Chapter 62 – Mark
Today's training had gone surprisingly well.
The moment Tanjiro sliced through the last demon, he stumbled backward, breathing heavily, his body drenched in exhaustion. It felt like he'd spent countless sleepless nights on the battlefield, every muscle aching with weariness.
But then—
The world around him faded into darkness.
And when his senses returned, he was back.
Standing once again in front of the old wooden house on Mount Sagiri.
Tanjiro blinked, stunned.
He scratched his head, dazed and confused.
"…What… was all that?"
He took a deep breath.
The scent of blood and demons still clung to his nose.
His mind was clouded with fatigue—but something was off.
Oddly enough…
The soreness he should've felt in his joints and muscles was gone.
As if his body hadn't gone through a single battle.
Yet the memories were vivid.
Inside that world, the night never ended. The fight seemed endless… Like wandering through an eternal dream that left behind only exhaustion and silence.
He had no idea where he'd just been.
But the experience… felt terrifyingly real.
Beside him, Kanao Tsuyuri also opened her eyes, almost in sync.
Then, from the opposite side—
"IT WAS SO SCARY!! I WANNA GO HOME!!"
A high-pitched scream shattered the calm.
Zenitsu Agatsuma, hair and haori still as brightly yellow as ever, broke down crying the moment he awoke.
Tanjiro looked forward.
Hikaru was still seated, cross-legged on the ground, his haori fluttering gently in the mountain wind. The golden glow of the setting sun painted his silhouette in soft hues.
The black crow on his shoulder flapped its wings and took off into the sky.
Hikaru opened his eyes.
"…Congratulations. You've completed the first day of training."
His voice was calm, like a breeze—gentle yet firm, carrying a weight of quiet authority.
"…The first day?"
Tanjiro looked up slowly, still trying to process everything.
He didn't fully understand what had happened, but…
His gaze fell on the Nichirin Blade at his waist—the same water-blue blade he had carried for so long.
Something inside him trembled.
There was no clear explanation, no logic to it—but he knew.
His body had changed.
His breathing technique now flowed more smoothly.
His movements felt lighter, more natural.
If he drew his blade right now—
He'd be stronger than ever before.
Tanjiro turned toward the large stone in the distance.
The one that had once stood as an immovable wall in his training.
But now, for some reason…
He felt like he could cut through it.
It was only a matter of time.
He was sure of it.
Meanwhile, Kanao kept her eyes fixed on Hikaru—
As if trying to read the silent thoughts he wasn't saying out loud.
Zenitsu, on the other hand, had started rambling again in a panic.
"You're done for today. Take some time to rest."
Hikaru rose to his feet and glanced at the three of them.
"…Tomorrow's training will be even harder than today."
As his words fell, a sudden gust swept over them from the mountains.
And in the blink of an eye—
Hikaru's figure shimmered like ripples on a lake… and vanished completely.
"Y-YOKAI! HE'S A YOKAI, I SWEAR!!"
Zenitsu shrieked and tumbled backward.
Tanjiro flinched, startled—but not too much.
Kanao, however, said nothing.
She lowered her head slightly, deep in thought.
Somehow, in her heart… she felt it.
Hikaru looked tired, didn't he?
Today was just the beginning.
And tomorrow…
Would be far more intense.
— — —
High on the rooftop overlooking the valley, Hikaru stood side by side with Sakonji Urokodaki—the retired Water Hashira who had been observing them all along.
The two of them watched as the three trainees walked back toward the house.
"…Seven days. That's how long I have to complete their training."
Hikaru's voice was steady.
He had set a deadline for himself.
Seven days—a brief moment for most people, but to him… it was more than enough.
"…Isn't that a bit reckless?"
Urokodaki spoke quietly from behind his tengu mask, his raspy voice tinged with concern.
"But war won't wait."
Hikaru replied immediately, firm.
"And those kids… they'll survive."
He'd seen it in them.
Even Zenitsu, the one who seemed the most fragile—
Inside the illusion, he had unleashed incredible power.
He'd sliced through demons in a flash of thunder and light.
Yes, they would endure.
Urokodaki didn't argue.
He simply remained silent, gazing at the darkening sky.
Hikaru turned toward the horizon, then swirled his haori and leapt off the roof.
He disappeared into the forest below, swallowed by the twilight.
As the last light of dusk faded, the world was draped in shadows once more.
Urokodaki watched the boy vanish into the trees.
"…I'm not worried about them, Hikaru. I'm worried about you."
He let out a long sigh.
"You're a troublesome one too, huh…"
He turned his gaze toward the blank night sky.
No stars. No moon.
Yet for some reason… tonight felt like a good night.
— — —
As the temperature dropped, a soft mist crept up from the valley, weaving through the forest like silver smoke.
Hikaru walked alone through the woods.
He passed the massive training stone—the one Tanjiro had once tried to slice.
From a distance, he heard the sharp clang of metal.
Sparks flickered.
Tanjiro was still there.
Even though training had ended, he kept swinging his sword, his strikes firm and unrelenting against the boulder.
Hikaru watched for a while, then turned away.
He continued on—upward, toward the peak of Mount Sagiri.
The highest point.
The place closest to the sky.
Surrounded by a sea of fog, Hikaru stood at the summit, overlooking the mountain ranges that stretched beyond the horizon.
A black crow descended onto his shoulder, letting out a low, scratchy caw.
"…I'm fine."
Hikaru raised a hand and gently stroked the bird's feathers.
Then, slowly… he opened the front of his haori.
Even in the moonless dark, his sharp eyes could see it clearly.
There—across his chest, right above his heart—was a mark.
A glowing sigil made of three soft colors:
Blue. Gold. Pink.
It pulsed faintly, like embers in the night.
He could feel the warmth coursing through his blood.
The pounding of his heart.
The strange heat rising from within his body.
"…So this is the Mark."
Hikaru narrowed his eyes.
He hadn't meant for this to happen.
Maybe it was because his consciousness had been linked to Tanjiro's earlier in the illusion.
Maybe it had awakened unintentionally.
— — —
The Demon Slayer Mark.
A mysterious power possessed only by a rare few.
It allowed a swordsman to surpass human limits—
Sharpening every sense, enhancing physical abilities, even pushing reflexes beyond what was thought possible.
But such power…
Always came with a price.
Once awakened, the user's body would remain at a dangerously high temperature—above 39°C.
A state no ordinary human could survive for long.
And more terrifyingly…
Even if the Mark was dormant, simply possessing it meant a grim fate—
Most who bore the Mark would not live past the age of twenty-five.
A gift… and a curse.
Hikaru clenched his fist.
He didn't know whether to feel excited or worried.
He hadn't found Sun Breathing yet.
And now, out of nowhere… this had emerged.
No wonder he had felt so exhausted earlier.
It wasn't just the strain of maintaining the illusion.
That, he could handle—especially with the help of his crow companion.
But this fatigue… this drain…
It came from the Mark.
"…Tanjiro. I almost forgot."
That boy—he was one of the original Mark bearers.
The scar on his forehead wasn't just a simple wound.
It was the Origin Mark.
And while awakening a Mark through contact was rare…
Hikaru had something no one else did.
The System.
A hidden power that let him "lock in" any ability he acquired—
To stabilize it and make it his own.
And because of that…
The Demon Slayer Mark now belonged to him.
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