Early morning in the Swordsmith Village, the mist had not yet dispersed in the valley, and the crisp sound of blacksmithing was already echoing back and forth.
Yamada pushed open the sliding door of the room and took a deep breath of the cold air mixed with the scent of rust and pine.
He had slept soundly last night, and the mental power boost from the Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan left him feeling refreshed, his Chakra surging through his body like an endless river.
"Yamada-san! Good morning!"
In the courtyard, Tanjiro had already finished washing up, and with the wooden box containing Nezuko on his back, he was energetically doing squats.
In contrast, Zenitsu and Inosuke were still sprawled out asleep on the tatami mats inside the room, drooling all over the floor.
"I'm going to the back mountain for a walk." Yamada ignored the two lazybones sleeping like the dead and casually greeted Tanjiro.
The two of them walked along the stone path laid out in the village towards the depths of the forest in the back mountain. They hadn't gone far when a burst of intense arguing sounded from the clearing ahead.
"Give me the key. Your task is to hand over the key and then get out of the way."
The speaker was a young boy with long black hair and mint-green tips. He wore the oversized uniform of the Demon Slayer Corps, his eyes hollow, and he was grabbing a child wearing a Hyottoko mask by the collar with one hand, his tone devoid of any emotion.
Mist Hashira, Tokito Muichiro.
The child he was holding was named Kotetsu, and he was struggling desperately, his voice muffled by the mask, laced with tears. "No! That is a mechanical doll passed down by our ancestors! Even if it's broken, I can't just give it to someone like you who doesn't know how to cherish it as a sparring partner!"
"How long-winded. I am a Hashira, my time is more important than the life of a swordsmith like you. Let go." Muichiro frowned slightly and raised his hand, preparing to slap the disobedient brat.
"Stop!"
Tanjiro saw this scene, and his sense of justice exploded instantly. Without thinking, 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, seemingly searching his mind for information about this person, but quickly gave up.
He flipped his wrist, and instantly broke free from Tanjiro's grip, followed by a backhanded strike that struck Tanjiro's neck heavily.
Bang!
Tanjiro didn't even react, his vision went black, and his legs went weak as he was about to collapse to the ground.
But before Muichiro could advance, another hand silently reached out from the side, steadily supporting Tanjiro's shoulder, while two fingers gripped Muichiro's wrist like iron pliers.
"Bullying a child early in the morning, are you Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps just too idle?"
Yamada had one hand in his trouser pocket, and with the other, he stopped Muichiro's movement, looking at the genius boy with a calm gaze.
A ripple finally appeared in Muichiro's hollow eyes.
He remembered this face.
In the Ubuyashiki courtyard, it was this person who had knocked down all the Hashira with that strange lightning in a single move.
Muichiro tried to pull his wrist back, but found he couldn't do it at all. He couldn't even make a ripple in front of this man.
"Let go. I'm just asking for the training mechanical doll, he's wasting my time." Muichiro stated his logic.
"If someone doesn't want to give it to you and you snatch it by force, that's called robbery."
Yamada flicked his hand, forcing Muichiro back three or four steps.
"If you want to get stronger, go chop stones in the mountains. Using a broken wooden doll from hundreds of years ago as a sparring partner, that's all the potential you'll have in this life."
Muichiro steadied himself and rubbed his sore wrist.
He took a deep look at Yamada. Although his memory loss led to emotional indifference, his biological instincts told him that this man was extremely dangerous and he absolutely must not draw his blade.
"Boring."
Muichiro left behind that one word, turned around, and walked into the depths of the forest without looking back, abandoning his plan to seize the key.
Kotetsu, who had fallen to the ground, burst into tears, and Tanjiro rubbed his sore neck while clumsily trying to comfort him.
Yamada cast his gaze towards the center of the clearing.
There stood a tall mechanical doll with six arms, each holding a broken wooden sword, its face wearing a mottled mask.
Yoriichi Type Zero.
A training machine created according to the movements of the swordsman who drove Muzan into a desperate situation hundreds of years ago—Tsugikuni Yoriichi.
Because ordinary people couldn't keep up with Yoriichi's speed, the craftsmen had to equip it with six arms to simulate it.
Yamada walked up and examined the doll at close range. In his pitch-black pupils, the Three-Tomoe Sharingan quietly appeared. Under his observation, the precise gear transmissions and thread-pulling trajectories inside the doll were all clearly visible to him.
"Exquisite craftsmanship. Unfortunately, it's just a dead object after all." Yamada gave an objective evaluation as the Sharingan in his eyes faded away.
No matter how fast a sword technique it could simulate, without the tactical flexibility and Breathing Style support of a human, this machine was no different from a wooden post in the eyes of the current Yamada.
"That... thank you for your help." Kotetsu wiped away his tears, walked up to Yamada and Tanjiro, and bowed deeply.
"Don't thank me. This broken toy is useless to me."
Yamada pointed to Tanjiro beside him. "But for this stubborn kid, it's a pretty good punching bag. Tanjiro, for the next few days, stay here and practice your sword skills with this doll. You aren't allowed to eat until you hack it to pieces."
"Yes! Yamada-san!" Tanjiro immediately stood straight and accepted the order loudly.
One day passed quickly amidst the sounds of blacksmithing and the clashing of wooden swords in the forest.
As the sun set, night quietly enveloped the Swordsmith Village.
The temperature in the valley dropped sharply, and the white mist rising from the hot springs seemed particularly eerie in the night.
On the edge of the originally quiet village, several blacksmiths on night watch were patrolling with lanterns.
Gurgle... Gurgle...
A strange bubbling sound came from the grass by the side of the road.
"What's that sound?" A blacksmith approached with a lantern in confusion.
He saw that in the grass, a strangely shaped porcelain pot had appeared out of nowhere. Twisted patterns were drawn on the pot, as if it were alive and wriggling slightly.
Before the blacksmith could see clearly, a deformed monster with fish scales and human hands, with the lower body of a fish, suddenly crawled out of the pot's mouth.
Puff!
The monster's sharp claws instantly pierced the blacksmith's chest, blood gushing out and staining the Hyottoko mask red.
"Ahhhhh! There's a monster! There's a demon!"
His companion nearby was scared out of his wits, and the shrill screams instantly tore through the tranquility of the Swordsmith Village.
Within a few short minutes, countless porcelain pots of various sizes appeared out of thin air in every corner of the village. Hundreds of bizarre-looking fish-like demons swarmed out of the pots, biting everyone they saw.
Houses were pushed over, and panicked cries for help echoed one after another.
The Blood Demon Art of Upper Rank five, Gyokko, officially kicked off the massacre.