"Yoriichi, wait for me!"
Along a verdant path, two figures, one tall and one short, walked one after the other.
A gust of wind swept through as they walked, making the weeds along the way sway and dislodging some dewdrops.
They stopped beside a tree.
Yoriichi turned his head.
He looked at the boy of about ten years old behind him, with a slightly helpless expression on his face.
In his eyes, the boy's golden hair, tinged with crimson at the edges, shimmered in the sunlight.
—Senjuro Rengoku.
That was his name.
When he met him, he was at the roadside buying sake for his father.
Because he had witnessed him slay a demon hiding in the darkness, he had followed him for some time.
"Senjuro, is it right if you don't go home?"
Once Senjuro reached him, Yoriichi glanced at the sake flask in his hand, his tone calm:
"Your father must still be waiting for you."
"Don't make him worry."
"Yes, Yoriichi," Senjuro nodded solemnly.
"But it's alright, Father has been drinking all day recently, not even caring about my elder brother, so he probably won't mind if I return a little late."
"Are you a swordsman?"
"Forgive my impertinence."
He lowered his head slightly.
"Just now, when I saw your sword technique, I felt it was somewhat similar to the inherited secret art of our Rengoku family."
"You must be using a Breathing Technique, I wonder if you know my father, Shinjuro Rengoku."
"If you do, I hope you can persuade my father."
Their family was the only surviving user of Flame Breathing in the world.
If the other party was also a successor of Flame Breathing, they must be familiar with his father.
His father had recently been deeply mired in the pain of his mother's passing, drinking away his sorrows all day, not even caring about his duty as the Flame Hashira.
As his son, Senjuro couldn't bear to see his father continue to be so dejected.
Someone had to break the stalemate.
"Shinjuro?"
"I don't know him, but..."
"I do have some impression of the Rengoku surname."
"Who is Seiichiro to you?"
"Seiichiro?"
Senjuro frowned; he remembered having seen that name somewhere.
However, his memory seemed to be veiled.
No matter how hard he tried to think, he couldn't recall the details.
Finally, he lowered his head helplessly: "I'm sorry..."
"You might have mistaken me, among the family members I know, there's no one named Seiichiro..."
"..."
That's right.
After all, it had been hundreds of years.
It was impossible for everyone to clearly remember their ancestors' affairs.
Yoriichi nodded, skipping the topic:
"Let's not talk about this for now, Senjuro, what's wrong with your father, Shinjuro?"
"Why do you need me to persuade him?"
Senjuro took a deep breath, organised his thoughts, and then spoke.
Yoriichi inadvertently furrowed his brows upon hearing it:
"Heartbroken... A bit troublesome, but not without a solution."
He subconsciously glanced at the Zanpakuto at his waist.
His gaze shifted, focusing on Senjuro:
"Do you know where your mother's grave is? And when she died?"
"Don't rush to tell me yet, just have it in mind."
"I need some preparations here."
"Leave a contact method."
"If there's an opportunity in the future, I'll try to contact you."
Although they had met by chance, it was, after all, the family of a former good friend.
Seiichiro and he had been friends for many years.
It was a pity that he died at the age of twenty-five, and after that, his relationship with the Rengoku family gradually drifted apart.
Only now, seeing Senjuro's distinctive hair colour, did he recall that past.
"..."
Senjuro was silent for two seconds, finally giving Tsugikuni Yoriichi his family's phone number.
As a samurai family with a thousand-year heritage, the Rengoku family possessed things that upper-class individuals did not uncommon.
Yoriichi was not surprised to hear it, because the Soul Society had even invented high-definition visual communicators.
So even an ancient person from the Warring States period, facing technological creations at this moment, would not feel any awkwardness.
After noting down the number, Yoriichi turned and left, Senjuro did not follow.
However... he had keenly noticed Yoriichi glancing at the black blade at his waist just now.
It was precisely when he was answering his question.
What was special about that sword?
...
"Tsugikuni Iwakata..."
Tokyo, Ubuyashiki estate.
Urokodaki Sakonji was browsing through history, and the truth recorded was so shocking that he couldn't utter a single word for a long time.
When his gaze swept over the Demon Slayer Corps' first, and also last, Moon Hashira—the entry for Tsugikuni Iwakata.
His eyes gradually grew solemn.
He looked up, his voice low:
"That person's elder brother became a demon!?
"Why?! As a Demon Slayer swordsman, why would he willingly defect to the enemy?"
"Cough cough..."
Yashiki Kagaya coughed twice.
He took the handkerchief handed to him by his wife, wiped the corners of his mouth, and slowly said:
"Regarding this, we are not very clear either."
"But one thing is certain."
"If it is still alive, it is an existence second only to Kibutsuji Muzan."
"For four hundred years, no swordsman has been able to learn the Moon Breathing he mastered."
"His talent is unparalleled."
"Second only to his younger brother."
"However, he betrayed us, and it is because of his betrayal that the Demon Slayer Corps could not tolerate it, which is why the previous Master erased this past from history."
...Sakonji.
His tone was somewhat agitated; after calming his breathing for a moment, he looked at Urokodaki Sakonji:
"If what you say is true, then now is the time to uncover this history."
"Tsugikuni Iwakata, this former Moon Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps, during his four hundred years as a demon, some Hashira have seen him."
"According to the fragments of information left behind."
"Its name has changed."
"He abandoned the Tsugikuni surname, he abandoned the name Iwakata."
"Three hundred years ago, he already became the head of the Twelve Demon Moons under Kibutsuji Muzan."
"It is—Upper Rank One."
"Kokushibou."
...
...
"Ah!"
"No!"
Inside a dark, lightless room.
Accompanied by a burst of solar flare tearing through the boundless darkness.
A demon, like a snake, instantly turned into flying ash and dispersed.
Its voice was shrill and mournful, as if it had seen an unspeakable existence.
Just by looking.
It felt as if ten thousand needles had appeared in its throat, piercing through its head and soul!
Before its death, it attempted to utter the words "Muzan," because once spoken, it could establish contact with him.
However.
The speed of thought ultimately couldn't match the flash of the blade.
When the scent of the demon in the air was completely gone, Yoriichi lightly lifted his blade, and a rich burst of reishi instantly flickered on the Zanpakuto.
He looked at the reishi, absorbing it into his body through the hilt, and only then was the emptiness originating from his soul replenished.
Boom!
A surging spiritual pressure erupted, until it covered to fifcovered, and he let out a long breath.
________________________________________________________________________________
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