Protected by the grace of heaven, the shrine was standing proudly under the rain. The corrosive drops couldn't touch it, repulsed by an invisible force before the end of their natural course. In the middle of the chaos, the 7 wooden Fortunes were unshakable, a model of calm and power.
Meanwhile, Ayumu wasn't protected by any divine magic and had to enter the closest tent to avoid getting new patches of skin discolored.
But whose tent was it?
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