It had been a week since I'd asked Yuki to marry me. A week since that night under the moon. And now, we were officially married. No grand ceremony, just a quiet signing of papers and a small, heartfelt feast right at the Butterfly Mansion. It felt surreal, yet utterly right. Today, though, the quiet bliss was paused. I was currently in town, pushing through the bustling market to pick up some much-needed supplies.
After finishing my shopping, I began the long trudge back from town, my arms heavy with bags. They were stuffed with everything from rolls of fresh cloth and essential food supplies to a couple of small, brightly painted trinkets I'd found, knowing Yuki would appreciate them. The familiar silhouette of the Butterfly Mansion loomed ahead, usually a beacon of calm and serenity. But just as I reached the main gate, a figure detached itself from the deep shadows near the entrance, radiating bloodlust so intense it felt like a furnace blast against my face.
"Haganezuka?!" I yelped, startled, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest. He was a terrifying sight, even without a demon in front of him.
"You chipped my blade, you reckless idiot!" Haganezuka roared, his voice splitting the quiet evening air like a thunderclap. He wasn't holding his usual hammer, but a gleaming, intimidating cleaver, its edge glinting wickedly as if it wanted my head on a platter. "Do you know how much effort I put into that masterpiece?! The hours I toiled, the perfect steel I selected, all for you to mishandle it against a paltry demon?!" He had, in fact, come to deliver my new Nichirin blade, forged after the last one snapped against the Lower Moons, but it was clear he wasn't here for a polite handover. Without another word, he charged, swinging the cleaver like a madman possessed by a grudge older than time itself.
I ducked instinctively, my heavy shopping bags nearly slipping from my grip as the cleaver whistled inches above my head. "I didn't mean to! It was a fight—I had no choice! It was a Lower Moon One and Four!" I yelled, scrambling backward, tripping over my own feet.
"No excuses!" Haganezuka bellowed, his traditional hyottoko mask doing absolutely nothing to hide the pure, unadulterated fury radiating from him. The man was a walking, screaming embodiment of a broken artistic dream.
The quiet Butterfly Mansion courtyard instantly devolved into a chaotic circus. It was me, dodging and weaving like a panicked rabbit, with Haganezuka chasing me in frantic circles, a relentless, furious whirlwind of glinting steel and enraged shouts. I begged, pleaded, and tried to explain, but his only response was another furious swing.
Thanks to Aoi's timely intervention, I was finally saved from Haganezuka's wrath. After what felt like an eternity, I finally got my hands on my new Nichirin blade. I slowly unsheathed it, my breath catching. It was another exquisite piece of art, perfectly balanced and gleaming in the light. Just like my first, the blade began to shimmer, then slowly, gracefully, it shifted to a brilliant light blue. I traced the familiar hue with my thumb, a shiver running down my spine. This time, I really need to be careful with this one, or that monster Haganezuka will definitely kill me.
Two Months Passed.
These two months were brutal and fun. I trained with Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke—sparring until my arms screamed, running drills until my lungs burned, meditating until my head felt clear. Each dawn brought new pain, each night left us bruised but tougher. We pushed each other hard, forging a bond in sweat and exhaustion.
Still, I felt stuck. My Shadow Breathing was sharper, my movements faster, but I'd hit a wall. No matter how hard I swung my blade, something was missing—a piece I couldn't grasp. It gnawed at me, chipping away at my confidence.
One evening, as twilight draped the training grounds in long shadows, I stopped to watch Tanjiro. His blade moved with a mesmerizing grace, trailing faint flickers of flame—Hinokami Kagura. The dance was hypnotic, its rhythm tugging at something deep inside me, pulling at a buried memory. I knew it. It was the exact same, fluid dance performed by that mysterious guy with the forehead scar in my dreams.
"Tanjiro," I called, stepping forward, my voice perhaps a little more urgent than I intended.
He paused, wiping sweat from his brow, his breathing still steady despite the exertion. "Hm? Something wrong, Ryo?"
"That technique," I pressed, pointing towards his Nichirin blade. "The one you were just doing. The Hinokami Kagura. I've... I've seen it before. In my dreams. My ancestors used something like it." I watched his face carefully, wondering if he'd think I was crazy.
Tanjiro's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and then deep interest crossing his features. He lowered his sword, his usual gentle demeanor giving way to a rare intensity. "You've seen it? In your dreams? My ancestors passed this dance down through generations in my family, but we know so little about it beyond that it wards off sickness and bad luck. I never even knew it was a breathing technique until I used it in a battle." He stepped closer, his voice hushed with awe. "What did you see? Who was in your dreams? Are you saying your family used this too?"
"Not exactly my family," I clarified, rubbing the back of my neck. "More like... a very old ancestor. He looked different, wore traditional clothes, and had a distinctive scar on his forehead, similar to yours. He was incredibly powerful. And yes, he used that exact dance. It was vivid, like I was right there with him." I looked at him, hope sparking. "Do you think... do you think it means something? Could this technique be connected to my bloodline too, somehow?"
Tanjiro's gaze became thoughtful, a new light in his eyes. "A scar like mine... and using the Hinokami Kagura... that's too much of a coincidence. It's hard to say for certain, but it definitely sounds like there's a connection. My father taught me everything he knew, but it wasn't much about fighting. If you've seen it in such detail..." He paused, a hopeful smile touching his lips. "If you want, I can teach you everything I know. Maybe together, we can unlock more about it."
We sat on the grass, him breaking down the forms, the breathing, the history behind each move. I soaked it up, but when I tried Hinokami Kagura myself, it felt wrong—too fiery for my fluid, shadow-based style. Still, a spark of inspiration flickered in my mind, refusing to die out.
Days later, during a spar with Tanjiro, it hit me. I dodged his strike, my mind racing. I couldn't copy his fire—I had to weave it into my shadows, make it mine. During night, under the moon's silver glow, I practiced alone, blending the Kagura's flow with my Shadow Breathing.
The result was unreal.
Seventh Form: Lunar Eclipse Dance. I moved like a phantom, my blade a blur of speed, leaving shadow afterimages flickering in my wake. Each strike carried a dark, chilling aura, like it could slow a demon's regeneration, mimicking sunlight's bite. It was relentless, disorienting—a perfect fusion of fire and shadow.
I showed the others the next day. Tanjiro's eyes went wide with awe. "That's incredible, Ryo." Zenitsu gaped, muttering about "monsters," while Inosuke leapt up, demanding a fight to test it.
Three months had passed since Rengoku's death—a wound that still stung, a chilling reminder of the ever-present danger. In the two months since, however, a new strength had forged itself. Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke, and I had become a tight unit, our strengths and quirks meshing into something surprisingly solid through relentless training. We were ready.
So, when a messenger arrived at the Butterfly Mansion, his expression grim and a mission scroll clutched tight in his hand, we knew it was serious. "High-level threat," he warned, his voice heavy with urgency. "Multiple Slayers required. Proceed with extreme caution."
The briefing was brief and grim. A powerful demon was reportedly terrorizing a remote mountain range, its presence a growing danger to the surrounding villages. As we packed our gear, the familiar pre-mission jitters settled in. Zenitsu whined predictably about certain death, specifically about the location. "A mountain again?! Oh, no, no, no! You guys go! Last time I went to a mountain, I almost turned into a spider! I am not doing that again!" he shrieked, clutching his head. Meanwhile, Inosuke, ever the wild boar, bragged about crushing the enemy single-handed, completely ignoring Zenitsu's dramatics. Tanjiro, as always, offered his calm, steady encouragement, a reassuring presence amidst the chaos.
At the Butterfly Mansion's gate, bathed in the soft glow of the rising sun, I glanced back at Yuki.
"Come back," she mouthed, not trusting her voice.
I nodded, gripping the sword Haganezuka nearly murdered me over. "Always."
She stood there, a small figure waving, her smile proud but tinged with a familiar bittersweet worry. I returned it, a mix of nerves and excitement twisting in my gut. Whatever's out there, we've got this. Together, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke, and I set off, our shadows stretching long behind us as we stepped into the unknown, ready for whatever awaited us.
To Be Continued…
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Shadow Breathing : Seventh Form - Lunar Eclipse Dance
It is a relentless, flowing attack where Ryo moves with blinding speed, creating flickering shadow afterimages to disorient his opponent. Each sweeping strike carries a chilling, dark aura that, upon contact, slows a demon's regeneration, much like the sun's touch, keeping the enemy overwhelmed and feeling like an encroaching shadow on the battlefield. It is a tweaked version of Hinokami Kagura Dance.