This frenzy of activity lasted for three months.
During this time, the Jashin cult mobilized all its members to hunt every manner of beast in the mountains.
They also spent exorbitant sums purchasing livestock—and even slaves—from merchant guilds.
All of them became nourishment for "Lord Jashin"... and Shiki.
Every sacrifice was dutifully performed at the blood pool beneath the idol. After all, who would suspect that the pool had become the literal body of a certain transmigrator?
"Transmigrating into a blood pool—now that's a story even among isekai protagonists."
With such an abundant supply of flesh, Shiki amassed vast reserves of life energy and extracted countless genetic samples.
Fueled by this energy, [Creator's Womb] worked tirelessly, refining and spawning new variants of "Jashin-spawn."
But Shiki wasn't the only one benefiting.
In a secluded pocket dimension far from the shinobi world, the real Jashin reveled in the endless blood sacrifices.
"Kekekekeke!"
"Choosing those two as my disciples was the right decision!"
Thick black mist churned in the void, dotted with flickering crimson eyes like malignant stars.
"But which one is responsible?"
The deity pondered briefly before concluding:
"Must be Shiki. That Hidan brat looks like he'd struggle to count his own fingers."
"At this rate, I'll break free in two or three years."
"Then... the entire shinobi world shall tremble before me!"
"KEKEKEKEKE!"
While Jashin celebrated, the cult leader stood in the temple, his expression grim.
Though the idol's presence had grown more tangible, there was one glaring problem:
The cult was broke.
Three months of lavish sacrifices had drained their coffers dry.
If this continued, the members would starve by tomorrow.
Just then, salvation arrived—a man shrouded in a black coat, met with hushed reverence by the cultists.
This was Kikuchi Miura, the cult's Fourth-in-Command and Chief Steward.
(To sound more impressive: Before Shiki and Hidan's rise, he'd been the Second-in-Command.)
His duties included external operations—assassinations, extortion, banditry, and "evangelism."
Essentially, the cult's moneymaker and the leader's right-hand man.
"Leader, a message from Mr. Sakamoto."
Kikuchi produced a letter from his coat—the reason for his return.
The leader accepted it with a pat on his shoulder. "You've come a long way. Well done."
"You're the one who's worked hard, Leader."
Kikuchi noted the new wrinkles around the leader's eyes—far more than three months ago. His entire demeanor seemed wearier.
"Has something happened at headquarters?" he ventured.
The leader sighed, closing his eyes. "It's... complicated. I'll explain later."
He opened the letter, brow furrowing. "Sakamoto wants us to eliminate someone named... Gato?"
"Yes. Gato recently founded a shipping company in the Land of Waves," Kikuchi explained. "He's encroaching on Sakamoto's trade routes in the Land of Rivers. The request is for his removal."
"I see..."
The leader stroked his chin, weighing the pros and cons.
The cult and Sakamoto Syndicate had close ties—the syndicate was a major patron, funding much of the cult's operations. Refusing wasn't an option.
Seeing his hesitation, Kikuchi played his trump card:
"Leader, Sakamoto offers to increase annual support to 50 million ryō if we handle Gato."
The leader's eyebrows shot up. "How devout of him."
He shot Kikuchi a look. "Next time, lead with the offer."
"Understood."
As the leader turned, a thunderous BOOM shook the compound.
"LEADER! EMERGENCY!"
A panicked cultist sprinted toward them.
The leader's brief joy vanished, replaced by resignation.
He already knew the report before hearing it:
"The two Chosen Ones are fighting—AGAIN!"
"Of course they are."
His gritted teeth intrigued Kikuchi.
What kind of "Chosen Ones" could vex the leader so much?
"SHIKI KAMIZUKI—DIE!!"
In the cafeteria, Hidan lunged with his black scythe, aiming to impale Shiki.
After three months of suicidal training, his taijutsu had improved drastically.
For others, "fighting like your life depends on it" was metaphorical.
For Hidan, it was literal.
Every attack was a kamikaze strike—yet he'd never once landed a hit.
Instead, Shiki bisected him effortlessly with kagune, restarting the cycle:
Ambush → Fail → Decapitation → Resurrect → Repeat.
Through this hellish grind, Hidan's skills had transformed.
His scythe moved like lightning—but Shiki was faster.
A centipede-like kagune erupted from the floor, slamming Hidan into the ceiling.
CRASH!
The impact left a crater in the plaster.
Hidan spat blood but grinned through the pain. "Cheap tricks—that's all you've got!"
Shiki adjusted his glasses, unfazed. "If rage could kill, you'd have surpassed the Sage of Six Paths by now."
"RRRGH—!!"
Hidan's veins bulged as he thrashed against the restraints.
The truth cut deeper than any blade.
Three months. Zero wins.
His pride couldn't take it.
"SCREW THIS—WE DIE TOGETHER!"
Ripping his shirt open, he revealed a chest plastered with explosive tags.
"KEKEKE! SAY GOODBYE!"