Shirou gritted his teeth, fighting down the taste of blood rising in his throat as he rushed forward, hands tightly gripping his katana.
He didn't dare stop for even a second. No matter how overwhelming the boy's last attack had seemed, Shirou wasn't sure whether the demon was actually dead. If it was—then good. One less thing to worry about.
But he wasn't about to gamble on it. The risk was too high. If something went wrong, everything they'd fought for would've been for nothing.
This wasn't a moment to bet on hope.
"You'll make it out alive. You'll become one of the Demon Slayer Corps."
The boy stood tall, his vision flashing with memories—like a lantern burning at the end of its wick. He remembered his senpai, who had always protected him.
That man had fought off dozens of demons alone, kicking him away when he froze in fear, forcing him to flee.
He had been one of the most talented of their generation. But he died… protecting him.
Senpai… maybe I can die like a hero too. At the very end… I finally understand this technique. That's not too shameful, right?
The boy smiled bitterly.
He had only ever learned the first two forms of Wind Breathing, and even then, the speed and power he could muster had never matched those of his peers. He knew—he had no talent.
But he wasn't lazy. He clenched his teeth and endured every bit of training under his cultivator. Even after the other disciples had finished for the day, he would keep going, forcing himself to practice.
Still, his teacher had once pulled him aside, saying outright: "You're not suited for Breathing Styles."
And yet he had persisted.
He thought that with sheer willpower, he could overcome fear when facing demons. But he had been wrong.
If it hadn't been for his senpai, he would've died in Fujikasane Mountain, paralyzed by fear.
I'm still… this weak.
He closed his eyes.
"I guess I still come out on top."
The demon, now sliced to pieces and scattered across the ground, laughed cruelly. No matter how dazzling a dying boy's final strike may be, there were limits to what physical technique alone could achieve.
One attack couldn't suddenly grant pinpoint precision. Only geniuses—or seasoned warriors—could manage such a thing, and the boy was neither.
And even if he had caught the moment perfectly, his near-dead body had no strength left for a proper strike.
Timing or not, his power and accuracy weren't enough. What's more, this demon had an exceptional mastery of its own body. The moment the attack landed, it instinctively adjusted its position to mitigate the blow.
That wasn't a conscious decision—it was a reflex, forged through countless battles.
A slash that didn't sever the neck meant nothing. It was no different from any other wound.
And with a single breath… it would regenerate.
But then—
A glint of steel.
Its head hit the ground, rolling like a severed melon.
"Bakana! A normal blade can't kill me! My head may be cut off, but give it just a moment, and I'll be back on my feet! Without Demon Slayer support, you humans are nothing but prey to us!"
"Demon Slayers can't kill me—and you never could!!!!"
The demon's disembodied head howled in defiance, still sneering at the man who'd decapitated it.
No Nichirin Blade.
No Breathing Style.
No sunlight.
It couldn't imagine how a human like him could possibly have killed it.
Nichirin Blade.
Suddenly, it remembered.
Its current strength wasn't enough to withstand the sunlight-imbued energy within those blades. Even someone without a Breathing Style, wielding a Nichirin Blade, could still kill it.
And the katana in Shirou's right hand—
—It glowed faintly, its steel rimmed in silver and green.
"I remember now… I remember…"
Tears welled in the eyes of this demon—one who had once slaughtered countless innocents without hesitation.
I was once a swordsman who fought demons…
I fought to protect my village.
Ash began to drift upward from its decapitated form. Within seconds, its head and body crumbled into dust, vanishing into the quiet forest air.
Shirou lowered his sword.
Dragging his aching, trembling body forward, he walked to where the boy still stood.
Or rather—remained.
The boy hadn't moved an inch. His body was frozen in place, still locked in the stance of his final slash.
But his left hand wasn't holding the sword.
It was open—completely relaxed, as if he'd let go.
In that moment when he'd stabilized his body for the attack, the boy had deliberately released the blade.
The Nichirin Blade had begun to fall.
And Shirou—rushing forward, sword in hand—had seen it drop.
He remembered what the boy had told him: Use the Nichirin Blade to cut off its head—that's the only way it'll die.
He understood, then and there.
Letting go of his own katana, Shirou had caught the falling Nichirin Blade mid-air—just as the demon raised its defenses against the wind blades. He'd clenched his jaw, summoned the last of his strength—
—and struck.
"…He's not breathing anymore."
Shirou held a hand beneath the boy's nose.
No movement. No breath.
The forest fell silent once more.
His knuckles turned white around the grip of his sword and the Nichirin Blade. With a grunt, he plunged one of the blades into the earth.
What had happened today shook Shirou to his core.
He had witnessed a boy—no older than himself—throw everything on the line. His life, his future, his soul. All for the chance to kill a demon.
That courage. That resolve.
That was the kind of person Shirou had always aspired to be.
"…I'm sorry."
But all he felt now was guilt—and shame.
If I had been stronger… maybe he wouldn't have needed to die.
He was just a kid, and he had to throw his life away fighting a monster in the middle of nowhere.
And I don't even know his name.
All he could do was bury him quietly, in an unmarked grave.
Shirou's hand trembled—not from grief.
But from rage.
These things should not exist in this world.
He had been kneeling for hours.
Now, rising to his feet, Shirou drove the Nichirin Blade into the mound of earth that marked the boy's resting place.
Above, the sunlight finally broke through the canopy.
It bathed the green-bladed sword in light—
—and illuminated the unshakable resolve in Shirou's eyes.