A sigh drifted through the shrine, soft but unmissable.
The demon's instincts flared. He whipped around—and froze. The young man with the sun-mark earrings was behind him. Perched casually upon his hunched back, as though he had been there all along.
"Friend," Roy's voice cut through the silence like ice, calm, almost conversational, "let him go. My brother is a fool at times, but he means well. And if you strangle him now, he will hardly be fresh enough for you to eat, will he?"
For an instant, the demon felt true dread.
When did he move? His keen nose had always told him of prey long before he ever laid eyes upon them. In life, he had been a chef, spending endless hours among kitchens filled with smoke and spice, his sense of smell honed beyond that of most men. As a demon, that sense had sharpened a hundredfold. He could track humans through the faintest threads of their scent, trace their paths through the disturbances of their aura.
Tonight, however, he smelled nothing.
"What are you?!" Dohihara snarled, panic driving him to fury. "Why can I not smell you? Are you even human?!"
His talons slashed upward, the wind itself shrieking against their edges, the smell of clotting blood filling the air. Yet Roy slipped away effortlessly, sliding along the demon's arm in a fluid motion. With one hand, he seized Tanjiro by the collar and yanked him upright.
Tanjiro coughed violently, clutching at his bruised throat. His face had turned pale-blue with lack of air. Shame burned hotter than pain.
So useless. Once again, I can do nothing but rely on Nii-san. When will I ever have the strength to fight on my own?
Roy, unconcerned with his brother's self-disgust, kicked the fallen axe into the air, caught it, and dropped it solidly back into Tanjiro's grasp. "Continue."
"Huh—?"
Without pausing, Roy drove his boot into Tanjiro's backside, sending him stumbling forward.
"This was your battle. Finish it."
The words lingered in the shrine's stillness, echoing over Tanjiro's fumbling steps.
But in Dohihara's ears, every syllable grated like mockery.
The demon's eyes narrowed. He was no fool. He had survived on this mountain for years not because of brute strength, but cunning. His brief exchanges told him one thing clearly: the wide-eyed boy with the axe was never the real threat. The man behind him was.
He lunged.
Dohihara leapt over Tanjiro's head, ignoring him entirely, claws descending straight for Roy.
"Swish!"
Roy slid aside without effort, his movements too subtle, too precise, as if he had already seen the strike moments before it landed.
Snarling, Dohihara twisted midair, redirecting the assault—a brutal side kick meant to tear Roy's head from his shoulders.
Roy bent back fluidly, spine arcing low beneath the crushing strike. The clawed foot sliced only air.
Impossible... I cannot read him at all. His movements carry no rhythm, no scent... nothing!
"Why..." Dohihara hissed, nearly frantic now. "Why do you have no scent?"
Two strikes missed. And then the third.
From behind, Tanjiro came, clumsy but resolute, swinging his axe, forcing Dohihara to dart back, his hulking shape bouncing across the shrine floorboards in retreat.
Roy had tightened his aura, sealing it within. Zetsu—a technique that smothered a person's presence, erasing the trace of their life from the world. Dohihara might have prided himself on his senses, but he was blind to what he could not smell.
From the corner of the shrine, Tanjiro's sharp nose flared. "Nii-san... I cannot smell you either."
Indeed, Roy's presence had faded almost entirely. Not gone, not wholly concealed—faint threads of him lingered in the air, nearly drowned beneath the heavy aroma of blood. To normal senses, there was nothing. To Tanjiro's, there was only the faintest trace of his brother's life.
Roy had not mastered true Zetsu. He could not vanish as Gon or others so naturally tied to nature once had. But he had found a temporary answer. Inspired by his training, he stretched Nen outward across his skin like a thin, transparent membrane. It clung tightly, sealing the flow of aura from his body. Imperfect—but layered beneath the omnipresent stench of blood, effective.
"Do not lose focus now..." Roy's voice sharpened like a razor. "Right."
His eyes lit with fire as he called on Gyo, those burning pupils catching the shift in the demon's form. He grabbed Tanjiro by the shoulder and pivoted him.
Tanjiro swung.
The axe whistled through the freezing air, a streak of steel carving an arc across the shrine's gloom. It clipped the demon's abdomen, tearing through sinew and blackened flesh.
Blood sprayed. Intestines spilled steaming into the cold.
Dohihara screamed, stumbling backward, lurching across the boards before landing panting and crouched. The gash stitched itself even as he moved, pale ropes drawing his insides back into place.
His eyes burned with fury, fastened on Roy.
Damn him. As long as that one lives, there is no hope for victory. Should I abandon this hall...?
But the thought curdled into rage.
This shrine was his hall, his hunting ground, his castle. The demon lords had their palaces, did they not? He had heard whispers of the Infinite Castle, that marvelous god's hall where even the strong bent to the Master's capricious whim. Why should he abandon his claim so easily? This shrine was his freedom, his sustenance. It was his.
He would not give it up.
Dohihara's body snapped back into form. He straightened, grinning savagely, blood still dripping from his teeth as he spoke.
"Humans. How foul you are. The moment death closes in, you pull the weak in front of you to act as shields."
His eyes gleamed with cruelty as he spat, "I was once human. I worked hard, served faithfully. But one mistake cost me everything—I was cast out by my own master, left to carry the blame alone. Abandoned, treated like I was worthless. So I devoured him. And I swear, it was the sweetest meal I have ever had."
His claw rose, jabbing toward Roy with a sneer.
"And you—yes, you. The one who hides behind his mewling brother. Do you dare face me one on one?"
Tanjiro blinked, a bead of sweat running down his temple. Did that demon just... mock Nii-san?
His gaze slid toward his brother with hesitant sympathy.
Roy's face remained unreadable, placid as still water. He saw no reason to waste effort. His system—the unseen rules of his strange existence—did not flare with any promise of growth for this fight. So why dirty his own hands?
Instead, he turned his gaze back onto the demon, eyes calm, voice solemn.
"Friend, remember this well: never judge by appearances. My brother may seem foolish and clumsy, but to me, he is strong."
Tanjiro's heart jolted. He tightened his hands on the axe's handle, his nostrils flaring with pride and determination.
"Nii-san!" he cried, stepping forward, the steam of his breath rising like smoke from a roaring furnace.