Chapter 56 – Mount Sagiri
They were already close—very close—to Mount Sagiri.
It made sense. Otherwise, someone like Sakonji Urokodaki wouldn't have appeared back there.
The distance from the headquarters of the Demon Slayer Corps to Mount Sagiri wasn't far. With Hikaru's pace, a day and night of walking was more than enough.
A thick mist wrapped around the narrow mountain trail, silver moonlight filtering down from above like glowing fog, soft and surreal.
At the front of the group, Urokodaki moved quietly. His footsteps made no sound, but his presence carried an unshakable calm.
Hikaru followed behind him, walking beside Nezuko.
Even now, the girl looked alert. Her eyes darted around warily, searching the shadows of the mist for any sign of lurking demons. Her injured arm was now properly bandaged, but the tension in her body hadn't left.
As the climb continued, the ground grew steeper. The trees thinned out, replaced by jagged rocky cliffs rising sharply on either side. Off in the distance, the layered silhouette of mountains faded into the mist.
And with each step closer to the summit, the fog slowly began to lift.
Eventually, they reached a mid-slope plateau.
And there it was—Mount Sagiri's peak, rising quietly in front of them.
A modest house stood at the edge of the mountain, partially shrouded in the remaining mist. A faint golden glow spilled from the small lanterns, casting warm light on the wooden porch.
In front of the house stood a boy.
He wore a dark green checkered haori over his Demon Slayer uniform. His short red hair was slightly ruffled, and a distinctive flame-like scar marked his forehead. He held a paper lantern in one hand, as if he'd been waiting all night.
The moment he caught sight of Urokodaki's signature tengu mask, his face lit up with joy.
"Urokodaki-sensei!"
But just as quickly, his gaze shifted past his master—landing directly on the figures behind him.
On Hikaru… and—
"Nezuko!"
The boy shouted and ran forward, eyes wide in disbelief and happiness.
"Tanjiro-nii-chan!"
Nezuko beamed and waved back, her entire expression lighting up at the sound of her brother's voice.
"How… how are you here?!"
Tanjiro was clearly stunned—and overwhelmed with relief.
But before Nezuko could answer, something unexpected happened.
His feet suddenly lifted off the ground.
"Wha—?!"
Hikaru had grabbed him by the collar and effortlessly hoisted him into the air.
"Oi, I'm the one who rescued her, you know?" Hikaru sighed, lips twitching. "At least acknowledge me before rushing off like that."
He looked half amused, half exasperated.
Sure, he already knew Tanjiro was a world-class siscon, but being completely ignored like that? That was something else.
"Ah… Hikaru-san!"
Tanjiro blinked, finally realizing. A sheepish grin spread across his face.
So he really forgot…
Hikaru raised an eyebrow, then casually set the boy back down.
"Alright, enough with the emotional reunion. You'll have all the time in the world to talk inside," he said, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Right!"
Tanjiro straightened up and nodded with sincerity.
He was truly grateful. To the man who had saved his sister—and given her the chance to return home.
Behind them, Urokodaki stood silently. His mask revealed nothing, but deep inside, his thoughts stirred.
"So… he's the Void Hashira…"
The three of them stepped into the house at the summit of Mount Sagiri.
Inside, the warm glow of burning coals cast flickering shadows across the wooden walls. The scent of pine smoke lingered faintly in the air, adding to the comforting atmosphere.
Tanjiro was practically glowing with happiness. Reuniting with Nezuko had clearly brought him overwhelming joy. But behind that joy… there were questions. Lots of them.
Why was Nezuko here?
Why was she with Hikaru?
And perhaps most jarring of all—
A Nichirin Blade now hung at Nezuko's side.
There was something different about her. The aura she carried—it wasn't demonic. It was something like blooming flowers: soft, yet quietly dangerous.
The room fell silent.
Though confusion and worry stirred in Tanjiro's heart, his body was still worn out from training. His eyes grew heavy. Eventually, he leaned against the wall and drifted off.
Nezuko quietly slipped off her haori and draped it gently over him.
She sat down beside him, gazing at his sleeping face. For a moment, she said nothing.
Then, in a barely audible whisper—
"…Nii-chan… from now on, I'll protect you too."
There was a quiet strength in her voice.
Across from the siblings, Hikaru and Urokodaki sat near the hearth, the firelight dancing between them.
"He's grown quite a bit," Hikaru said, watching Tanjiro sleep.
But Urokodaki shook his head firmly.
"Not enough. Not nearly enough."
He sounded almost harsh.
"His blade isn't ready. Not yet. Still too fragile to cut through demons."
"…You're really strict, huh," Hikaru chuckled.
But then his tone softened.
"Still… I think you already know, don't you? Deep down."
Urokodaki didn't respond.
But he didn't need to.
He had already received a letter from Kagaya Ubuyashiki, head of the Ubuyashiki family and leader of the Demon Slayer Corps.
The content was clear.
There was a high likelihood that a powerful demon was hiding in Mount Fujikasane—the site of the Final Selection.
The unusually high death rate for new participants each year wasn't just a coincidence.
Just those two facts alone were enough to reveal the truth behind the corps' silence.
And because he understood that—
He couldn't, in good conscience, send Tanjiro into that place unprepared.
"…I understand how you feel," Hikaru murmured, looking into the fire.
"It must hurt. Every year, watching the students you've trained so hard… leave with such hope, only to never return."
Urokodaki didn't say a word.
But he didn't have to.
Ever since he retired as the Water Hashira, he'd lived here—training dozens of new swordsmen.
Yet in all those years…
Only one had ever returned from the Final Selection.
Giyu Tomioka—now the current Water Hashira.
Each year, he watched students go up the mountain.
And each year, all he received was a short note with a list of names… and condolences.
He never talked about it.
But that weight—the sadness—it never really left him.
"Still," the old man said quietly at last, his voice gravelly, "I won't approve this request so easily."
"Tanjiro… is not yet ready for the Final Selection."
"I get it."
Hikaru nodded.
"But he's learned a Breathing Style, hasn't he?"
"That's just the first step. His form, his execution… still raw. He's far from ready."
Urokodaki didn't sugarcoat it.
Hikaru didn't argue.
He turned his gaze out the window.
In the distance, bathed in moonlight, stood a large round boulder—its surface covered in deep sword marks.
Countless cuts, layered over and over.
And just beyond it, barely visible in the mist, was a lone silhouette—still training.
"…I see."
Hikaru whispered.
Nezuko sat in silence, watching the flames.
Tanjiro's sleeping figure remained still beside her, his breathing slow and steady.
Outside, the mist began to clear.
And tomorrow—
Everything would begin to move.
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