"I don't know what you're talking about!"
"I don't know! I don't know!"
"AAAGH!"
The demon's head, pinned to the damp earth by the jagged cleaver, shrieked in a frenzy of terror. The name Kibutsuji Muzan was a primal curse, a spell etched into the very genetic makeup of every demon. Just hearing the syllables made the creature lose its mind; it no longer hungered for the boy's blood. It only wanted to flee the looming shadow of its master's wrath.
Tendo Feiyuzhen shook his head, letting out a heavy, weary sigh. He saw the sheer, soul-deep fear in the creature's eyes and decided that if the demon was going to be terrified, it should at least be terrified of something it could see.
"Hey. Calm down."
Tendo slapped the demon's cheek—hard—several times until the frantic rolling of its eyes slowed. The demon's gaze remained vacant, its jaw trembling. To the monster, the boy standing over him wasn't human. He was a devil wearing a child's skin.
Tendo reached into his robes and pulled out a small paper packet. As he unfolded it, he began to murmur as if talking to a friend. "Let's just chat about your boss. Where does he hang out? What's his favorite color? That sort of thing."
He leaned in closer, his golden eyes cold. "If you don't talk, I'll have to help you stop that bleeding."
The packet opened to reveal a fine, aromatic purple powder. The scent was sweet, floral, and—to the demon—utterly lethal.
"This is Wisteria, ground into a nice, fine dust," Tendo said with an innocent smile. "Want some? It's great for closing wounds."
"You... you monster!" the demon rasped, its face twisting in a mask of pure horror. "Stay away from me! Get away!"
Tendo's hand shot out, pinching the demon's jaw and prying its mouth open. His voice dropped to a low, melodic whisper. "Those people you slaughtered... were they as scared as you are right now? They were innocent. That's why you demons are so truly detestable."
As a transmigrator, Tendo's hatred for demons was fundamental. It wasn't just survival; it was a deep-seated loathing for creatures that treated human life like disposable snacks. Without another word, he dumped the purple powder into the demon's throat.
To a human, Wisteria is a beautiful bloom. To a demon, it is a corrosive, agonizing acid.
Tendo pulled the cleaver from the ground and stepped back. The demon's head began to convulse violently. Purple blisters erupted across its skin, swelling and bursting in a gruesome display of biological rejection.
Bang!
With a wet, muffled explosion, the head dissolved into a pool of purplish-red sludge. Not far away, the headless torso gave one final, pathetic twitch before falling still. By the time the sun rose, there would be nothing left but ash.
Tendo hoisted the heavy sack of rice back onto his shoulder. He turned toward Mount Momo, humming a cheerful tune as he strolled through the moonlight.
"Time to head home."
The wooden house sat nestled in the peach forest, bathed in the silver waterfall of the moon. Outside, Kuwajima Jigoro was pacing, leaning heavily on his crutch.
"That brat... always fooling around," the Old Man grumbled, his voice sharp but his eyes darting anxiously toward the forest path. "What time is it? Is he planning on sleeping in the dirt? He's going to be the death of me!"
He began hunting for his wooden sword, determined to give the boy a piece of his mind. Just as his fingers closed around the hilt, a small figure emerged from the shadows of the trees.
"Old Man! I'm back!" Tendo called out. "And before you start yelling, I have a very good reason for why my shirt is in ribbons!"
Jigoro looked up, his first instinct to rush forward and pull his disciple into a hug. He suppressed it immediately, his face hardening into a scolding mask. "Brat! Where have you been messing around? Just wait until I get my hands on you!"
But as the Old Man approached, his eyes caught the bloodstains on Tendo's chest and the jagged tears in the fabric. The anger vanished in a heartbeat.
"You ran into one," Jigoro said, his voice quiet.
"Yeah. It was the one ruining my clothes. I took care of it."
For the first time in a long while, the Old Man reached out and rubbed Tendo's head. His tone held a rare, unmistakable pride. "Well done. Truly my disciple." Then, his hand tightened slightly. "But remember: your life comes first. Don't get cocky."
Tendo beamed. "I'm too strong for them, Old Man! Nothing to worry about!"
"Bragging again! Go to bed!"
That night, while Tendo slept the deep, dreamless sleep of the victorious, Jigoro sat by a dim lamp. His thick fingers moved clumsily as he tried to thread a needle, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Needlework is harder than fighting the Twelve Kizuki," the Old Man muttered, struggling to mend the boy's ruined tunic. "I'll have to head into town and buy him a few more sets soon."
At dawn, the first rays of light pierced the clouds like golden fingers, painting Mount Momo in a brilliant, shifting landscape of gold and shadow. Jigoro, already awake and preparing breakfast, suddenly froze. He sensed something—not a demon, but a presence so powerful it commanded the very air.
A tall figure emerged from the mist of the peach grove.
Mount Momo rarely saw visitors. Jigoro wiped his hands and stepped out of the kitchen, squinting against the morning sun. The stranger stood at the exact line where the light met the dark, a smile on his face that seemed even brighter than the dawn.
He had long, yellow hair with crimson tips that looked like dancing flames. His eyebrows were thick and black, shaped like swords over eyes that burned with an intense, heroic light. Over his uniform, he wore a white haori adorned with a flame motif.
The aura was unmistakable. This was a Pillar.
Jigoro recognized the lineage immediately. This was the current Flame Pillar, Rengoku... what was his name? Shinjuro.
The man bowed respectfully, his voice resonant and heroic. "Senior Kuwajima! I am Rengoku Shinjuro! The current Flame Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps has come to pay his respects!"
"Ah!" Jigoro chuckled, the tension leaving his shoulders. "I remember you. Last time I saw you, you were still in split-pants. You've grown, boy. I used to hold you when you were an infant."
The previous Flame Pillar had been a dear friend of Jigoro's. Seeing his old friend's son standing there, a Pillar in his own right, brought a surge of nostalgia to the old man's heart.
"Come in, Shinjuro. Sit. Have you had breakfast?"
"Thank you, Senior Kuwajima! I would be honored!"