The shrine maiden cowered behind a broken omamori stand. “Please, Lord Harbinger, that is a sacred relic of debate resolution!”
“This,” he said, his voice a silken whisper that could curdle milk, “is what the Grand Narukami Shrine entrusts to its guardians?”
He smiled. It was the most unnerving thing the agent had ever seen. scaramouche x debate club image
One Nobushi was embedded upside-down in a rice paddy, his hat spinning in slow motion. Another had left a perfect silhouette through a wooden storehouse wall. A third was tied in a bow using his own haori.
The next day, on a remote island in Inazuma, a Fatui recon team found something they could not file in a standard report. The shrine maiden cowered behind a broken omamori stand
Scaramouche didn’t look up. He gave the club a final, loving wipe. “Injured? No. Enlightened? Yes.” He hefted the massive weapon onto his shoulder with a casualness that defied physics. The timber groaned. The rivets strained. He looked ridiculous. He looked terrifying.
“From now on,” he said, his voice as light as a summer breeze, yet cold enough to freeze the agent’s spine, “all diplomatic negotiations with the Shogun’s forces will be handled by me. Bring your reports to my tent. Bring your concerns to my tent. Bring any dissent to my tent.” One Nobushi was embedded upside-down in a rice
The air in the Grand Narukami Shrine’s back archive was thick with the scent of ancient vellum, dust, and impending violence.