Shing—!
With a clear, ringing chime, the blade that had slept within its scabbard finally revealed itself.
At first—at the instant the steel fully cleared the sheath—it showed an absolute, pitch-black hue.
"Huh? Bl—black?"
Hotaru Haganezuka, who had been so excited he was practically dancing, froze mid-motion. Even through the mask, the disappointment in his voice was impossible to hide.
"It's black? I mean, I've heard a Scarlet-Blazed Child will most likely get this color, but this is a bit too—"
He didn't even finish complaining before his words caught in his throat.
In the next heartbeat, something changed.
Hmmm…
The black blade in Yoriichi's hand gave off a low, heavy hum.
Then, an indescribable heat wave burst outward from him in all directions.
Shinobu instinctively lifted her sleeve to shield her face, staring at the sword in the boy's hand as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.
"What is—?!"
No one could say when it began, but the ink-black steel suddenly bloomed with a fierce, blazing red glow.
It wasn't like the Flame Hashira's blade, marked with flame-like patterns.
Nor did it look like it had been painted red.
It felt more like iron heated to an extreme temperature—burned red-hot from within.
Ssss…
The moisture in the air seemed to evaporate in an instant. The light around the blade wavered and warped from the heat.
The entire sword looked as though it had just been pulled from a forge, radiating a firebright glare strong enough to scorch the retina.
The courtyard, moments ago cold with morning chill, surged in temperature—like a miniature sun had descended into Yoriichi's hand.
"Ah… ah…"
Haganezuka, standing closest, was already slack-jawed.
He stared with his mouth wide open, his body trembling from sheer excitement, so overwhelmed he forgot about the heat blasting into him.
"This isn't just color-changing… no, it is, but it's not normal color-changing!"
He screamed incoherently, his voice cracking. "A—A Crimson Blade?"
Yes—this color, and that sun-like, searing radiance… there was no mistake.
This was the Crimson Blade of legend—said to appear only when a swordsman reached the pinnacle.
"A Crimson Blade…?"
Shinobu murmured the words too, eyes locked on the burning red edge.
As a Hashira, she understood better than anyone what this meant.
A demon's regenerative ability was infuriatingly troublesome—but if that kind of blade, carrying heat like sunlight itself, cut into them… the wound would be cauterized in an instant. Their cells would be forced to stop regenerating.
This wasn't a "compatibility color" for Breath Styles at all.
This was… the color of destruction for demons.
"What a fine sword."
At the center of that blazing heat, Yoriichi looked as though he didn't feel it at all.
He gazed calmly at the Crimson Blade in his hand. The red glow reflected in his eyes, softening his expression into something almost gentle.
"The heat conduction is excellent, and the weight sits perfectly."
He praised it sincerely, then gave a light flick of his wrist.
Whoosh.
The heat wave that seemed ready to incinerate everything drew inward at once. The blade remained red-hot, but the suffocating pressure vanished.
"My sincere thanks, Mr. Haganezuka."
Yoriichi looked at the stunned swordsmith with genuine gratitude.
"Wwaaaahhh!!"
The next second, Haganezuka snapped back to himself and let out a shriek.
This time it wasn't anger.
It was pure ecstasy.
He lunged forward and clamped both arms around Yoriichi's leg—only for Yoriichi to have clearly anticipated it, calmly bracing the sword's pommel against Haganezuka's head to keep him from crashing in.
"A Crimson Blade… it really is a Crimson Blade!! Me—Hotaru Haganezuka—actually forged a blade like this in my lifetime! Tanjiro! You have to become a Hashira!"
"No… you have to become the strongest swordsman! If you don't, I'll kill you!!"
Watching the chaotic and ridiculous scene unfold, Shinobu didn't bury her face in her hand this time.
She simply stared at the boy—still gentle and composed even as a lunatic clung to him. At some point, the flawless social smile had faded from her lips, replaced by an intensity that was almost severe.
In her mind, she suddenly recalled something he'd said not long ago:
A way to kill demons without poison… without sacrifice…
Maybe it really did exist.
Just then—
"CAW—! CAW—!"
A massive Kasugai Crow swooped down from the sky, circling above them.
Its harsh, rasping cries cut cleanly through the courtyard's commotion.
"Message! Message!"
Beating its wings, the crow shouted:
"Demon Slayer Corps member Kamado Tanjiro—proceed immediately to the town northwest! Young women are vanishing at night under mysterious circumstances! Suspected demon activity! Go at once! Go at once!"
The crow's voice—like a cracked gong—rang through the courtyard, painful against the ears.
But when Yoriichi lifted his head slightly and turned those clear, tranquil dark-red eyes toward it—
"Caw…?"
The crow's ferocious urgency died on the spot.
It fluttered in a panic and landed on Yoriichi's shoulder instead.
At close range, it could sense the Crimson Blade's terrifying residual heat even while sheathed, and that pressure around the boy that made all living creatures recoil on instinct. The notoriously bad-tempered crow actually shivered.
"Um… if it's not too much trouble… p-please, as quickly as possible…"
Its voice softened dramatically—so polite it was almost baffling—as it continued, "The victims… are still increasing… I'm begging you."
"…"
Shinobu's brow twitched.
She knew this crow—Tennoji Matsuemon. Normally it acted like an arrogant overlord to everyone except the Master. Yet here, in front of Tanjiro, it was meek as a quail.
"I understand."
Yoriichi nodded faintly and settled the black scabbard at his waist.
His body still held a lingering hunger, but the moment he'd gripped the Crimson Blade, something deep in his soul seemed to awaken.
It was… a thirst to slay demons.
"Mr. Haganezuka, thank you for the blade."
After offering the swordsmith his respect once more, Yoriichi turned to Shinobu.
"Miss Shinobu, I'm grateful for your care during this time."
Shinobu studied him—the boy with a Crimson Blade at his hip.
He was a newcomer who had only just received his uniform, still young enough to be called a child, yet simply standing there he carried an air like a grandmaster at the peak of a mountain.
"Tanjiro."
After looking him over, Shinobu spoke. "Even if the mission is urgent, please don't push yourself. If you run into something you can't handle…"
Before she could finish, her gaze slipped again to the sword at his waist, and the image of him drawing it flashed through her mind.
A moment later, she gave a small shake of her head, and her voice softened.
"…May fortune favor your blade."
Yoriichi dipped his head and offered a mild smile.
"I'll be back very soon."
With that, he didn't linger.
His toe tapped lightly against the ground.
No one saw how he exerted force—only that his whole body vanished from the courtyard gate like a passing breeze, so fast there wasn't even the sound of wind from his clothes.
All that remained were two people staring blankly—and the lingering heat that still hadn't faded from the air.
…
That night, the Ubuyashiki estate.
A faint wisteria fragrance drifted through the air. In a world surrounded by demons, this place was one of the few true sanctuaries.
On the corridor, Kagaya Ubuyashiki knelt in stillness. Though blind, his curse-marked face held a calm, waterlike smile.
Beside him, his wife, Amane Ubuyashiki, spoke in a low voice as she delivered the latest report.
"Kiriya has confirmed that Kamado Tanjiro has departed for the town to the northwest."
Amane paused. In her usually cool tone, a rare thread of worry surfaced.
"However, my lord… according to the newest information sent back by the 'Hidden,' the concentration of demon presence in that region is rising abnormally."
She lifted her gaze toward her husband's profile, brows knitted. "That nauseating, muddy corruption… it may not be an ordinary demon with unusual abilities. There may even be scouts connected to the Twelve Kizuki."
As the person overseeing intelligence, Amane understood exactly what that implied.
"Even if Kamado-kun has shown extraordinary potential, he has only just joined. He has no real combat experience. Sending him alone to face malice of that level—might it be… too reckless?"
After a brief pause, she continued, "Should we dispatch the Wind Hashira or Water Hashira to provide covert support?"
It was a perfectly rational proposal.
From any tactical standpoint, sending a brand-new swordsman into a place like that was equivalent to sending him to die.
And yet—
After listening to his wife's concern, Kagaya merely shook his head gently.
"No, Amane. Not yet. Support is not necessary."
His voice was soft, but it carried a certainty that felt like it could see through all things.
"But—"
"I know what you're worried about. By all logic, this would be a fledgling sent to face a raptor. But in my perception… what's there tonight will not be a fledgling."
Kagaya extended a hand, as if trying to catch the moonlight itself.
Just moments ago, through the Kasugai Crow's viewpoint, he could not see—yet he had heard the clear ring of that drawn blade.
And that instant of heat, as if it could ignite the night.
It was a warmth of "hope" the Ubuyashiki family had not felt in a long, long time.
"That child is the sun."
Kagaya's lips curved into a deep smile, filled with anticipation.
He asked softly, "Amane… do you worry that the sun will be devoured by a few bats in the night?"
"Even if the Twelve Kizuki are involved… faced with that Crimson Blade, they will have to be cautious."
The night wind swept through the courtyard, lifting the wide sleeves of Kagaya's haori.
He faced the northwest. In his sightless eyes, it was as if he already beheld what would soon unfold.
It would not be a hard-fought battle.
It would be a one-sided purge.
"We only need to wait."
"When morning comes, what returns will not be a distress call."
Kagaya's voice carried through the night—calm, yet heavy with conviction.
"It will be the beginning of the Demon Slayer Corps' true counterattack… after centuries."
…
In the alley, the silence was suffocating—broken only by the girls' stifled sobs and the fear of lambs awaiting slaughter.
The Swamp Demon relished moments like this.
He considered himself a demon of taste—different from the rest.
Because he targeted only young women who had just turned sixteen, in the full bloom of youth.
To him, it was the perfect moment in a woman's life. Once past that age, the flesh grew coarse, and the flavor became nauseating.
Unhurried, he produced a handkerchief and carefully wiped the hairpin he'd taken from the corpse of a girl moments earlier.
A trace of warm blood still clung to it.
"A fine addition to my collection."
Holding the hairpin up to the moonlight, his clouded eyes filled with obsession and intoxication.
"Ah… the fear of sixteen-year-old girls truly is the best preservative. It lets these ornaments keep that lively shine forever."
He turned toward the two trembling survivors cowering against the wall, lips splitting to reveal chilling fangs.
"Don't shake like that… soon you'll become part of my collection too. This is eternal art—something countless people would beg for—"
"P-please… let us go…"
One of the girls shook violently, tears soaking her clothes, her plea breaking in despair.
But her pathetic begging stirred no mercy in him. Instead, his murky eyes narrowed with danger.
"Let you go?"
As though he'd been gravely insulted, the Swamp Demon's mouth curled into a cold arc. His voice—like fingernails scraping a chalkboard—echoed through the alley.
"Are you looking down on me? Saying I'm not worthy to enjoy your fresh flesh?!"
A brutal aura surged.
His shadow twisted—then, in the next instant, turned into a pool of pitch-black mire.
It was his Blood Demon Art—the absolute domain he used to hunt and hide.
"Fine. If you won't cooperate, then rot slowly in my swamp—"
But just as he prepared to command the mire to swallow the girls—
Ssss—!!
The sudden sound of moisture evaporating snapped through the alley.
The Swamp Demon froze.
In shock, he realized the swamp beneath him was… retreating.
The black pool shrank uncontrollably, as if it feared something.
Confused, he lifted his head.
At the alley's entrance, a figure had appeared at some point.
A boy—fifteen or sixteen at most.
Red hair. Hanafuda earrings. The black uniform of the Demon Slayer Corps.
"The Demon Slayer Corps?"
The Swamp Demon quickly narrowed his eyes, then let out a scornful laugh.
"A kid who hasn't even grown up? What—are you here to add an extra dish to my dinner?"
Yoriichi didn't respond.
He stood there in silence, gaze passing first over the girl's twisted,惨eless corpse, then over the two survivors on the verge of collapse in the corner.
Finally, those clear eyes settled on the Swamp Demon's ugly, distorted face.
"What are you doing?" Yoriichi asked softly.
"Doing… what?"
The Swamp Demon blinked, then waved one of the earrings like a trophy, as if he'd heard the funniest joke.
"Are you blind? Can't you tell? I'm enjoying myself! I'm collecting these beautiful ornaments and cleaning up this fragile human trash! To die by my hand and become an offering to that great one—this is the highest honor you insects will ever have! Heeheehee—!"
He clutched his belly and burst into shrill, grating laughter.
But the boy remained silent, watching him without a word.
"Hey, kid—what's with that look?"
The Swamp Demon bared his fangs, sneering. "Did my art scare you stupid? Hahahaha—don't worry. I'll turn you into one too, soon—"
He didn't get to finish.
Because the boy took one step forward.
BOOM—!!
A heat wave beyond description swept the alley without warning.
The damp, chilling air turned scorching in an instant. The puddles by the wall evaporated at visible speed.
"W-What—?!"
The Swamp Demon's expression warped.
And what terrified him more was that the swamp beneath him… began to boil.
Glug, glug…
Scalding bubbles burst from the black mire—the sign that the space formed by his Blood Demon Art was being forcibly dismantled by extreme heat.
"H-hot… it's burning!!"
He shrieked in panic. Realizing the danger, he tried to dive into the ground the way he always had to escape—
But with a heavy thunk, his head slammed into something hard.
…His pocket dimension had been sealed by that horrific heat!
"How… how is this possible?! What did you do?!"
He roared in a sharp, frantic scream, his voice filled with fear of the unknown.
Yoriichi still didn't answer.
He simply looked at the demon's grotesque display—and at the emptiness inside him.
Then he spoke.
"I don't understand."
The boy's voice was so calm it was frightening—yet it pierced the Swamp Demon's eardrums with crystal clarity.
"Trampling life, stealing other people's happiness, using it to fill your own emptiness…"
His hand slowly settled onto the hilt at his waist.
"…How is something like that worth laughing about?"
-------
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