The era of demons had ended. Whether they were Hashira or ordinary members of the Demon Slayer Corps, everyone had returned to being regular people.
To ensure everyone's lives were as stable as possible, the Ubuyashiki family prepared generous settlement allowances for the members. They even specially arranged adjacent estates for the Hashira, intending for these warriors who had spent their entire lives slaughtering in the darkness to support each other for the rest of their days.
However, Asuka refused this kindness, insisting on returning to Hayama.
There lay his most wretched beginning, the one-armed old man Tetsushin Arisaki, Rika and Kenichi, and the wind that filled the mountains.
Unexpectedly yet reasonably, because the Butterfly Mansion was severely damaged in the final battle and Shinobu Kocho's physical condition was extremely poor, the former Insect Hashira chose to return to Hayama with Asuka to recuperate.
They called it recuperation, but everyone knew the unspoken truth.
That place would be her end.
The spring sunlight spilled lazily over the wooden corridors of the Hayama training grounds.
The repair work here had long been completed by the children who had once trained there, alongside retired members of the Demon Slayer Corps.
The originally desolate training ground on the back mountain had been converted into an herb garden, specifically tended to by a few young girls who had retired from the Butterfly Mansion.
Their bond with Shinobu Kocho was akin to that of sisters; at the very least, in this final stretch of time, they were determined to take good care of their older sister.
"And I can already sense that quite a few souls have been affected by your presence. Before the situation gets too bad, you must put an end to this behavior that disrupts the circulation of Reishi."
The giant white wolf did not speak at this moment, merely lying quietly beneath the ancient tree, occasionally swallowing some of the energy escaping from the vortex.
'I have to go back... It is time to go back.'
He still had revenge to exact, and someone to kill...
"Asuka, spacing out again?"
A gentle voice came from behind, pulling Asuka's consciousness back to reality.
Shinobu Kocho, draped in her signature butterfly-wing patterned haori, felt her way along the doorframe and slowly walked out.
Her steps were light, lacking her former agility. Although her eyes were open, those purple pupils had lost their focus, appearing somewhat hollow.
"I'm not," Asuka replied, his voice as loud and clear as ever, propping himself up with one hand to help her. "I was looking at the bellflowers in the herb garden!"
"Liar," Shinobu chuckled, holding onto his sturdy arm and sitting down beside him, her movements somewhat sluggish. "It's only March. The bellflowers won't bloom for a long time."
"Then I'm looking at the unbloomed bellflowers."
"You really... haven't changed at all. Such a clumsy way of chatting."
Shinobu smiled self-deprecatingly. She extended her slender hand, waving it slightly in the empty air.
Asuka naturally reached out his left hand and supported her palm.
Her hand was freezing, an aftereffect left behind by Doma's Blood Demon Art.
But Asuka's hand was scalding hot, a morbid high fever caused by the violent Spiritual Pressure constantly washing over his physical body.
One cold, one hot, reaching a bizarre equilibrium in the breeze.
"What character are we learning today?" Asuka took the initiative to ask.
From Rukongai to the Taisho Era, he had only ever learned how to fight.
Occasionally, when he heard the people around him speak of grand philosophies or famous poetic quotes, he only knew how to say them; if they were written down, he wouldn't be able to read them at all.
Although he never felt embarrassed by this, ever since returning to Hayama, Shinobu had insisted on teaching him how to read, including both kana and kanji.
In her words, if Asuka went somewhere else in the future and couldn't even read the street signs, people would laugh at him.
"Yesterday we learned the character for 'family'," Shinobu's fingertips slid gently across Asuka's broad palm. "Do you still remember how to write it?"
Asuka took a deep breath, trying hard to recall. This felt much more difficult than practicing swordsmanship.
He extended his index finger, tracing the strokes one by one in Shinobu's petite palm.
His movements were very slow, the calluses on his fingertips rubbing against Shinobu's tender skin, eliciting a faint, subtle tickle.
"Here... the hook needs to be a little longer," Shinobu corrected softly.
She held Asuka's finger with a backhand grip, guiding his vigorous strokes. "The top of this character is a roof, and the bottom is a little pig."
Asuka felt the sensation transmitting from his fingertips, turning his head to look at the earnest Shinobu.
He didn't understand any calligraphic aesthetics.
But he could feel that when Shinobu held his hand, the restless Spiritual Pressure inside him—which threatened to tear his body apart—would miraculously subside for a brief moment.
The teaching continued quietly under the corridor, with Asuka writing character after character in her palm.
He learned very earnestly, wanting to carve these unfamiliar symbols into his soul.
This kind of tranquil time was something he had never imagined in the past.
And before the destined, even crueler battles arrived, such moments were all the more precious.
The sun slowly slanted westward.
"What about the next character?" Asuka asked.
"Let's learn 'return'," Shinobu's voice carried some exhaustion as she leaned against Asuka's shoulder. "The 'return' in 'returning home'."
In the intervals between learning characters...
Or rather, considering Shinobu's physical exertion, for most of the day, Asuka would usually go to the shed by the dojo.
That was where Tetsushin Arisaki used to store sundries.
Asuka was now trying his hand at being a carpenter.
For someone with only one hand, whose fingers were frequently numb from the impact of Spiritual Pressure, carving was an extremely difficult task, but he threw himself into it completely.
He stepped on the wood, the muscles in his left arm bulging as he gripped the carving knife tightly.
Thwack—thwack—
Fine wood chips flew through the air.
He wanted to carve some small animals for Shinobu.
Because she couldn't see, he hoped she could use her hands to feel them. He wanted her to be able to touch something lively, even when she was alone.
His first piece of work was a ball.
Originally, he had wanted to carve a cat.
"What is this?"
When Shinobu woke up and received the round block of wood, she felt it in confusion.
"...A cat," Asuka replied expressionlessly.
Shinobu burst into laughter, her weak and soft giggles sounding exceptionally crisp in the quiet Japanese-style room. "What kind of cat looks like a rice ball? Mr. Asuka, did you really put all your talent points into swordsmanship?"
Asuka didn't retort, merely returning to the wooden shed in silence.
In the following days, the continuous sound of wood being whittled could always be heard from the shed in Hayama.
"What's that sound? Are you expanding the dojo? You barely have any disciples," Jigoro Kuwajima, who was playing shogi with Tetsushin Arisaki, looked outside in confusion.
Tetsushin Arisaki rolled his eyes at him. "Mind your own business."
Slowly, the wooden ball turned into an angular block, and the block grew ears and a tail.
He carved a burrowing mouse, and a roaring wild boar—
Of course, Inosuke, who was staying at Hayama, had once tried to pick a fight with Asuka over this carving, insisting that Asuka had failed to capture the divine essence of the Lord of the Mountains.
Finally, he carved a butterfly.
That butterfly rested on a leaf. Although it wasn't particularly exquisite, it was still a decent little trinket to play with.
When Shinobu touched the wooden butterfly, her fingertips trembled slightly.
"It's amazing, Asuka," she said softly. "It has... your scent on it."
Asuka froze for a moment. He hadn't used any spices or fragrances.
But he quickly realized what it was; it had to be the aura of his Spiritual Pressure.
While carving, his overflowing spiritual power had unconsciously poured into it.
Even if this butterfly left his hands, it would not rot or decay for decades, and could even frighten away ordinary wild beasts.
'A pity she won't last that long, otherwise it could serve as a protective charm.'
Nugata's voice echoed from the bottom of his heart, causing Asuka's expression to sour slightly.
"Talkative bastard," he muttered, patting the hilt of his sword.