In the shadows of Infinity Castle, Muzan floated in midair, his crimson eyes fixed coldly on Giyu below. His voice was calm, emotionless, yet heavy with suffocating pressure.
"A demon has sent word. The Blue Spider Lily grows atop the highest peak—Mount Kongo in the Northern Region. Mushiki, you will go there yourself. Confirm whether the rumor is true, and if it is, bring the flower back. You will be rewarded."
Giyu bowed deeply, his dark-blue slit pupils steady and unreadable. "Yes, Muzan-sama."
"Don't disappoint me."
Muzan's tone turned cold, black mist curling between his pale fingers. "Your handling of the incident in North Village Street was… unsatisfactory. It displeased me. If you make another mistake this time, you know the consequences."
The words pierced straight into Giyu's chest like a thorn. Muzan's suspicion hadn't faded in the slightest. This mission to the snow mountain was not only an order—it was a test.
Truly, a cautious monster, Muzan.
Without another word, Giyu turned and exited the hall, his shadowy form vanishing swiftly into the endless corridors of Infinity Castle.
Leaving that oppressive place, he headed straight for the Northern Region—Mount Kongo.
The wind on the mountain was biting cold, carrying tiny shards of ice that stung his face.
He wore only a thin kimono, but he felt no chill. A demon's body had long surpassed human limits; such cold meant nothing to him.
The mountain path was treacherous, blanketed in deep snow. Each step could easily sink into a pit, yet his pace remained smooth and silent, his movements swift as a wraith.
After about two hours of climbing, several figures suddenly emerged from behind a snowy ridge, blocking his path.
The leader was a weathered man in his forties, his face roughened by wind and frost. Behind him stood three elderly people, two middle-aged men, and a pair of children.
The oldest child looked no more than twelve or thirteen, gripping a rusted knife in his trembling hands, his face pale from the cold.
"This mountain's mine, this tree's mine too! If you wanna pass, leave some money behind!"
The middle-aged man forced his voice to sound bold, but it quivered from cold and fear.
Giyu stopped, his eyes sweeping over them—old, weak, starving, their clothes ragged and thin, straw sandals exposing bare toes to the snow.
They didn't look like bandits—more like refugees driven to desperation.
He said nothing, merely waiting for their next move.
"Y-you think staying silent makes you safe?"
The man gritted his teeth and raised his dull blade. "If you don't pay, we won't go easy on you!"
One of the men behind him quickly grabbed his arm. "Hey, boss, calm down! This guy doesn't look normal—he's dangerous!"
"If I don't do something, my kids are gonna starve to death!"
Shoving his companion aside, the man charged at Giyu, his blade slicing through the air toward Giyu's shoulder.
Giyu's eyes hardened. In a single motion, he sidestepped and extended his right hand. A thin blade of water flashed between his fingers, slicing precisely across the man's throat.
A sharp hiss—blood spattered across the white snow, blooming red like a flower.
The man's eyes widened. He collapsed limply, lifeless, into the snow.
The others, including the children, went pale with terror and fell to their knees, trembling and bowing repeatedly.
"Mercy, lord! Please, have mercy! We didn't mean it! We just had no other choice!"
Giyu looked down at them, emotion flickering briefly behind his cold eyes.
If it were before—before he became what he was—he might have asked why they turned to this, and perhaps helped them.
But now, Muzan's cells had dulled his compassion, numbing his sense of life and death. His instincts whispered that these lives were no more valuable than weeds underfoot.
Still, he forced himself to resist—to suppress the monstrous hunger and the detached cruelty gnawing at him.
After a long silence, he finally spoke, voice low and flat. "Why did you become bandits?"
An old man with white hair trembled as he answered. "We're from the village at the foot of the mountain. Last winter's blizzard killed all the crops. There's no food left, and the officials keep raising the taxes. The children are starving… We had no choice but to come here—to try and rob a traveler, just to survive a little longer…"
Giyu fell silent.
Even as a demon, accustomed to darkness and cruelty, he couldn't help but feel a faint ache at such misery.
He bent down and pulled a pouch of coins from inside his kimono—money he'd earned in the Entertainment District.
He had meant to give it to Shinobu, to let her buy something she liked. But now, it seemed there was a better use for it.
He tossed the pouch onto the snow. "Take it. Go back down the mountain. Don't become bandits again. Live properly."
The old men froze, staring between the pouch and Giyu, unsure if they should believe what they'd just heard.
The group immediately fell to their knees, bowing repeatedly. "Thank you, lord! Thank you, lord!"
Giyu didn't respond. He turned and continued deeper into the snowy mountain.
The howling wind swept through, carrying flurries of snow that quickly covered the bloodstains and the marks left by the coin pouch, as if nothing had happened at all.
He placed a hand over his chest. There was no heartbeat—no trace of human warmth—but he could still feel a faint heaviness inside.
Becoming a demon grants strength… but it's getting harder and harder to tell if I'm still the same Tomioka Giyu I once was.
After another hour of climbing, the wind grew stronger, the sky darkened, and thick snow began to fall. A low rumble echoed from afar—the sign of an approaching blizzard.
Looking up, Giyu spotted a wooden cabin on the mountain slope ahead. A thin trail of smoke rose from its chimney—someone was living there.
He was about to walk past it when the cabin door suddenly opened.
A young man stepped out, about twenty-two years old, dressed in a thick cotton coat with a basket of herbs strapped to his back. The basket was filled with freshly gathered plants, and his expression was gentle.
"My friend, a blizzard's coming soon," the man said with a warm smile. "The mountain paths will be dangerous. Why don't you come in and wait it out?"
Giyu looked at him, his dark-blue slit pupils narrowing slightly. A solitary herbalist appearing here, in this desolate mountain? Too strange. Could he be a demon?
He didn't answer right away. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"My name's Kazehaya Jin," the young man replied, still smiling. He pointed toward the small cabin behind him. "My parents used to gather herbs in these mountains. After they passed away, I stayed to continue their work—collecting herbs and treating travelers when I can. These mountains are dangerous in winter. Every year, people get trapped by storms. I keep the door open for anyone who needs shelter."
Giyu studied him carefully. There was no trace of Muzan's aura—only the warmth of a human. His eyes were clear, his tone calm, not the mask of a demon.
He turned his gaze to the blizzard building in the distance. The storm was close; if he climbed higher now, he risked being caught and failing the mission. That would only deepen Muzan's suspicion.
So he nodded. "Then I'll trouble you."
Kazehaya Jin smiled and stepped aside, gesturing politely. "Come in, it's freezing out here. I just brewed some tea—have a cup and warm up."
Giyu followed him into the cabin. Inside, it was cozy and warm, a small heater crackling at the center of the room. The air smelled faintly of herbs.
The house was small—just a single bedroom and a living area. The furniture was plain but clean. Dried herbs were neatly stacked in the corners.
Kazehaya poured a cup of tea and handed it to Giyu. "It's mixed with herbs to fight off the cold. Drink it—it'll help. Tell me, what brings you up this mountain? Mount Kongo is dangerous, especially in winter. Not many people come here this time of year."
Holding the warm cup in his hands, Giyu hesitated before replying. "I heard there's a rare blue flower that grows here—the Blue Spider Lily. I came to look for it."
He didn't mention Muzan. He made it sound like a personal quest, to avoid suspicion.
Kazehaya blinked, then chuckled. "The Blue Spider Lily? I've lived here for five years and never heard of such a thing."
"You sure you're not mistaken about the place?"
Giyu felt a quiet relief. He hadn't wanted to find the flower anyway, and Kazehaya's words gave him the perfect reason to delay.
Feigning disappointment, he said softly, "I see… I thought the rumor might be true."
"Don't worry too much."
Kazehaya gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "The blizzard will last at least a full day and night. Once it clears, I'll take you up the mountain myself. I've never seen that flower either, but maybe I've just been walking the wrong trails. Still, I should warn you—as someone who's lived here all my life, if I haven't heard of it, chances are it doesn't exist here."
Giyu nodded. "Thank you."
Kazehaya smiled and turned to sort his herbs. "Sit and rest a while. I need to organize what I gathered today. The herbs up here are potent, but they're hard to collect—especially in winter storms."
Giyu sat quietly, holding the cup of tea. The warmth seeped through his fingers, though the taste was empty to his tongue.
He watched Kazehaya move about the room, his mind running fast.
The blizzard buys me time. I can stay here a few days, pretend to search, then report to Muzan that I found nothing. That should hold him off—for now.
He didn't notice the fleeting glance Kazehaya cast his way while arranging the herbs—a subtle, unreadable look.
There was something strange in the young man's eyes, a faint spark of curiosity… and excitement.
The fire crackled softly in the stove as the wind howled outside. The cabin stood like a lone island in the storm.
Giyu took another sip of tea, still tasteless, his gaze steady on the dancing flames. Something about the atmosphere felt… off, though he couldn't tell why.