Chapter 12 (Patreon)

Ragnar Kagenou was speechless.

He stared at Satoru Gojo for a long moment before finally speaking.

“...This is what you meant by ‘something bad happened’?”

Gojo scratched the back of his head, looking oddly serious for once.

“But this is important.”

Ragnar covered his face with one hand.

“Isn’t it just some kind of daifuku?”

Gojo immediately objected.

“It’s edamame whipped cream daifuku.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Ragnar said flatly. “At the end of the day, it’s still daifuku, isn’t it?”

Gojo nodded with complete sincerity.

“That’s right.”

A ripple of golden light spread open behind Ragnar.

He reached into the Gate of Babylon and pulled out a pistol-shaped object glowing with green light.

Gojo blinked.

“What’s that for?”

“A portal gun,” Ragnar said. “It lets you travel to parallel worlds so you can go find your daifuku.”

Gojo paused.

Then even he seemed to realize how absurd that sounded.

“...Using parallel world travel just to buy dessert?”

Ragnar gave a small nod. “You’re right. Forget it.”

“Wait,” Gojo said, his attention immediately snapping back. “Where did you even get something like that?”

“Rick and Morty.”

Ragnar waved it off.

“Not important. Since you don’t want it, I’m tossing it.”

With that, he casually threw the portal gun into some random corner of the Gate of Babylon.

Moments of peace never lasted very long.

After a while, Ragnar asked, “Gojo, where exactly are we headed this time?”

A strange look crossed Gojo’s face.

Ragnar frowned.

What kind of expression was that supposed to be?

Gojo finally answered, “Romania.”

It was honestly impressive that nothing happened on the plane this time.

The moment they got off, Ragnar stretched and breathed in the cool air.

“Let’s go, Ragna,” Gojo called out.

“Yeah, yeah.”

As they walked, Ragnar glanced around.

Not bad.

The city really did have a distinctly foreign atmosphere.

Roman-style buildings lined the streets, and for a moment, it almost felt like he had wandered into another world.

Then a thought occurred to him.

“By the way, Gojo. Do you speak Romanian?”

Gojo waved a hand without a hint of concern.

“Romanian? Of course not.”

“We’re doomed.”

“Come on, be optimistic,” Gojo said. “Sign language exists.”

Ragnar looked at him in silence.

As expected, he had absolutely no reason to hope for anything useful from this man.

“Wait a second,” Ragnar said. “I think I’ve got something that might help.”

Gojo tilted his head.

“Hm?”

Without another word, Ragnar stepped into the Gate of Babylon.

Inside the golden city, treasures and weapons were piled high without end.

And even now, new objects that qualified as “treasures” continued to accumulate there.

After rummaging around for a while, Ragnar suddenly stopped.

“Found it.”

He reached in and pulled out a round blue robotic cat.

“I knew it should still be here somewhere.”

Then he shoved a hand into the cat’s pocket and searched around for a bit.

At last, his expression brightened.

“This is it.”

Satisfied, Ragnar set the blue robotic cat back where he had found it and stepped out of the Gate of Babylon.

“I’m back.”

Gojo looked at him suspiciously.

“What were you doing in there?”

Ragnar held up a translucent cube.

“This.”

Gojo stared at it for several seconds.

He studied it from every angle, but in the end, he still had no idea what it was supposed to be.

Ragnar explained, “It’s called Translation Konjac.”

“Konjac?”

“Exactly. Eat it, and you’ll be able to communicate without any language barrier.”

Gojo took a piece and held it up in front of his face.

“It’s really that amazing?”

Ragnar popped one into his mouth first.

“Of course.”

Only after seeing that did Gojo reluctantly eat his piece.

He chewed a few times, then frowned.

“It just tastes like bland konjac.”

“You’ll understand once we get into the city.”

And sure enough, after leaving the airport and heading deeper into town, the Translation Konjac proved its worth immediately.

Even in a country completely unfamiliar to them, the two of them had no trouble communicating with locals.

Gojo was so impressed that he kept going on about it.

“I’m serious, Ragna. This Translation Konjac is incredible.”

“I told you.”

Gojo was holding a sweet bun in one hand, looking perfectly content.

As usual, no matter where he went, the first thing on his mind was sugar.

Ragnar, on the other hand, had become more interested in the Romanian smoked meat skewers.

When it came to street food, grilled skewers really were unbeatable.

Especially smoked meat.

The aroma alone was enough to make anyone hungry.

Taking another bite, Ragnar asked, “By the way, the cursed tool we’re after… that’s the one Toji Fushiguro used, right?”

“Yeah,” Gojo replied.

“The Inverted Spear of Heaven ended up in the hands of a curse user group here.”

Ragnar raised a brow.

“That’s strange. Why would something that important leak out in the first place?”

For a brief moment, the air between them went quiet.

Then Gojo finished his sweet bun and said, in a tone that was almost casual, “Who knows? The people at the top are probably senile.”

Ragnar nodded without hesitation.

That much, at least, sounded completely believable.

As for whether they were merely senile or already colluding with Kenjaku…

That was another matter.

Ragnar clapped his hands lightly, as though brushing the thought aside.

“Forget it. Doesn’t matter. Our job is just to recover the Inverted Spear of Heaven and seal it.”

Gojo looked at him strangely.

Ragnar frowned.

What was that look for?

Did he get sauce on himself?

No, that wasn’t it.

“Ragna,” Gojo said, “don’t you want the Inverted Spear of Heaven?”

Ragnar blinked.

Gojo went on, “You’re pretty good at throwing around ridiculous weapons, aren’t you?”

Ragnar had to admit, that wasn’t entirely wrong.

Against jujutsu sorcerers, a weapon like that was absurdly effective.

Even Gojo had nearly died because of it.

“Let’s find it first,” Ragnar said.

Gojo nodded. “Fair.”

“If we can’t even locate it, there’s no point talking about anything else.”

At a table some distance away, a hooded man had been glancing in their direction every so often.

The moment he overheard enough of their conversation, he stood up as casually as possible and walked off.

Ragnar took a bite of a meat pie and said, “You’re not doing anything about that?”

“There’s no reason to bother with small fry,” Gojo replied, leaning lazily back in his chair beneath the warm sunlight.

Ragnar let that pass and asked instead, “So who exactly has the special grade cursed tool?”

Gojo shrugged.

“Not sure. I only know it’s in the hands of a curse user in this country. Apparently they’re pretty strong.”

“A curse user in an entire country?”

Ragnar’s eyes narrowed with interest.

That sounded less like a random criminal and more like someone with an established presence.

“Are they famous?”

Gojo glanced toward the distant Roman architecture, his expression turning slightly more serious.

“He’s both a curse user… and something like a cursed spirit.”

Then he asked, “You’ve heard of Dracula, right?”

By the time evening began to fall, the sky had already turned dark.

When Ragnar paid the bill, he left a little extra as a tip.

The waiter accepted it, then lowered his voice and gave them a quiet warning.

“You’re foreigners, aren’t you? Be careful. Vampires appear at night.”

He hesitated, then added, “A lot of foreigners like you have died in the slums.”

After saying that, he pocketed the tip and left.

Ragnar watched him go.

“Vampires? Foreigners?”

Then he looked toward Gojo.

“Could vampires here be curses too?”

Gojo smiled faintly.

“Exactly.”

Night had fallen completely, and the streets had gone unnaturally quiet.

Ragnar looked around, his gaze sharpening.

“I’m telling you, Gojo. Something about this place feels very wrong.”

“Of course it does,” Gojo said. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

Above them, the moon hung high in the sky.

Bright. Full.

But wrong.

It wasn’t the usual silver-white glow of moonlight.

It was crimson.

A blood-red moon.

Then the wind shifted, carrying a faint metallic scent with it.

Blood.

Gojo’s expression sharpened slightly.

“Looks like we came to the right place.”

The smell was strong.

Too strong.

There had to be a lot of blood nearby.

Ragnar clicked his tongue.

“We arrive on day one and walk straight into bloodshed. That’s a terrible omen.”

Even so, neither of them slowed down.

They passed through several dim side streets until the smell grew thicker and heavier.

Because of the old Romanian architecture, the streetlights couldn’t fully reach the narrow corners and alleys.

Only faint, weak light bled into the darkness.

The deeper they went, the darker it became.

Then, from somewhere ahead in the alley—

They heard it.

The sound of something chewing.