For a century, crows held special significance for the Demon Slayer Corps. As Kasugai Crows, they were vital for relaying intelligence. But with one man's emergence, crows became a symbol of terror.
Kasugai Crows no longer soared high, for their presence made Corps swordsmen fear they were targeted by that horrifying demon.
Over years, several Hashira fell to this enemy. Without fail, a week after their deaths, their heads were delivered to Corps headquarters—a grim declaration of his triumphs, deepening the swordsmen's dread.
Crows became harbingers of death, their arrival signaling doom.
The Corps devised countermeasures, but no matter their efforts, the crows appeared like phantoms before those gripped by fear.
In an empty house sat a middle-aged man, a lone Nichirin Blade beside him, the room otherwise bare.
He was the Water Hashira, the last surviving Pillar from the era of the previous Master.
The prior Master had been slain by Kokushibo Tsugikuni, and his young son ascended as the new Master. Over the years, Hashira perished, replaced by fresh blood, but this man remained the sole Pillar from that bygone time.
Nearly all Pillars from that era had fallen to one man's hand.
The night was eerily quiet. The man sat, eyes closed, his demeanor calm.
He knew his time was near.
His comrades had all died by that man's hand. He was next.
Many in the Corps, even the Master himself, urged him to hide, offering protection from the Corps' finest. No matter how strong that man was, surely he couldn't breach their defenses.
The Corps had relocated its headquarters multiple times due to Kokushibo, and the Master's residence was now a closely guarded secret, nearly impossible for outsiders to find.
The Master personally invited the Water Hashira to stay at his residence—a rare honor to preserve his life.
But he refused.
How laughable, he thought. A Water Hashira, cowering from a demon?
He might hide for a moment, but could he hide forever?
Would his life be defined by fear, forever skulking in shadows?
No, that was not the end he desired.
He'd rather die gloriously in battle than live in shame.
Thus, he chose this secluded place for a final, uninterrupted duel to the death.
Suddenly, his closed eyes snapped open, his gaze piercing the deep, enigmatic night sky beyond the window.
A blood-red moon hung high, casting an unsettling glow.
In its hazy light, he glimpsed a vague figure standing atop the moon, gazing down at him.
An indescribable feeling surged within. He knew that man had found him.
Without hesitation, he seized his Nichirin Blade and bolted outside, his form like an arrow loosed from a bow.
His weathered face twisted with rage and resolve, a deafening roar erupting from his throat: "Demon, I don't fear you!"
As his cry echoed, eerie crow calls pierced the night: "Caw! Caw! Caw!"
The shrill sound shattered the silence, chilling to the bone.
As the red moon dominated the sky, endless darkness surged like a tide, engulfing the world.
The middle-aged swordsman maintained his charging stance, but shockingly, the arm clutching his Nichirin Blade was gone.
A ghostly figure appeared in the house, standing where the swordsman had been. In his hand, a razor-sharp blade dripped crimson blood, like a string of broken pearls.
"Ugh…"
The swordsman collapsed, clutching his severed arm, sweat pouring down.
He'd anticipated defeat, but not this swiftly, nor the vast chasm between their strengths.
The battle ended before it began.
"You're the last," the figure said.
The swordsman, gritting his teeth, rose slowly, clutching his wound.
His Nichirin Blade was lost, and he didn't care to find it. In his final moments, he wanted only to face this demon with dignity.
"You're better than the others," the figure continued. "But you still must die."
The swordsman's eyelids trembled, yet he stood firm.
As the figure drew closer, terror overwhelmed him. His legs, as if with a mind of their own, turned to flee.
No! He didn't want to die!
"Tch."
The voice dripped with disappointment. "I misjudged you. You're no different from the rest."
The swordsman ran blindly, the figure trailing leisurely behind.
Like a specter, no matter how fast he fled, he couldn't shake his pursuer.
Just as the figure grew bored, ready to end the farce, a voice thundered through the night:
"Ren!"
The familiar voice stirred memories buried deep in his soul.
Ren froze, his raised blade halting midair.
A figure stood between him and the swordsman.
That familiar form appeared before him.
Ren stared, wondering if it was an illusion. His eyes flickered with complex emotions—joy at reuniting, shame and evasion due to his demonic state. But when he noticed the streaks of white in the man's hair, all dissolved into a sigh:
"Master, you've grown old."
Yoriichi Tsugikuni gazed at his disciple, heartbroken. "Ren, don't continue down this path of error."
"I imagined we'd meet again, but not so soon," Ren said, pursing his lips. "Are you well?"
Yoriichi looked at the stranger his disciple had become, teeth clenched, voice thick with sorrow. "Ren, why did you choose this road? Do you know how much it would pain Chitoshi?"
His words were like cold water dousing Ren. The emotion in his eyes vanished, replaced by a lifeless void. "Master, Chitoshi is dead."
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🤦 : Oops! You've reached the limit for today. But just for your power stone and recommendation I might— no I would add additional Chapter.
20PS — 1 additional Chapter
40PS — 2 additional Chapter and special mention if you've contributed 3 or more PS.
That's all. Enjoy Reading!