The following day, beneath a lush canopy of sunlight, Shinji journeyed alone toward Musashi Province, toward Kaede's Village.
Though the emergence of Kumo-Oni had stirred a faint urgency within his heart, he was fortunate enough to be able to "see" Kaede's Village at any moment, to see how things were on Kikyō's side.
Because of this, he hadn't lost his composure. He could still walk and handle matters as he went. He still wore that same gray robe, his white hair flowing loose, his bamboo hat shading half his face. Only now, at his waist, he carried one more blade than when he had set out.
On the left hung Onikiri. The demon blade whose sword-soul was already complete. Its sheath was dark crimson, and from its cutting edge, an exceedingly faint red light would occasionally seep. On the right hung the Nichirin Blade, Yomi-giri.
[Current Affection: 34]
Ever since the Demon's Breath had taken form within his body, Yomi-giri's Affection had leaped from 18 to 32. But after that, no matter how much yōki he poured in, no matter how he tried to permeate it with the Blood-Fire Transformation, no matter how he "chatted" with Yomi-giri, the Affection remained stuck at 32.
Like a door pushed open just a crack, only for something on the other side to brace against it from within. Shinji knew perfectly well what that something was. The founding purpose of the Nichirin Blade, was to slay demons.
What it demanded was not sweet words. Not the infusion of yōki. It demanded action. To take it up and truly cut down a demon. The events of the previous night had only confirmed this. In that camp, he had struck.
He had used Yomi-giri's blade to deliver that Ghostbloom slash, carried by his own breath. That single stroke had indeed cut down a demon. And the Affection had indeed risen, from 32 to 34. But this was not enough.
Far from it. One demon was not enough. He still needed to hunt more.
As he traveled, Shinji rested his hand on Yomi-giri's sheath, feeling the deep, black-shot-with-violet light of Yomi within the blade. It was heavy. The complete opposite of Onikiri's greedy nature.
Yomi-giri lay silent and still within its sheath, like a stone sunk at the bottom of the Yomi River, never to rise for a thousand, ten thousand years.
The System panel flickered.
[Onikiri: It has taken issue with the fact that you've been holding Yomi-giri more than it lately.]
But Shinji could soothe it with a mere thought. Max Affection. Never regressing. No matter what, Onikiri was absolutely loyal to him, utterly obedient to his will.
What was far more noisy, however, was the other thing hanging at his waist. Yura's comb. Ever since the venomous dragon's reverse scale had reached max Affection, this comb had been stuck at 90. Now, with Yomi-giri's arrival, it had been provoked once more.
Its Affection began to climb from 90. 91. 92. The comb rattled furiously against his sash, more frequently than ever before. It wasn't happy. It was frantic.
Shinji patted the comb as he walked. "Don't worry. No need to rush." He was quite amused. The comb only rattled harder. "Truly, don't rush."
Rattle-rattle-rattle.
"…Fine. I'll talk with you more tonight. Don't worry, I share my affections equally."
[Sakasagami no Yura: Hmph!]
With that, the comb fell silent.
[Affection: 94]
Max Affection was close.
Wind and thunder converged to form Wood. Wood would become the liver. He was close. Along the way, as was his habit, he greeted the stones, the withered trees, and the wild grasses by the roadside, infusing a point or two of Affection, asking a few questions along the way. An old, familiar routine.
At the same moment, the headquarters of the Demon Slayer Corps. The Seven Hashira had gathered once more. The atmosphere this time was entirely different from the last. Last time, it had been shock and doubt.
This time, it was silence and gravity. Rengoku Jinjūrō knelt at the lowest seat. As one who was not yet a Hashira but possessed Hashira-level strength, his report had just concluded.
The content of that report was a single matter. The Demon Slayer Corps had recently dispatched three reconnaissance teams in the direction of Kyōto. Two of those teams had now sent back word, at the edge of the daiyōkai's sphere of influence beneath Kyōto, they had indeed detected residual traces of Kibutsuji Muzan's presence.
Exceedingly faint. Exceedingly well-hidden. But undeniably there. That yōkai, no, that Lord had spoken the truth. Muzan was in Kyōto. Hiding within the territory of a daiyōkai named Hagoromo Gitsune.
Ubuyashiki Rikiya sat at the highest place, his clouded eyes half-closed, his hands resting on his knees.
"The news of the Blue Spider Lily… has already been released." His voice was as calm and level as a stone dropped into a deep pool. This, too, was the stratagem Shinji had left behind before his departure.
The Blue Spider Lily. It was said to be the one thing Kibutsuji Muzan had been searching for across five centuries. Rumored to be the crucial catalyst that could allow demons to overcome their weakness to sunlight.
Shinji had instructed them to spread word of it. Spread it to Kyōto. Spread it to where Muzan could hear. There was no need for the flower to truly exist. Only for the rumor. Muzan was suspicious by nature. But the suspicious were, precisely, the ones who feared most to miss an opportunity.
He might not believe it. But he could not afford not to investigate. The moment he moved, he would reveal an opening.
"Now… we need only wait." As Rikiya's voice fell, silence lingered within the hall for a moment. The bald, burly man rubbed his rough chin. "That yōkai… that Lord... where is he?"
"Lord Nakai has already departed," Rengoku Jinjūrō answered. "He said he had to return to Musashi Province. He has his own affairs. When the time comes, we need only send a Kasugai Crow to find him."
"And the red-haired one he left behind?"
"Sir Tsugikuni is in the rear courtyard. He…" Jinjūrō's voice faltered. His expression stiffened, or rather, grew awkward. "He's researching how to make my Breathing Technique last a little longer."
He could hardly avoid feeling embarrassed. After all these days of training, he could still only manage to use it a handful of times. It was enough to make this young swordsman, so highly regarded within the Corps, begin to doubt his own talent.
The Seven Hashira exchanged glances. But no one pressed the matter. Because they had already met Tsugikuni Yoriichi. They, too, had begun learning the Breathing Techniques. And they, too, were struggling. No better than Jinjūrō. No one was in any position to mock anyone else.
"Speaking of which, Kae, hasn't your younger sister also been on the verge of grasping her own Breath?" The oldest of the Seven Hashira, a figure who, by this era's standards, could already be called elderly, turned his gaze toward the braided girl.
"Mm… that child… she only studied under Lord Nakai for a few days before running off to carry out a mission with Rengoku. She still hasn't woken up… it's rather troubling, truly." Despite her words, the braided girl seemed quite happy.
"Then when she wakes, she might well catch up to us, or even surpass us!" The bald man let out a booming laugh, utterly delighted to witness the rise of yet another newcomer.
"Compared to her progress in strength, I suspect she'll be far more distressed over not having been able to bid farewell to the Lord Nakai. If I'm not mistaken, she could, in a loose sense, be considered his disciple." Another Hashira teased.
Amidst the warm, congenial atmosphere, Ubuyashiki smiled and waited patiently for them to finish speaking. Only then did he open his mouth. "Well then, everyone. The time is nearly upon us. From this moment forward, move at your utmost speed."
He spoke: "If it is at all possible… this time, we must do everything in our power. To fulfill our long-cherished wish."
"Yes, Master!"
Elsewhere. Still in Kōzuke Province. Still in the south. Shinji had been walking at a leisurely pace for a full day and night.
And along this very same road, another party approached. Over twenty riders. Their banners were bright and distinct. Though they rode warhorses, what they bore were not battle standards, but plain-colored travel banners embroidered with a single white wild goose.
The goose crest. The family crest of the Uesugi clan of Echigo. The escort rode in tight formation, their armor polished to a gleaming shine. At the center of the column was a tall chestnut mare.
Mounted upon it was a woman. She appeared to be around twenty-two or twenty-three. Tall and slender. She wore a dark traveling kimono, a narrow sash bound at her waist, with divided hakama beneath, suited for riding.
Her hair was deep black, drawn up into a simple, neat bun at the back of her head. A few stray strands, loosened by the wind, fell beside her ears.
Her features were refined and proper. Her brows and eyes bore a strong resemblance to Uesugi Kenshin, who ruled the two provinces of Kōzuke and Echigo.
But compared to Kenshin, her face held more softness, and less of that cold, detached indifference. The fabric of her riding kimono was drawn slightly taut across her chest by her mounted posture, tracing a curve that was neither exaggerated nor indistinct.
Her waist was very slender. Seated upon the horse, the line of her waist was clear and unmistakable at a single glance.
Her name was Uesugi Aya. She could be addressed as Aya-Gozen. She was Uesugi Kenshin's elder sister. Later ages would call her Sentō-in.
Older than Kenshin by several years, she was responsible for administering the Kantō Kanrei of Kōzuke Province.
The Kanrei was a core official title within the Muromachi shogunate, originally called Shitsuji, and renamed during the reign of the third shogun, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu.
Its duty was to assist the shogun in managing the various territories, the equivalent of a grand steward over entire regions. Now, the Kantō Kanrei existed in name only. Yet Aya-Gozen still maintained a dignified presence in Kōzuke under that very title.
She was traveling from Kōzuke to the Uesugi main family's stronghold at Kasugayama Castle. The distance was not great. But with the Kantō's recent upheavals, she had been forced to bring a larger escort than usual.
"My lady, There are still roughly 118 km to the castle town ahead. We should arrive before nightfall," the captain of her guard reported, urging his horse forward.
Aya-Gozen nodded. But her gaze was suddenly drawn to something by the roadside. On the right side of the main road, a gray figure had paused.
He wore a bamboo hat and a straw rain cape. Beneath the brim, skin of an extreme pallor was faintly visible. A head of hair, just as pale yet impossibly smooth and flowing, cascaded down his back.
The figure was crouched beside a low pine tree by the road. His hand rested against the trunk. His lips moved slightly, as though he were speaking to it. Then he stood, walked forward two steps, and crouched again beside a bluestone.
His palm pressed against it. "…Nice texture," a low voice murmured from beneath the bamboo hat, as though talking to himself. He rose and continued walking.
A few steps later, he crouched once more, this time before a clump of foxtail grass by the roadside. "Looking quite spirited."
Aya-Gozen's brows furrowed slightly. The twenty-some riders thundered past that figure, hooves drumming against the earth. The gray figure never once lifted his head.
The two parties brushed past one another. Aya-Gozen turned in her saddle and looked back. That young man was already far away. His gray silhouette receded further and further down the main road, the brim of his bamboo hat swaying in the sunlight.
She withdrew her gaze. She couldn't quite say why, but she felt, somehow, that this person was not like ordinary folk. Even… not like a person at all. A yōkai, perhaps? Yet something felt different.
"Let's go." She gently nudged her horse's flanks. The chestnut mare broke into a trot, merging back into the column. The wind swept across the grasses and trees on either side of the road.
That clump of foxtail grass, the one that had been praised as "looking quite spirited", swayed in the breeze. Just a little more spirited than its neighbors.