The road stretched far beyond the horizon, winding through mountains, forests, and sunlit fields. With every footfall, Yoriichi Tsugikuni felt the weight of memories like stones upon his shoulders.
He walked alone.
No sword drawn.
No battles fought.
Only thoughts.
The sunlight warmed his back, but his heart remained cold.
Each step whispered echoes of his past—
Uta's laughter in the early mornings…
The warmth of her hands as they planted rice…
Her dying breath, trembling in his arms.
"Demons… came…"
Her final words haunted him like a ghost behind his every breath.
Then came his brother's shadow—once proud, now consumed. He remembered Michikatsu's frustration… the way his fists clenched when Yoriichi succeeded… the way jealousy festered, turning into bitterness.
"Why is it always you?"
Muzan's smirk.
The corps' rejection.
The villagers' cruel whispers.
Everything collapsed into a single truth: he was alive… but hollow.
At a quiet cliffside overlooking a river valley, Yoriichi stopped.
The wind blew through his long hair. His crimson eyes looked out toward the distant mountains, silent and unchanging.
He dropped to his knees.
"Was it all… meaningless?"
No answer came. Only the cry of a hawk flying above.
Yet in that silence, he remembered Tamayo's trembling voice, begging to be free.
Not all demons were alike.
Not all hope was lost.
Yoriichi's hand gripped the hilt of his blade again—not in anger, not in vengeance, but as a silent vow:
"So long as the sun rises… I will walk."
Even if alone.
Even if forgotten.
He would carry his pain like armor—and one day, end the curse Muzan cast upon the world.
He stood again, the wind at his back.
And walked.