Mount Sagiri,
The milky-white mist, which never dispersed throughout the year, weighed heavily upon the mountain forest like a physical substance.
About three days later, Kiyokawa Izumi, who had been traveling day and night, finally arrived at the seclusion of the Former Water Hashira.
Pushing aside the wet Snake grape vines, a winding path appeared before him.
'A bit careless...'
Kiyokawa Izumi couldn't help but think to himself.
Mount Sagiri was so large; he didn't know where in the mountains the hut built by Urokodaki Sakonji was located.
Since he had already come this far, it was naturally impossible to back down now.
He adjusted his breathing; whether it was due to the altitude or the temperature, the oxygen in the mountains was a bit thin.
He moved slowly up the path, and just then, a movement not far away caught his attention.
As he took a step, a bamboo pole suddenly shot up.
Kiyokawa Izumi was startled and instinctively activated his Sharingan.
The bamboo pole grazed the edge of his clothes as he dodged it by a hair's breadth.
'What's going on?'
'Why are there still traps?'
Kiyokawa Izumi looked at the several-meter-long bamboo pole in front of him and couldn't help but fall into thought—this didn't look like a trap used for hunting.
Rather, it looked like a trap used for training.
The good news was that he hadn't taken the wrong path.
The bad news was that the way was full of traps.
The corner of Kiyokawa Izumi's mouth twitched slightly, and he couldn't help but feel a bit of a headache.
He knew that his nose couldn't smell the scent of traps.
Traps don't have a damn scent!
Perhaps because he had been setting them for many years, the traps laid by Urokodaki Sakonji were truly difficult for ordinary people to detect.
Even an ordinary Demon Slayer Corps swordsman who strayed into them would likely suffer.
Talent was one thing, but different Trainers also had their strengths and weaknesses.
Take the original owner's master, for example; before retiring, he was only an ordinary Rank B swordsman.
In an era extremely lacking in Hashira, such a mediocre swordsman could never become a Hashira.
There were strength gaps between different Trainers, and their methods of training swordsmen also varied, which led to obvious differences in strength among the swordsmen they produced.
Wasn't there always a batch of "cannon fodder" in the Final Selection every year?
Perhaps it wasn't that the Trainers behind them were lazy or lowering their standards; it might just be that their abilities were limited.
Thinking about it, being a Hashira was inherently dangerous.
Former Hashira who could live to retirement age and were willing to serve as Trainers were clearly few and far between.
"Watch out!"
Not far away, a familiar figure shouted loudly toward Kiyokawa Izumi.
More than a dozen short blades whistled through the air, and Kiyokawa Izumi's pupils contracted slightly.
When watching the anime, he only thought that Urokodaki-sensei's training was very strict.
After actually coming to this world, he really wanted to complain: aren't you afraid of accidentally killing the protagonist?
Those sharp short blades were certainly lethal.
The suddenly accelerating boy had conspicuous reddish-brown medium-short hair, which appeared a bit messy, likely because it hadn't been properly groomed for a long time.
On the right side of his full, smooth forehead, there was a scar shaped like a flickering flame.
He had healthy, wheat-colored skin, his breathing was slightly labored, and a faint blush appeared on his face, likely related to the intense exercise he was performing.
What Kiyokawa Izumi found most memorable were those eyes.
A very pure gaze, the kind that was already hard to see in his previous life—as expected of the unanimously praised protagonist, who was already worrying about him now, fearing that the Kiyokawa Izumi who had strayed into the traps would get hurt.
As he moved quickly, his pair of Nichirin Hanafuda earrings swayed incessantly.
Wearing a blue scarf around his neck, with one hand clenched in a fist and the other holding a sword, dressed in an indigo haori, he almost fell into a pit by accident.
Just as he was worrying about Kiyokawa Izumi, a simple and unadorned slash was suddenly delivered, and the dozen or so short blades fell to the ground one after another.
"Was that... Water Breathing, First Form?"
Tanjirou realized belatedly that this stranger who had strayed into the traps also mastered Water Breathing.
And, he was so powerful!
He had a pair of very, very special eyes.
Tanjirou, whose nose instinctively sniffed, looked at Kiyokawa Izumi with some confusion, because he smelled a slight scent of being lost from this person.
Could such a powerful swordsman also feel lost?
Sheathing his long sword, Kiyokawa Izumi didn't know the protagonist's evaluation of him at this moment—powerful?
He was still far from that!
He was still a hundred and eight thousand miles away from being a so-called Hashira.
"Let me introduce myself, Kiyokawa Izumi of the Demon Slayer Corps."
"I am here only to visit Mr. Urokodaki Sakonji."
As his voice fell, Kiyokawa Izumi looked toward a figure not far away.
That's right, Urokodaki Sakonji had been following behind Tanjirou all along.
The old man wearing a Tengu mask looked at Kiyokawa Izumi with some confusion, thinking the Demon Slayer Corps had some business with him.
His brow furrowed slightly, wondering if something major had happened.
Sending an official Team Member to find a retired old man like him must mean it was a very significant matter.
"Um, I am Kamado Tanjirou!"
After Tanjirou said this, he looked at Kiyokawa Izumi cautiously, yet his words carried a certain conviction as he said quite bluntly,
"Has something bad happened? Your aura seems a bit lost, a bit detached?"
__________
Let's aim for a large number of energy stones