. The previous two batches also had some death warriors who descended together. We interrogated them and only learned they came from an organization called The Hand."