The spring snow melted away, and the cold of winter faded into memory.
One day, as Tanjiro accompanied his father down the mountain, they found Oboro's house empty and silent. The door was locked, and Oboro had departed without a word.
They recalled Oboro mentioning his origins in Youguo. It seemed he had returned there. This behavior was perfectly in line with Oboro's character: his sole purpose had been to experience the Breath of the Sun. Their family's friendship was merely incidental to his goal.
Tanjuro felt a pang of regret for not bidding Oboro a proper farewell.
But in Tanjuro Kamado's estimation, Oboro knew his end was near. A warrior of his caliber had no need for pity. He possessed his own pride.
"Let's go," Tanjuro said, patting his son on the shoulder as they gazed at the closed gate, ready to leave.
Just then, a servant approached them, carrying a square box.
"This is what the master asked me to give you before his departure, specifically for Tanjiro." The man handed over the package Oboro had left behind.
"Thank you," Tanjuro nodded and accepted the box.
Upon opening it, they found a black haori inside, identical to the one Oboro wore. Such garments belonged to the aristocracy, crafted from precious materials beyond the reach of ordinary people. It was intended for Tanjiro to wear upon reaching adulthood.
"Father," Tanjiro's voice trembled with uncertainty.
"It is indeed valuable," his father admitted, "but we must respect his intentions."
Locating demons proved remarkably easy for Oboro.
Even without contacting the Demon Slayer Corps, he could gather information on numerous "strange" occurrences through the Shogunate's channels. Ubuyashiki Kuno's ability to quickly deploy Corps members to various demon-hunting locations relied on these crucial connections.
Moreover, Oboro himself held a high rank within the shrine, equivalent to the highest level of police authority. Nevertheless, his physical condition had deteriorated significantly.
"My lord, we have arrived," announced one of the several torch-wielding samurai who escorted Oboro to a rural village in the Edo region the following evening.
These warriors had been dispatched by order of Edo Castle. Mount Kumotoriki was not far from the castle grounds.
"Aobashi Town," a samurai introduced, gesturing towards the village before them.
Darkness had fallen, and the village, which should have been bustling with activity, was eerily silent, contrary to what the men had heard.
Aobashi Town occupied a strategic position on a vital road. Caravans and merchants passed through day and night. Refugees heading to the capital invariably passed through. Despite having only about a hundred households, the small village housed a vibrant red-light district. Nighttime was especially lively, with taverns and struggling geishas all striving to earn enough to survive.
Recently, however, the area had been plagued by unrest. Reports spoke of numerous travelers mysteriously vanishing after passing through, never to be seen again. Even investigators from the Executive Office returned empty-handed.
"Ahem," Oboro coughed painfully, his cheekbones protruding sharply beneath his skin, giving him a gaunt and somewhat frightening appearance. His body had withered to the thinness of a bamboo pole, and he required the support of two maids to remain standing.
The warriors exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent.
They couldn't comprehend why this high-ranking official, originally from the Northern Bugyosho, was suddenly interested in Aobashi Town and insisted on being escorted there.
Without Oboro's status, they would never have ventured into such a forbidding place. The Shogunate was in turmoil, with rebellions erupting everywhere. They could barely handle the cases within the capital, let alone concern themselves with outlying regions.
Countless people died in Edo every day, drunken troublemakers and gangs of weapon-wielding samurai causing far more death and disorder than anything reported in Aobashi Town.
Oboro watched the village fade into darkness, noting the few scattered lights, and smiled faintly.
A demon lurked here, a significant one. He could smell the scent of blood in the air, emanating from the village. Many people had died.
Generally, a single demon or weaker ones would wreak havoc in smaller areas with limited effect. Most demons operated alone, never daring to remain in one place for long. Committing crimes in one location for an extended period invited danger, especially with the Demon Slayer Corps vigilant. They typically moved from place to place after each attack.
Furthermore, under Muzan's controlling will, and to prevent demons from forming threatening coalitions, he forbade multiple demons from gathering and operating in the same area, preemptively cutting off communication.
During his stay at Mount Kumotoriki, Oboro had spent time taking Blue Higanbana and searching through the records of the Edo region, seeking demon-related clues amidst the vast amount of information. In cases like this, even if many people disappeared, the Shogunate would hardly notice. Compared to the casualties of war, these numbers seemed insignificant.
Besides, ordinary people couldn't comprehend the sinister forces at work, so officials simply ignored such matters.
In the Demon Slayer's world, a demon's power could be measured not only by how many Corps members it had devoured or how many Pillar-level swordsmen it had killed but also by whether it maintained a fixed territory and the extent of devastation it caused to civilians.
Daki, Doma, and Rui of Mount Natagumo, all members of the Twelve Kizuki, had established their own "habitats" without fear of repercussion.
Ordinary demons weren't worth Oboro's attention. To find one truly worth hunting, he needed to find a powerful one.
"With this concentration of blood, at least dozens of people have died," Oboro's interest piqued.
"Let's go in," he ordered.
The warriors led the way into the village.
"Strange," one muttered as they stepped onto the main street.
The village was small, with only this one main street. Even with the reduced "business" of late, the complete absence of people, not even a stray dog, seemed impossible. Under the current conditions, even the official roads were occasionally littered with drunks or refugees, not to mention places known for entertainment.
Crash.
Just as someone prepared to knock on a nearby wooden house door, a red lantern hanging in a small shop a few meters away suddenly lit up. Someone pushed open the old shoji door and peered out.
"Gentlemen, this way!"
"Hmm?" The lead warrior approached with a frown. "What is going on here? Where is everybody? The last time I visited, this place was bustling."
"Your Excellency may not be aware that every year in early spring, a disease caused mostly by mountain pollen sweeps through Aobashi Town," the old man explained, bowing repeatedly. "Those infected develop red, itchy spots. Fearing contagion, most businesses close early during this period. Those who could leave have gone, while others rest until the outbreak is over, then they'll serve travelers again." The old man led them inside, his eyes flickering slightly as they passed over Oboro.
"Infectious disease?" The warrior's expression changed with concern.
"Do not worry, sir. I'm unaffected," the old man hastily assured them.
The tavern was simply decorated. Being a wooden structure, its interior space was limited to a few tables and chairs. It couldn't be compared to city establishments, but it served the needs of travelers adequately.
After lighting the candles, the old man busied himself serving plates of homemade cold dishes and rough drinks.
Oboro was carefully helped to a seat.
The old man watched the scene carefully, several warriors and two maids surrounding the gravely ill young man, whose luxurious feathered robe signaled extraordinary status.
"My lords," the warriors looked at Oboro after they had sat down.
"Do not concern yourselves with me. Do what you want," Oboro replied.
The warriors visibly relaxed.
Their orders had been simple: protect Oboro and accompany him to Aobashi City. His intentions were unknown to them.
After a day's journey, finding shelter in this deserted village, with food and drink available, seemed fortunate enough.
After consuming some wine, the warriors' faces soon flushed with warmth.
Oboro and his maids left their chopsticks untouched.
"Innkeeper," he called to the old man warming wine and cooking nearby.
"Yes, Your Excellency?"
"I have noticed a large building southeast of the village. Not a house, more like a shrine?"
"Indeed. Your curiosity does not surprise me. The shrine was recently built. Since this infectious disease is year-round, villagers like us can only pray for peace in this way." The old man's eyelids twitched slightly as he smiled calmly.
Seeing this, Oboro asked no further questions.
Unconsciously, the old man sighed in relief.
The smell of blood wafts from this shrine, the bodies must be fresh.
Moreover, the entire village must be there now.
And that demon!
A sacrificial ritual? Or has it formed an organized faction like Doma's Eternal Paradise?
That would be ideal.
The greater the disturbance, the more extraordinary the demon behind it must be.
Thud!
Without warning, the warriors, who had been laughing and chatting, suddenly collapsed drunk, their heads slamming into the wooden tables.
The maids gasped in shock. How could these warriors lose consciousness after only one small cup each?
The old man, who had been turned away as if he was busy, suddenly changed his expression. His eyes grew cold as he turned slowly, a sharp knife in his hand, and smiled cruelly at Oboro and the maids.
Dispatching two women and a tuberculosis patient would be no challenge. He was experienced.
As I suspected, they work together, Oboro sighed inwardly.
He found it boring. He had expected the old man to use more sophisticated methods, not such elementary tactics.
At least show some skill.
These crude tricks might fool the mindless warriors, but nothing more.
In the samurai worldview, a strict hierarchy placed them at the top. Even if these "untouchables" had tremendous courage, they would never dare to cross boundaries.
Such was the prejudice and arrogance born of status.
"I will give you whatever you want," Oboro raised his hands in mock fear. "I am from the Shogunate."
He prepared to teach the old man and the demon leading him a lesson.
True troublemakers should never resort to such simplistic methods.
They had to learn how to really surprise people.