"He saved us! So please... stop fighting already!"
A young girl's shout cut between the demon and me.
"That person?" I thought.
"A demon saved people?"
Impossible.
Why would a cunning demon—one that devours humans—ever save anyone?
Weren't demons monstrosities that fed on human flesh?
The scent of blood in the air was unmistakably human.
Indeed, it was.
But if this is a misjudgment—if that child is mistaken—everyone could be in danger.
Still, a deeper feeling stirred within me, breaking my composure.
It was mistrust of a child.
One cannot trust the words of children.
They are innocents, weak and naive, quick to lie.
A bundle of impulses capable of cruel deeds without remorse.
Even if you protected them with your very life, they might discard your kindness like garbage.
Moreover, I failed to save their parents; surely they resent me.
This, too, might be a lie...
Then—
The child's voice burst forth again, as if frustrated.
"He was the one who cut down the monster that tried to kill us!"
Her once-steady tone trembled with tears.
"He isn't the one who killed our parents...!"
Thud.
Something slumped to the ground, drained of strength.
"...So please, just... stop fighting... for my father... my mother..."
Her voice, choked with sobs, was almost a plea.
I thought,
'That person is a monster... he killed them all...'
Still, I could not trust a child.
Whenever I stand before a child and hear their voice, memories rise like a nightmare.
No matter how innocent they seem, at the last moment their nature emerges.
They run away, turn their eyes aside, and lie—always.
But—
If this is not a mistake, if what that child says is true,
and if the one who saved those children is truly the demon before my eyes,
then how am I different?
Am I not the same as those who believed only a child's word and branded me a murderer?
Namu Amida Butsu, Buddha.
I have to make a choice.
Do I trust the child's words,
or trust my own judgment?
The iron ball's spin did not slow.
Even if this demon held no intent to kill me, even if he stood silent after the child's cry,
The fact remained that the being before me was a demon.
Then...
I must verify the truth,
whether this is truly the case and my judgment a mistake.
Whether this author—the one the Master spoke of—
@@@
"Gyoumei, this is something I only want you to know."
Shortly after I was promoted, the Master called me aside and spoke.
He told me of the first swordsmen.
Those who wielded the Breath of Beginnings in the Sengoku period and brought Kibutsuji Muzan to the brink of destruction.
And the Grandmaster of Total Concentration Breathing who passed the art to them.
They began the lineage of Total Concentration Breathing within the Demon Slayer Corps.
That was the known history of the art.
But that was not what the Master intended to tell me.
"It is the story of the Grandmaster of Total Concentration Breathing, Tsukinokami."
Tsukinokami.
The founding master who first discovered the origin of Breath and transmitted it to the Breathers of Beginnings as Total Concentration Breathing.
Records state he died alongside the Hashira during the final battle with Kibutsuji Muzan, leaving behind his task.
Yet, whispers circulated within the Corps—a legend rather than rumor.
That this Grandmaster had become a demon slayer under the name Tsukinokami to this very day.
No one took it seriously; it was merely a tale.
Until the Master said:
"He lives. He became a demon."
Such stories, differently told within the Corps.
The Master said as much.
Among all Hashira, none ever turned demon.
They are pillars who would rather die than forsake humanity.
So the notion that the very founding Grandmaster of the art had become a demon was unthinkable.
He would be among the Twelve Kizuki's Upper Ranks, perhaps one of their elite,
or we might have to face him along with Muzan himself.
Yet the Master shook his head.
"He is not our enemy. He does not feed on men; he slays demons."
A demon who does not prey on humans.
Even hearing those words from the Master strained belief,
for they defied all common sense about demons.
"To be honest, I find that hard to believe."
At that moment, I fiddled with my prayer beads and, irreverently, voiced my doubt.
The Master looked at me, smiling.
"That is why, Gyoumei, I am telling you alone."
He took my hand and continued.
"He bears crimson flame-shaped markings on his left forehead and right throat."
These were the signs that set him apart from other demons.
He does not devour men.
He uses Total Concentration Breathing.
And he bears those crimson flame marks on his left brow and right throat.
My resolve resurfaced.
Yes, I must confirm it.
This demon before me neither attacks humans nor have I heard of him using Total Concentration Breathing.
Was my dismissal of the child's words itself a mistake?
Was the crying child's claim the truth?
Was this author who fought me truly the Grandmaster of the art, Tsukinokami?
It tormented me that I, blind, could not see his face.
Still, I could not ask a demon outright.
Namu Amida Butsu.
"Child."
Gently, I addressed the girl who had tried to stop our fight.
I could not bring myself to believe her words.
Yet she choked with tears as she defended the demon before us.
A child would never defend the one who killed her parents.
Just once.
Today, I chose to believe her.
"Um...?"
She responded with a tremble in her voice.
"Does the one before me have those marks on his left brow and right throat?"
She answered again, voice quivering:
"Yes. He has flame-shaped marks on his forehead... on his left brow..."
Flame-shaped marks.
I see.
The iron ball's spin slowed to a halt with a whirr.
Thank goodness... it seems I was mistaken.
@@@
The man relaxed his stance upon hearing I bore the marks.
I, too, sheathed my sword.
It would be madness to lower one's blade before a demon.
Yet it seemed he had heard of me from someone.
I had been recorded as dead within the Corps, and my marks were never to be passed on—no one should have known.
Could the current Ubuyashiki family head have told him?
"Are you...?"
He clasped his hands in salute and faced me.
Tears streamed from his sightless eyes.
Why was this giant suddenly weeping?
The sensation was oddly surreal, like meeting Anji's stature in tears.
"Are you Tsukinokami?"
"...Yes?"
Tsukinokami—God of the Moon?
Me?
Who gave me such a ridiculous title?
Why have they made me into a god?
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