A short while later. It was not only the dust of the ruins that had settled, the entire night had fallen back into deep silence.
Shinji leaned against a scorched-black pillar. His bloodless face was nearly translucent beneath the moonlight, cold and severe.
The two other Demon Slayer swordsmen had regained their mobility from their frozen state. But the burly man's eyes still held a dazed bewilderment.
The female swordsman glanced at the red-haired young man standing amidst the wreckage, then at the pale yōkai leaning against the pillar, and finally at her captain.
Wisely, she chose to make no further moves. Still, her hand rested warily on the hilt of her blade, pure conditioned instinct.
Rengoku Jinjūrō stood between the two of them. His crow mask had been removed, revealing a face with thick brows and large eyes, crisscrossed with scars, framed by an unruly mane of semi-long, thick hair. The expression on his face was complex. Truly complex.
Shinji wasn't looking at him. He was looking at the sky. A pitch-black crow was descending from the night. Larger than an ordinary crow by a full size. Its feathers were a glossy, gleaming black. But its eyes were gold.
It landed on Rengoku Jinjūrō's shoulder and tilted its head, studying Shinji. A low, guttural rumble came from its throat. A Kasugai Crow of the Demon Slayer Corps. Shinji remembered this detail.
Kasugai Crows were specially bred by the Corps for message transmission. They possessed extremely high intelligence and could speak human language.
Each one was paired with a specific swordsman, or rather, each swordsman was assigned a corresponding Kasugai Crow. It was through these crows that the Demon Slayer Corps delivered news of demons to their swordsmen scattered across the land, allowing them to travel and slay.
While this was happening, Rengoku Jinjūrō spoke a few words to the crow. Shinji didn't move. He knew the man was relaying information about himself and Tsugikuni Yoriichi to the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters.
The Corps clearly took Tōtōsai's missive with the utmost gravity. As one of the most extraordinary demon-blade smiths of this era, anyone who knew of his existence would treat him with extreme importance.
Even a daiyōkai like Sesshōmaru had done so. The Demon Slayer Corps would obviously be no exception.
Shinji's demon eyes narrowed slightly. He saw Rengoku Jinjūrō lift his gaze. After speaking, the man did not send the crow away, clearly, he had more questions to ask while the opportunity was at hand. He addressed Shinji: "My lord, is there anything you would like to convey to our master?"
Our master…
"The Ubuyashiki family?" Shinji phrased it as a question, but his tone was one of certainty. Rengoku Jinjūrō nodded. Since this person was connected to Tōtōsai, it was only natural that he knew the name of their liege.
And Shinji truly did know. Even though Tōtōsai had not been the one to tell him. He knew of the Ubuyashiki family.
That was the ruling family of the Demon Slayer Corps. Their ancestors had once shared a bloodline with Kibutsuji Muzan, and because of that connection, they had been afflicted, cursed.
Every generation of the Ubuyashiki family, especially the males, was frail and sickly, never living past thirty.
Yet the Ubuyashiki family also possessed a certain innate ability, the power to foresee the future, or perhaps, to perceive the true nature of things. Even from at least several hundred kilometers away, it seemed this family head already knew what had transpired here.
"Interesting. Then let's have a little talk." He had intended to talk anyway.
Shinji straightened up, his gray outer robe lifting slightly. Rengoku Jinjūrō drew a deep breath and bowed to him, a formal samurai's bow.
The swordsmen of the Demon Slayer Corps were not merely swordsmen. In this era, they were also samurai. Lower-ranking nobles granted status by the Ubuyashiki family, who served as their feudal lord.
"Regarding what happened earlier, the Demon Slayer Corps was truly in the wrong. We nearly drew our blades against you. Please, my lord, forgive us. We had been tracking that demon's trail for three days. Four of our comrades died. When we arrived and saw you standing amidst these ruins…"
"Understood," Shinji cut him off.
He walked to the edge of the wreckage and lifted his head to look at the black clouds he had just cleaved, now slowly knitting themselves back together.
Though barely rejoined, they had thinned considerably. Now, under the urging of the wind, they were gradually dispersing, revealing the soft glow of the moon behind them.
Rengoku Jinjūrō followed and stood behind him. Since they were to talk, someone naturally had to open the conversation. Rengoku Jinjūrō thought for a moment, then spoke. "My lord… that slash just now…"
Though they had not yet arrived when Shinji delivered that demon-slaying stroke, as elite swordsmen of this era, they could still feel the lingering resonance of it. It was a slash akin to a natural disaster.
By comparison, though Tsugikuni Yoriichi's Sword Will had been astonishing, the shock it brought was, in truth, less than the aftermath of Shinji's single cut. After all, Yoriichi had only meant to subdue and intimidate, not to wound or kill.
Naturally, he had held back. Shinji, though far from exerting his full strength, had nonetheless deployed his Extreme Will and yōki.
"I cut it," Shinji said without turning around.
Though he had already suspected as much, Rengoku Jinjūrō still choked. Behind him, the two young Demon Slayer swordsmen's eyes flew wide. The female swordsman's hand fell away from her blade's hilt, as though she had abandoned her last shred of wariness, or perhaps realized that wariness was useless.
The burly man merely felt the back of his neck begin to ache again, a sharp, grinding pain. He grimaced, but this time he made no sound. To cut down a demon from several kms away, what kind of concept was that? The three of them had chased it for three days.
Four comrades had died. They hadn't even grazed the demon's hair. This yōkai stood several kms away, across mountains, across forests, and with a single slash, reduced the demon to ash.
"M-My lord…" Rengoku Jinjūrō's voice was dry. "What exactly are you…?" Though yōkai were not uncommon in this era, truly active daiyōkai were few.
Even lesser, but still formidable, yōkai were rare when measured across the breadth of the land. Beings like the thunder-beast or Himemushimaru were already considered commanders.
The three Tōno chieftains were commanders among commanders. Even the traveling members of the Demon Slayer Corps had, for the most part, never encountered yōkai of a caliber that could truly compare to Shinji.
And now, they were suddenly very worried about his intentions. Even if he seemed to bear no malice, he was still a yōkai, not a man. What was his purpose? Coming here, bearing the personal missive of that great master Tōtōsai?
In the midst of this, Shinji simply turned his head. His crimson demon eyes met the other's gaze. "My name is Nakai Shinji," he stated. Then
"I came to find you because I wish to make a transaction."
Rengoku Jinjūrō froze. "A transaction?"
"Mn." Shinji's fingers rested on the hilt of Onikiri. "I have something you want." His voice was not loud, but in the silent ruins, every word was crisp and clear, like a mountain wind, ethereal, yet far-reaching.
"I have the whereabouts of Kibutsuji Muzan." He paused. "And I also know how to kill him."
One after another, the sentences fell. Rengoku Jinjūrō's breath seized in his chest. Behind him, the two young swordsmen went rigid at the same time, as if struck by lightning.
Even the Kasugai Crow perched on his shoulder, that pitch-black bird which had been silent as a stone the entire time, suddenly spread its wings wide. Its golden eyes bulged so far they seemed about to pop from their sockets.
The air solidified. The night wind stilled. Even the insects chirping in the distant mountain forest fell silent in that moment.
Kibutsuji Muzan. The Progenitor of Demons. The absolute ruler of all demons, born five hundred years ago in the Heian era, the self-proclaimed being approaching perfection.
In the records of the Demon Slayer Corps, he could freely alter his appearance, his sex, his age. His whereabouts were nearly impossible to trace. His regenerative ability was so powerful that even if reduced to minced fragments, he could reconstitute in an instant.
He seemed to possess an extraordinarily unique method of resurrection. Apart from sunlight, nothing could truly kill him. Not even daiyōkai. The Demon Slayer Corps had pursued him for five hundred years.
The bones of the swordsmen who had died on this path could pile into a mountain. And despite all that, the Corps had rarely ever located Kibutsuji Muzan's exact whereabouts. Most of the time, they were only tangled up with the lesser demons he had spawned.
But now, a yōkai stood amidst the ruins. And he spoke that creature's name. And he claimed to know where he was. And he claimed to know how to kill him.
"My lord—"
"He," Shinji cut a glance at Rengoku Jinjūrō, then continued, "can kill Kibutsuji Muzan."
Rengoku Jinjūrō, barely managing to steady himself, followed his gaze. He saw Tsugikuni Yoriichi, still crouched beside his wife.
The young man's deep crimson hair swayed gently in the night breeze. One hand held his wife's. The other shielded her swollen belly. And those eyes, the eyes that could see through all things, lifted and looked calmly toward them.
Beneath the moonlight, Yoriichi's face was as tranquil as a monk listening to the wind. No killing intent. No battle spirit. Even that Sword Will, the aura of a swordsman, had vanished without a trace.
Only a deep, clear stillness reflected in his crimson eyes. But Rengoku Jinjūrō remembered the presence this man had just exuded. And in this moment, in this very instant, it was as though he could see, once more, the power hidden within that seemingly frail body.
The Kasugai Crow on his shoulder ruffled its wings.
Rengoku Jinjūrō drew a deep breath. He turned. And he bowed deeply to Shinji. This time, it was no mere formality. It was a plea. Though utterly inexplicable, Rengoku Jinjūrō believed every word spoken by this yōkai.
"My lord—"
"Take me to your master." Shinji cut him off. His crimson demon eyes blazed startlingly bright in the darkness. "I will tell him where Muzan is. And how, he can be killed."
This was one of his objectives in seeking out the Demon Slayer Corps. The other purpose, beyond the Nichirin Blades. He had not forgotten what the Tsuchigumo had said.
He had not forgotten that the creature was also lurking in Kyōto. And that it was highly likely already targeting him and Kikyō, or perhaps, targeting the Shikon no Tama. There was no such thing as a thief who only ever stole by daylight. How could there be a guard who only ever guarded by daylight?
He had a premonition: that creature was still hiding in the shadows of Kyōto even now, weaving schemes against them. If the opportunity arose, he would, of course, take the initiative. And eliminate the threat. Permanently.