The Kamado family busied themselves with preparations to move.
Meanwhile, Giyu Tomioka waited for reinforcements to arrive. Before long, more swordsmen showed up—led by a young man whose presence burned like fire itself.
Compared to Giyu's cold, expressionless demeanor, this man radiated warmth. People found themselves naturally drawn to him.
He was none other than the Flame Hashira—Kyojuro Rengoku.
Strictly speaking, Rengoku had not yet officially inherited the title. His father, Shinjuro Rengoku, had yet to step down. But everyone knew it was only a matter of time. There was no doubt, no opposition—his succession was inevitable.
Because this young man had already proven himself.
He had slain one of the Twelve Kizuki with his own hands.
Within the Demon Slayer Corps, there was an unspoken rule: only those who had killed a member of the Twelve Kizuki could become a Hashira.
So far, every Hashira had met that standard.
Even if what they had defeated were Lower Ranks rather than Upper Ranks… a Kizuki was still a Kizuki.
—
Giyu wasn't good with words. His explanation of the situation came out halting and fragmented—but Rengoku listened patiently all the same.
Then his gaze shifted to the Kamado family, who were still in the middle of moving.
To their fear.
To their grief.
Rengoku didn't approach them. He didn't ask questions.
Tanjiro, after hauling a heavy cabinet onto the ox cart, noticed the group standing outside his home. He hesitated for a moment… then walked over.
"Can you take us to the demon?"
Rengoku greeted him with a bright, open smile.
Standing beside the silent Giyu, the two seemed like complete opposites.
"I'm sorry, sir… I don't have that ability." Tanjiro lowered his head. "I'm… just an ordinary person."
"That's alright!"
Rengoku placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his voice warm and reassuring.
"Fighting demons is our responsibility. You shouldn't have to get involved in this."
"Sir, I…"
Tanjiro looked up, his voice catching.
"Focus on living your life. And from now on, keep wisteria incense at home—demons hate that scent."
"Sir…"
Guilt weighed heavily in Tanjiro's chest.
Rengoku gave his shoulder another encouraging pat.
"Keep going, young man. Life may be hard right now, but the road is under your feet. Step by step, it will get better."
"And besides—you have your mother to protect, and younger siblings who look up to you."
With that, he turned and addressed the other swordsmen who had just arrived.
"Have you found the place?"
"We have."
"Then let's go."
His tone was steady—but no longer as bright as before, as if the fire within him had been quietly restrained.
Tanjiro stood there, watching as Rengoku and the others departed.
The warmth of that hand still lingered on his shoulder.
For a brief moment, an impulse surged within him—
To shout out.
To tell them that maybe… just maybe, he could find that demon.
That he could lead them—
"Big Brother? Are you okay?" A gentle, worried voice came from behind him.
Nezuko stood there, her face flushed with sweat, her expression full of concern.
Tanjiro looked at her.
Looked at his family—tired, frightened, clinging to one another.
That impulse vanished instantly.
He cast one last glance at Rengoku's retreating figure, then turned back, forcing a soft smile.
"I'm fine, Nezuko. We're almost done packing. We can leave soon."
"But Big Brother... do we really have to move?"
"We must."
"Then... where are we going?"
"I don't know yet."
For a moment, uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
But it quickly gave way to determination.
"The future may be hard… but as long as we're together, things will get better."
Nezuko nodded, a tired but hopeful smile appearing on her face.
"I believe so too, Big Brother!"
—
Rengoku and his group soon arrived at the cave.
It was deep and shadowed—but the entrance bore signs of habitation, as if someone had once lived there.
At the mouth of the cave lay a corpse.
The body had fallen facing the sunlight.
A single fatal wound pierced through the back—clean and precise.
Rengoku's grip on his sword tightened slightly.
He stepped into the cave. It was pitch black inside—but under the flickering light of torches, everything gradually came into view.
There was a makeshift bed, roughly built. Scattered pots and utensils lay strewn across the ground. Some food supplies were left behind, messy and half-used.
But there were no piles of bones.
Usually, when entering a demon's lair, there would be human remains everywhere—the leftovers of their meals.
Yet here… there was nothing of the sort.
"Other than our fallen swordsmen… are there no remains of other victims?"
Rengoku turned slightly, asking the swordsman beside him.
"We searched the surrounding area, sir. We didn't find any."
The swordsman answered immediately.
"…So it didn't feed here? Or was it so starved it devoured even the bones?" Rengoku murmured to himself, but his steps didn't slow.
He moved deeper into the cave.
The blood had long since dried, dark and brown against the ground. Several bodies lay scattered in different positions—each one clearly having fallen in battle.
And then—
Near a narrow passage, one body stood out the most.
A young swordsman, collapsed forward on one knee, as if still trying to advance even in death. His hand still gripped his Nichirin Sword tightly.
Beside him… his severed head lay on the ground.
That young, familiar face.
It felt like only yesterday—
Someday, I want to be like you, Rengoku-san… to personally slay one of the Twelve Kizuki.
Sir, when I get back from this mission, I'll treat you to a meal. Salt-grilled sea bream… and sweet potato rice!
Those words still echoed in his ears.
The boy had looked forward to that meal so much.
But now—
The boy…
…was dead.
His head, now severed and lying cold on the ground, no longer held any light in those once-bright eyes.
He never got the chance to treat him to that meal.
And Rengoku… would never get the chance to eat it.
A flame burned within his chest.
But it could only burn—powerless and silent.
Rengoku led the others in digging graves for the fallen, burying them one by one with somber respect.
Kneeling before the graves, Rengoku spoke in a low voice:
"Have you found any trace of the demon?"
"No, sir. The heavy rain last night washed everything away. It likely fled long before we arrived."
The swordsman beside him answered quietly.
Rengoku fell silent.
He stared at the graves.
As a senior… as someone they looked up to—
He couldn't even find the demon responsible.
Couldn't even take its head to offer as tribute.
"I've truly failed as a senior..."
"If Mother were here… she'd probably say I haven't done enough either." He knelt there, his voice low, his expression dim.
"Sir…"
The swordsman beside him looked on with concern. From behind, Giyu Tomioka glanced over as well.
"It's nothing."
Rengoku stood. And just like that, the bright, blazing smile returned to his face—as if the sorrow and grief from moments ago had never existed.
"I will carry on the missions left unfinished… and keep fighting."
"I'll fight until every demon in this world is wiped out."
He smiled at the others, who still stood in silence, weighed down by grief.
"What does failure matter? As long as we still draw breath, nothing can truly defeat us."
"What does death matter? From the moment we stepped onto this path, have any of us truly feared the end?"
"Our passion will not fade because of death, and the fire in our hearts will never be extinguished by it. Nothing can keep us down for long!"
As he spoke, Rengoku lifted his gaze to the sky… to the sun shining above.
"Even if the sun itself were to fall—new life would never cease."