Early morning in the Swordsmith Village,
The mist still lingered in the valley, while the crisp clang of hammer against steel echoed through the air.
Rin slid open the door of the Japanese-style room and took a deep breath, the cool air carrying the scent of iron and pine.
He had slept well. The boost to his mental strength from the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan left him feeling refreshed, chakra flowing through his body like an endless river.
"Rin-san! Good morning!"
In the courtyard, Kamado Tanjiro had already finished washing up. With Nezuko's wooden box strapped to his back, he was energetically doing squats.
In contrast, Zenitsu and Inosuke were still sprawled on the tatami inside, drool pooling beneath them as they slept like the dead.
"I'm heading to the back mountain for a walk." Rin ignored the two lazy sleepers and casually greeted Tanjiro.
The two of them followed the stone path through the village toward the forest in the back mountain.
They hadn't gone far when a sharp argument broke out from a clearing ahead.
"Give me the key. Your task is to hand it over and then step aside."
The speaker was a young boy with long black hair that faded into mint-green at the tips.
He wore an oversized Demon Slayer Corps uniform. His eyes were dull and empty, like still water, as he gripped a child wearing a Hyottoko mask by the collar with one hand, his voice completely devoid of emotion.
The Mist Hashira, Tokito Muichiro.
The child he was holding was named Kotetsu. He struggled desperately, his voice muffled by the mask and tinged with tears. "No! That's a mechanical doll passed down by our ancestors! Even if it's broken, I can't just hand it over to someone like you who doesn't know how to value it as a training partner!"
"How troublesome." Muichiro frowned slightly. "I am a Hashira. My time is more valuable than the life of a swordsmith like you. Let go."
He raised his hand, about to strike the disobedient child.
"Stop!"
Seeing this, Tanjiro's sense of justice flared instantly.
Without hesitation, he rushed forward and grabbed Muichiro's raised wrist.
"As a Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps, how can you use violence against an ordinary child?!" Tanjiro glared at him.
Muichiro glanced at Tanjiro expressionlessly, as if searching his memory for who he was, then quickly gave up.
With a simple twist of his wrist, an overwhelming force broke free from Tanjiro's grip. In the same motion, he struck back with a hand-blade aimed at Tanjiro's neck.
Bang.
Tanjiro didn't even have time to react. His vision went black, his legs buckling as he began to collapse.
But before Muichiro's strike could fully land, another hand reached out from the side, steadying Tanjiro by the shoulder, while two fingers clamped down on Muichiro's wrist like iron.
"Picking on a child first thing in the morning—are Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps really this idle?"
With one hand in his pocket, Rin stopped Muichiro's movement with the other, his calm gaze fixed on the prodigy before him.
A ripple finally appeared in Muichiro's empty eyes.
He recognized this face.
In the Ubuyashiki courtyard, it had been this man who knocked down all the Hashira in a single move with that strange purple lightning.
Muichiro tried to pull his wrist free, but it didn't budge.
The strength he prided himself on couldn't even stir a ripple against this man.
"Let go. I only want the training doll. He's wasting my time," Muichiro said flatly, as if stating an obvious fact.
"If someone refuses to give something and you take it by force, that's called robbery."
Rin flicked his hand, sending Muichiro stumbling back three or four steps.
"If you want to get stronger, go chop stones in the mountains. Using a broken wooden doll from centuries ago as your sparring partner—if that's all you rely on, this is as far as you'll ever go."
Muichiro steadied himself and rubbed his sore wrist.
He took a long look at Rin. Though his memory loss dulled his emotions, his instincts told him clearly, this man was extremely dangerous, and under no circumstances should he draw his blade.
"…Boring."
Leaving that single word behind, Muichiro turned and walked into the depths of the forest without another glance, abandoning his attempt to take the key.
Kotetsu, who had fallen to the ground, burst into tears. Tanjiro rubbed his aching neck while awkwardly trying to comfort him.
Rin shifted his gaze toward the center of the clearing.
There stood a tall mechanical doll with six arms, each holding a worn wooden sword, its face hidden behind a weathered mask.
Despite the passage of time, a restrained sword intent still lingered around it.
Yoriichi Type Zero.
A training doll created based on the movements of the man who had once driven Muzan to the brink of death—Tsugikuni Yoriichi.
Because nothing and no one could keep up with Yoriichi's speed, the craftsmen had given it six arms to simulate his movements.
Rin stepped forward and examined the doll up close.
Within his pitch-black pupils, the three-tomoe Sharingan quietly emerged.
Under his microscopic perception, the precise gear mechanisms and thread-driven movements inside the doll were laid bare before him.
"Exquisite craftsmanship. Unfortunately, it's still just a lifeless object." Rin gave a calm assessment as the Sharingan in his eyes faded.
No matter how fast a sword technique it could imitate, without a human's adaptability or the support of Breathing Techniques, this machine was no different from a wooden post in Rin's eyes.
"Th… thank you for helping me. I can give you the key to show my gratitude, I have a feeling that you wouldn't try to break my—" Kotetsu wiped his tears, stepped forward, and bowed deeply to Rin and Tanjiro.
"No need to thank me. This broken toy is useless to me." Rin gestured toward Tanjiro beside him. "But for this stubborn kid, it makes a decent training dummy. Tanjiro, for the next few days, stay here and train your swordsmanship with this doll. You don't get to eat until you've cut it to pieces."
"Yes, Rin-san!" Tanjiro straightened up immediately and accepted the order with full determination.
The day passed quickly, filled with the sounds of hammering in the village and the clashing of wooden swords in the forest.
As the sun set, night quietly fell over the Swordsmith Village.
The temperature in the valley dropped sharply, and the mist rising from the hot springs took on an eerie quality in the darkness.
...
At the edge of the once-peaceful village, several swordsmiths on night watch patrolled with lanterns in hand.
"Gurgle… gurgle…"
A strange bubbling sound came from the grass by the roadside.
"What's that noise?" A swordsmith approached with a lantern, puzzled.
In the grass, a strangely shaped porcelain pot had appeared out of nowhere.
Twisted patterns covered its surface, as if it were alive, faintly writhing.
Before the swordsmith could get a clear look, a grotesque creature burst out from the mouth of the pot—a fish-like demon with sharp scales, human-like hands, and the lower body of a fish.
Puchi!
Its claw pierced straight through the swordsmith's chest, blood spraying out and staining his Hyottoko mask red.
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12 Advance chapters:Patreon/slept01