Muramasa's awakening had been put on hold for the time being.
The crack along the blade hadn't spread any further, but that hair-thin fissure was a constant reminder, he needed better materials. He needed Tōtōsai.
The tanuki's intelligence network had already been deployed. Word was on its way. There was no rushing it.
So he would use this time to think through something else. The path forward.
It was a question Shinji had been turning over in his mind ever since driving back the Tsuchigumo.
He had now reached the Ninth Transformation. This was the third step of Essence Transformation, a long way beyond the limits of the Sixth Transformation in the Physical stage.
But from the ultimate Twelfth Transformation, from his goal of achieving perfect quality, he still stood three steps away.
The Tenth. The Eleventh. The Twelfth.
He knew the way forward, of course. He simply needed to keep stacking. The transformations after Essence were fundamentally the same as those during the Physical stage, they were about stuffing more into an already-existing vessel.
At most, the vessel itself was also changing, growing in capacity, becoming more elastic, able to bear far greater quality and quantity than before.
The three core transformations that had already been pushed past overload once, Soul-Chasing bow arm, Lightning-Sinewed Body, and Bone-Essence, had all regained room for growth after the Essence shift.
Spear-Waist, Keen-Eye, and Blood Change were also steadily improving. By that logic, as long as he kept stuffing those six vessels, reaching the Tenth wouldn't be hard. Even pushing to the Eleventh and Twelfth had a trail to follow.
But knowing the way and actually walking it were two different things. The filling and amplification of each transformation required corresponding pathways. Just like bone and essence, like lightning-sinew and body, like soul-chasing and archer.
Shinji couldn't yet see how to make those next steps. He also had a feeling that his coming transformations couldn't be limited to the external. He had to start seeking inward.
The internal… the organs. The viscera. Even the soul. Only by achieving every kind of transformation could he truly rise from death to life, rather than remaining half-dead, half-alive.
But there was no urgency in not knowing just yet. As long as he conquered enough things, enough, and diverse enough, he would eventually find the right matches. With more max-Affection artifacts, more stacked transformations, more accumulated quantitative change, it was inevitable.
And what that required, without question, was…
"Artifacts."
If he could find more artifacts with powerful abilities and fuse their powers into himself, continuing, accumulating, then discovering, even achieving, what he sought wouldn't take long at all. It was a path with traces to follow. A path that could easily be walked.
This world had no shortage of famed relics. This was, after all, what Shinji understood as a fused world, legendary weapons from every system lay scattered across the land. Take, for instance, the three demon swords left behind by Tōga, the greatest daiyōkai of the western lands, symbols of heaven, earth, and man: Tenseiga, Tessaiga, and Sō'unga.
Or the blade wielded by Nurarihyon, the future Lord of the Chimimōryō, the yōkai-slaying sword Nenekirimaru, forged by a great onmyōji, capable of cutting even "phenomena" themselves, inflicting wounds that could never be healed. And then there were all manner of demon swords, cursed blades, sacred treasures, and divine artifacts.
And… weapons that appeared mundane yet were uniquely special. Like the Nichirin Blades.
When that name crossed his mind, Shinji's thoughts shifted. He recalled what the Tsuchigumo had mentioned before leaving. The one it had spoken of. Kibutsuji Muzan. Progenitor of all demons. The entity the Tsuchigumo had crushed to death seventeen times, only for it to keep coming back.
In the original story of Demon Slayer, there were only two things capable of killing the demons Muzan created. Sunlight. And the Nichirin Blades. But the two were, in truth, one and the same.
Nichirin Blades were forged from scarlet iron sand and scarlet ore, minerals that had been exposed to sunlight for years on end, absorbing vast quantities of its power.
Blades crafted from such materials could affix the properties of sunlight to their cutting edges and sever a demon's immortality.
If he was going to face Muzan in the future, then Nichirin Blades, or the raw materials used to forge them, were something he absolutely had to obtain.
Recently, Kaede's Village had been quiet. No yōkai attacks. No demons in sight. But Shinji had a feeling they would cross paths with Muzan again eventually.
From what he could tell, that creature, though not overwhelmingly powerful, certainly no match for a daiyōkai, was exceedingly adept at lurking in the shadows. Right now, it was hiding within the collective of Kyōto's Hundred Demons, and very likely had its own eyes fixed on the Shikon no Tama as well.
And if Shinji could fuse the properties of a Nichirin Blade into himself… perhaps he might even grasp a transformation related to the sun. He could gain one more variation through it.
It was along this train of thought that Shinji issued new orders to his Twenty-Three Demons. Investigate all manner of artifacts. And, investigate the demons… and the Demon Slayer Corps.
As the organization that had long pursued Kibutsuji Muzan, seeking to destroy him, the raw materials for the Nichirin Blades were held in the Corps' hands.
But the report that followed caught Shinji off guard.
The Demon Slayer Corps of this era or rather, the one who forged the Nichirin Blades for them, was very likely connected to Tōtōsai. What's more, the so-called scarlet iron sand and scarlet ore might very well have originated from Tōtōsai himself.
"Tōtōsai again."
Shinji suddenly felt that this world was vast, and yet, in some ways, very small. Every thread led in the same direction.
Find Tōtōsai, and he could reforge Muramasa. Find Tōtōsai, and he could make contact with Tessaiga. Find Tōtōsai, and he could follow the trail straight to the Nichirin Blades.
The only problem… was finding Tōtōsai.
But put another way, if he could just accomplish this one step, he would kill three birds with a single stone.
And so it was, beneath yet another veil of night.
Shinji sheathed Muramasa, having also completed his daily cultivation with Sakasagami no Yura and the venomous dragon's reverse scale.
[Sakasagami no Yura: Affection 56]
[Venomous Dragon Reverse Scale: Affection 54]
Without Muramasa spurring them on, their progress had slowed again. Still, it was rising. That was what mattered.
Beyond those, there was also:
[Well: Affection 100 (Fusion Ability, Saliva Surge)]
[Boulder: Affection 100 (Fusion Ability, Immobility: allows you to remain perfectly still, like a rock.)]
[Pine Tree: Affection 100 (Fusion Ability, Rooting: allows you to root your legs into the ground. And… that's about it.)]
[…]
[Shikon no Tama: Affection 84]
[Sacred Tree: Affection 7]
[Kantō Earth: Affection 2]
As expected, even when he maxed out ordinary things, the abilities they granted were mostly useless. Shinji had no intention of fusing with any of those. But whether useful or not, he still went through them all. In daily life, even the mundane could lend him a bit of support.
And it was then, in the deepest stillness of the night—
The world shuddered. A single, fleeting instant.
Not an earthquake. This tremor came from the heavens, then sank into the earth.
Yōki!
Shinji's gaze snapped upward. He felt it. Vast. Immense. A yōki pressing in from far beyond the village's edge.
His blood-mist perception caught the anomaly before his mind could even catch up. His body moved faster than thought, he launched himself up from beneath the old pine, the demon mask coalescing in his hand, his crimson demon eyes contracting to sharp slits.
Again?
Another daiyōkai?
The Tsuchigumo, again?
But the very next second, he rejected his first instinct.
No.
This yōki was completely different from the Tsuchigumo's.
When the Tsuchigumo had descended from the sky, its yōki had come crashing down like a landslide and a tidal wave, violent, brutal, churning the very heavens until the turbid clouds for a hundred of kms roiled in chaos. But this yōki before him now… was still.
Quiet. Quiet to the point of absolute purity. No crushing pressure. No savagery. Not even a trace of hostility radiating outward.
It simply was. Like a mountain standing in place, unmoving, unshakable and yet you knew, with absolute certainty, that it was higher than you. Heavier than you. A hundred times more ancient than you.
For several kms around, the air did not grow heavy. The color of the sky did not change. Only, the chirping of every insect fell silent. The birds ceased their calls. Even the barrier's spiritual light at the village edge rippled faintly, stirred by the sheer quality of that yōki.
This was something inborn. Not the accumulated condensation of turbid energies but power carried in the bloodline itself. Power etched into the very bones from the moment of birth.
A daiyōkai born. A being of higher lineage.
Shinji's hand closed over Muramasa's hilt.
He recognized this feeling. From all the knowledge he'd gathered before ever crossing into this world, of all the beings in this era who could make him perceive innate superiority at a single touch, they were few enough to count on one's fingers.
And the one whose aura matched what he was feeling now most perfectly—
"Sesshōmaru."
The name scraped from his throat, heavy with barely suppressed gravity.
Of the Western Lands' Inu-yōkai clan. The eldest son of Tōga. A daiyōkai by birth.
Just then, the paper door of the main hall slid open.
Kikyō stepped out. White uwagi, crimson hakama. Her longbow was already in her grip. Her jet-black hair, unbound, cascaded loosely behind her shoulders.
With a sweep of her fingers, she tucked the stray strands at her brow behind her ear, revealing that refined, clear-featured face. Her dark eyes stared straight beyond the village.
She had felt it too.
"Daiyōkai."
Kikyō spoke only that single word. Her voice was calm, but her fingers around the bow had tightened a full measure.
Their gazes met midair.
Here we go again.