Winter had arrived. A fresh snowfall had blanketed the earth in a thin, shimmering sheet of white.
Though the temperature was bone-chilling, it did not hinder the grand finale of the World Swordsmanship Tournament.
Inside the National Stadium of Huā Lóng Country's capital, the championship match was nearing its end.
On the battlefield, a young man launched a relentless assault against his opponent, Hans.
He had short black hair, a strikingly handsome face, and eyes like deep, swirling galaxies—mysterious and unfathomable.
A faint, confident smile hung at the corner of his lips as he launched his attacks with unhurried precision.
Each step he took resembled a serpent gliding through tall grass, evading Hans's blows with ease.
Then, his wooden sword lashed out like a hunting tiger. With a single, explosive strike, it hurled Hans across the arena toward the edge.
Realizing he was on the verge of defeat, Hans's bloodshot eyes locked onto his opponent's, burning with the desperation of a beast cornered. It was a look that could devour someone whole.
"Damn it! This guy's swordsmanship is more godlike than God's!"
"How can Huā Lóng produce a freak like Mr. Shishu? I can't beat him! It's impossible!"
"He's not a man... he's a monster!"
Despite every instinct screaming at him to surrender, Hans couldn't afford to lose. He knew exactly what would await him if he did.
With a subtle motion, he slipped a small piece of metal from his pocket and flicked it at a wicked angle.
"Die, monkey! That championship title is mine!"
As the thin shard whistled through the air toward Shishu, Hans's eyes gleamed with madness and anticipation.
Though small, the shard could easily cause serious injury—or even death—if it struck a vital area like the eyes.
The crowd gasped in fury, erupting into chaos.
"Coward! Can't win with skill so you resort to trashy tricks?"
"Get out! You don't deserve to be here!"
"Where's the referee?! Declare a violation now!"
Amidst the shouting, some calmer spectators began to worry—about Shishu. He wasn't just a competitor. He was Huā Lóng's greatest genius in centuries. Their final hope for victory on the world stage.
To them, Shishu was a beacon of light.
Watching the spinning shard in mid-air, Shishu let out a faint sigh.
"So this was your trump card? How pathetic."
His expression shifted to a cold smirk. His left foot slammed into the ground, and he raised his wooden sword high.
A thunderous bang echoed through the stadium as the wooden sword came crashing down.
"Slash!"
The strike tore through the air with a screeching sonic boom. A pale white sword wave erupted, shattering the flying shard into dust.
But it didn't stop there.
The energy slash surged forward, monstrous and unyielding, heading straight for Hans.
The spectators and commentators went wild.
"Sword Qi! That's sword qi!"
"It's true! The legendary sword qi of Huā Lóng has returned, reborn in Shishu's hands!"
While the audience was ecstatic, Hans was on the brink of collapse. Nothing he did could stop that incoming force.
All he could do was raise his wooden sword in front of him in a final, hopeless attempt to block it.
"No!"
The moment the pale wave made contact, his wooden sword was obliterated—along with Hans himself.
He slammed into the wall with a sickening crunch, nearly two meters of his body embedded in the stadium's stone. Flesh and blood sprayed in all directions. He looked less like a man and more like the aftermath of a slaughterhouse.
His head lolled to the side. He lost consciousness instantly.
The referee, frozen in disbelief, had to slap himself before he could even react.
Clutching his reddened cheek, he finally raised his voice.
"The winner—Shishu of Huā Lóng!"
"Let us congratulate this eighteen-year-old prodigy, the youngest champion in history!"
"And more than that, he's awakened the legendary sword qi of Huā Lóng! Applause for our hero!"
As cheers thundered through the stadium, the award ceremony concluded. Shishu stood tall, his gold medal glinting in the lights.
On the way home, a blade of foxtail grass dangling from his lips, Shishu reflected on what came next.
"It's finally over. I can relax now."
"Might as well rewatch the Demon Slayer: Mugen Train movie tonight."
Sword training was brutal, and everyone needed their own form of escape. For Shishu, anime was his comfort.
Passing through a plaza, he noticed children having a snowball fight. They hurled a few snowballs his way.
Reacting purely on instinct, Shishu moved.
The foxtail grass in his mouth danced like a sword, slicing the snowballs cleanly in mid-air.
But the last snowball was different.
His sharp eyes detected something inside.
A stone. Covered in sharp spikes.
"Damn it!"
He cursed as he saw it, too late to dodge.
"You little brat! What kind of parents teach their kid to put rocks in snowballs?"
"Don't you know you'll grow up without any friends if you pull crap like this?!"
The moment the stone cracked against his forehead, a voice echoed in his mind.
"Suitable host detected. Great Swordmaster System initiating fusion."
"Teleportation commencing. Countdown begins."
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, everything went black.
"Thirty percent... sixty percent... one hundred percent."
"Fusion complete. Host regaining consciousness."
"Starter pack delivered. Please choose between the Bad Luck or Good Luck narrator voice."
Shishu opened his eyes slowly, disturbed by the strange voice still ringing in his head.
He was no longer in the world he knew. This wasn't a hospital or a city skyline.
The sun blazed overhead. Towering green trees stretched toward the sky. He could smell the rich scent of soil in the air.
"Why the hell am I in a forest?"
When he tried to speak, something was wrong.
All he could produce were babyish sounds—gurgles and whimpers. His arms and legs felt shrunken, powerless.
"What the... I've turned into a baby?!"
A flock of metaphorical crows seemed to fly over his head.
"What kind of messed-up opening is this?!"
"Well... might as well check the starter pack first."
Thanks to his unshakable mentality, he quickly calmed down and opened the so-called starter pack.
Thinking his luck couldn't get any worse, he selected the Bad Luck narrator.
"Loading Bad Luck voice... loading complete."
"Due to how absurd your transmigration was, the system can't take it anymore. You are granted Basic Swordsmanship."
"Due to your pitiful state, the system feels nauseous. You are granted Basic Martial Arts."
"Due to your laughable appearance, the system laughed so hard it spasmed. You are granted Basic Cooking."
Basic Swordsmanship / Basic Martial Arts / Basic Cooking: 0/1000.
Progress to next stage requires 1000 experience points.
Mission: Swing a sword 100,000 times before age ten.
Current progress: 0/100,000.
Shishu felt his face twitching.
So this was the Bad Luck voice. Basically, the system showed up just to mock him.
And what was with Basic Cooking? Did it expect a literal baby to start making meals?
Most absurd of all was the task—one hundred thousand sword swings? Was this a joke?
Although he doubted the system would assign an impossible mission, Shishu couldn't help but feel a pang of dread in his kidneys.
As he pondered his next move, he saw someone approaching through the tall grass.
The figure stepped closer, and Shishu's eyes widened in shock.
That face... it was too familiar.
Eyes like still water, devoid of emotion. Long black hair tinged with red, draping behind him. A talisman dangled from his ear.
But most striking of all was the crimson flame mark on his forehead.
"Tsugikuni... Yoriichi Tsugikuni?!"
In that moment, Shishu understood—he had transmigrated into the world of Demon Slayer.
A realm of danger, bloodshed, and opportunity.
And yet, his blood surged with excitement.
He would rise again in this world.
He would become the strongest.
The ultimate swordsman.
Noticing the baby on the ground, Yoriichi bent down and picked him up gently.
Even he found it hard to believe—finding a child here, in the middle of nowhere.
"Uta just left me not long ago, and now you appear before me."
"Could this... be fate?"
He clutched Shishu to his chest, his body trembling slightly.
Even in his infant form, Shishu could feel the emotion coursing through the man's heart.
"From now on, you'll be my disciple."
With those soft words, Yoriichi carried him away.
And as Shishu looked up at the man holding him, a determined thought echoed in his mind:
"My era has just begun."