Chapter 4 – Achieving Accomplishments
To survive in this world…
One must become stronger.
That was the truth of this place. A truth carved into every shadow of the night.
And as a member of the Demon Slayer Corps, the dangers Hikaru faced were magnified tenfold.
Yet—even from the beginning—he never once considered leaving the Corps.
Because even if he turned his back on them, the demons would still exist.
They would still hunt the innocent.
They would still slaughter people in the dark.
But as long as he remained with the Corps—he would receive aid.
And with that, he could grow stronger.
— — —
"Here's your uniform, dear."
A clean set of clothes was offered to him by a small, hunched old woman whose eyes were sharp as blades, despite her frail appearance. The emblem of the wisteria flower bloomed proudly on the home behind her.
Hikaru accepted it with both hands and nodded gratefully.
He changed into the freshly laundered uniform. The scent of sunlight mixed with the sweet, bitter fragrance of wisteria filled his lungs. A strangely comforting smell.
"Thank you for your hospitality," Hikaru said, bowing respectfully.
"It is our duty and our honor," the old woman replied, returning the gesture with grace.
Before leaving, he turned once more toward the large gate behind him, its arch carved with the flower of wisteria.
Wisteria.
To most humans, the flower was only mildly toxic.
But to demons… it was as deadly as sunlight.
That was why it became the emblem of the Demon Slayer Corps.
And why the families protected by Demon Slayers displayed it as a sign of loyalty and gratitude.
Those bearing the Corps uniform would always be welcomed in homes like this.
Just like he had been.
It had been three days since Hikaru left the mountain where he first arrived.
Three days of rest. Recovery. And thought.
And during those days, one truth became increasingly clear:
If he wanted to grow stronger—
He had to rely on the mysterious system embedded in his mind.
He had wondered about its origin.
Had tried, fruitlessly, to trace its purpose.
But no answer came.
So he had made a decision:
Accept it. Move forward. Make it count.
"…Then let's start racking up some accomplishments."
Standing beneath the morning sun, on a long dirt path stretching toward the unknown, Hikaru clenched his fists.
The demon he'd fought.
The days spent stabilizing his mind.
It had all given him time to focus.
He couldn't run from this reality.
And if he had a goal—if there was something he wanted to protect—
Then there was only one path forward.
The Heroic Spirit Accomplishment System.
A system that turned achievements into tangible strength.
That meant—
Every effort counted.
No action was wasted.
— — —
THUD!!
A violent crash tore through the forest.
A massive boar burst through the trees, tusks flaring and crimson eyes glowing. Its fur bristled, its body as large as a bull. It tore through saplings like they were reeds.
Hikaru moved. Swiftly.
He twisted to the side, body low, one hand on the hilt at his waist.
His fingers gripped tight.
One slash.
"Mist Breathing, Second Form: Eight-Layered Mist."
A cold, foggy light burst from the sword, swirling around him. The air tore as his momentum launched him forward.
The boar collapsed instantly, its body crumpling.
[Trait Acquired: Anti-Large-Type (F)]
Hikaru sheathed his blade.
Above him, a crow circled in the sky, cawing once before vanishing into the clouds.
He let out a quiet sigh.
If anyone from the Demon Slayer Corps saw him using a breathing technique and a Nichirin Blade to hunt animals…
They'd be furious.
But for Hikaru, this wasn't shameful.
In fact—
He'd done it many times.
[Trait Acquired: Anti-Small-Type (F)]
[Trait Acquired: Anti-Agile-Type (F)]
[Trait Acquired: Anti-Slow-Type (F)]
…and more.
Since acquiring Anti-Demon (F) after his first real battle, he'd gained nine traits in total—just from hunting wild beasts of varying size, speed, and behavior.
They were simple. All F-rank.
But Hikaru understood one thing:
This system didn't reward meaningless repetition.
Each trait had purpose.
And in this world, where demons took all shapes and forms—
Large, small.
Fast, slow.
Heavy, light.
—Even the smallest trait could make the difference between life and death.
Of course, along the way, he'd encountered a few more demons.
But none of them had been particularly strong.
And thanks to the fear effect from Anti-Demon (F), most had retreated without a fight.
For now, he didn't need real combat.
He needed to level up.
— — —
The forest grew quiet.
The last sunlight faded between the trees.
Hikaru brushed dirt from his clothes, letting the evening breeze rustle his sleeves.
The day was ending.
The sun dipped behind the peaks.
And the world—once again—was wrapped in shadows.
From the east, the moon rose pale and slow.
Hikaru stood still and exhaled, deep and slow.
He began to breathe.
Mist Breathing.
Mist—soft, formless—flowed through him.
Sound. Movement. Pressure.
All became clearer in that state.
His left hand gripped the sheath at his side.
His right touched the hilt.
The wind shifted. Leaves trembled in the trees.
Nerves threatened to rise—
But a skill immediately calmed him:
Calm Mind (F).
A low hum buzzed in his ears.
The mist within his senses expanded.
He crouched low, body poised.
His sword hadn't left the sheath—
But then—
CRACK!!
Something struck.
Instinct took over.
Hikaru's hand snapped open—catching a knee aimed at his ribs. He gripped, turned, and redirected the attacker's momentum.
The figure spun midair, landing with both hands to soften the fall.
A long cloak fluttered in the night breeze.
The figure stood.
"…Greetings, Water Hashira-sama. I'm honored to finally meet you in person."
Hikaru offered a faint smile.
The man before him looked stunned.
Under the moonlight, his hair was dark and disheveled. His face—handsome, stern—was frozen in disbelief.
Of course Hikaru recognized him.
Not from the body's memories.
But from his own knowledge.
Giyu Tomioka.
One of the Hashira—the highest-ranking swordsmen in the Demon Slayer Corps.
A warrior at the pinnacle.
If the Corps were a castle, then the Hashira were its pillars—its very foundation.
A single Hashira's strength far surpassed that of ordinary Demon Slayers.
Everyone in the Corps knew that.
Giyu knew it, too.
But right now…
Standing before him was a mere Kanoto-ranked boy—one of the lowest ranks in the organization.
And yet… he had sensed it.
The refined breathing.
The perfect reaction.
The clarity of movement.
Giyu had come here after reports of a young Demon Slayer misusing breathing techniques and a Nichirin Blade… to hunt animals.
As a Hashira, it was his duty to investigate.
After all, the Corps did not tolerate weapon misuse.
Nichirin Blades weren't for sport.
Not in an era where the public frowned upon swords.
Not when the Corps walked the line between secrecy and suspicion.
And yet—
This boy… was different.
A crow landed on Giyu's shoulder, squawking softly.
He narrowed his eyes.
And stared straight into Hikaru's.
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