Mount Shamei.
The last remnants of the setting sun were gradually swallowed by the night, the once golden sky fading into darkness.
The sun, like a weary old man, slowly sank behind the cliffs, leaving behind silence and shadows.Under the cold moonlight, Murata led a team of five toward the mountain peak.
From a distance, the mountain resembled a slanted eye hanging at the edge of the sky, hence its name—Slant-Eye Mountain.
The Demon Slayer Corps had lost ten swordsmen one after another in the mountains. Given that a village was located not far from these mountains, the headquarters directly dispatched two teams totaling ten members to investigate.
If the presence of the Twelve Demon Moons was confirmed, a Hashira would be sent as reinforcement.
"Captain, I'm scared!" A new recruit who had just passed this year's selection trembled, his lips quivering as he stared at the eerie, dense forest around them.
Murata drew his sword, his face brimming with confidence. "Don't be afraid. I'm actually pretty strong. Did you hear about the last Final Selection?"
"A hundred percent pass rate. Even demons run when they see me."
He said this not only to comfort the rookie but also to bolster his own courage.
"Ahhhh!"
"Run, run away!"
At that moment, the previously silent forest was suddenly shattered by piercing screams—chilling cries that seemed to emerge from the depths of hell.
Soon after, agonized wails rose one after another from the other side of the woods, like the howls of demons, sending shivers down their spines.
Clearly, this was another investigation team like Murata's, and they seemed to have already met with disaster.
The rookie, terrified out of his wits, immediately bolted into the forest, his mind blank as he stupidly ran toward the source of the screams.
"Get back here! It's too dangerous alone!" Though not particularly strong, Murata was at least a veteran who had personally slain demons. Unfortunately, the recruit was beyond listening.
"You three, keep scouting. Retreat immediately if there's danger!"
"Understood, Captain!"
Murata nodded and vanished into the depths of the forest in the blink of an eye.
The swordsmen from the same generation as Tendo carried a unique aura of glory, having witnessed true strength—especially that of their peers.
Since completing the Final Selection, their batch had become the most diligent in training within the entire Demon Slayer Corps.
They knew that even if they couldn't match the geniuses, they couldn't afford to drag the team down. Murata, too, took pride in that experience and trained even harder.
In just over a year, he had risen from a Mizunoto to Tsuchinoto Rank, far stronger than his original counterpart in the story.
After leaving his squad, Murata followed the trail up the mountain, his unease growing the closer he got to the summit.
Soon, he spotted ominous signs—intermittent bloodstains. Someone was injured.
Suddenly, the panicked cries of the runaway recruit echoed from the distance.
"Help! Captain, save me!"
Murata's expression darkened as he sprinted toward the voice.
Finally, he emerged from the pitch-black forest—or rather, the area where the trees had been completely cleared.
On the barren hillside, under the cold moonlight, a demon less than five feet tall was holding a Demon Slayer swordsman—taller than itself—aloft with one hand.
What stood out most was the demon's grotesque appearance: arms stretching two meters long, its entire body covered in black fur, resembling nothing less than a monstrous monkey.
"Another one here to die. Are you a Hashira?"
The demon sneered as it twisted its head around, its cervical vertebrae creaking unnaturally as it turned fully to face Murata.
Amidst its face shrouded in black fur, two crimson eyes the size of eggs scrutinized Murata with mocking amusement. Its right eye bore a marking.
Lower Two.
The moment he saw the number, Murata's heart sank. It was one of the Twelve Demon Moons.He was stunned. Such important news—ten missing members—why hadn't anyone sent the message out?
Murata knew he was no match. He roared at the sky, sending a message to his Kasugai Crow.
"It's one of the Twelve Demon Moons! Take this message back, now!"
As soon as he finished speaking, a Kasugai Crow shot through the air, its black figure like a spirit of the night. Reluctantly, it turned its head to glance at its master, a crystal-clear tear hanging at the corner of its eye.
It knew its master's strength all too well—this farewell might be their last.
Before the crow could fly far, it suddenly found a thin bamboo pole covered in black hair blocking its path. There was no time to react. Lower Two swatted it down with a single slap.
Its dozens-of-meters-long arm retracted swiftly as it smirked triumphantly at Murata.
"Well then, what else can you do now?"
"Keh heh heh!"
Now Murata finally understood why the messages hadn't gotten through.
His mind went blank for a brief moment before Murata mustered all his strength to shout again.
"Everyone—anyone who can hear me—there's a Twelve Demon Moons member in this mountain!"
"Get the message out! You must get it out!"
The next instant, his gaze hardened. Water Breathing Tenth Form: Constant Flux activated, a twisting water dragon head viciously biting toward Lower Two.
Buy time—he had to buy time!
"How boring!" Lower Two tossed aside the swordsman it held and sneered.
Moments later, a battered and bruised Murata was gripped by the neck, Lower Two's fingers poised to snap his spine with the slightest flex.
"Weakness is a sin, foolish swordsman!" Lower Two looked down at Murata with arrogant superiority, even mocking him.
Hearing this, Murata chuckled coldly. He was no longer the coward he once was. There was a time when he'd been no different from that new recruit, but that was the past.
The Final Selection had changed him profoundly.
"My weakness isn't wrong—there are others strong enough!"
"If I can't behead you, someone else will! Someone stronger than you!"
"Demon, I'll be waiting for you in hell!"
Murata's words drained all amusement from Lower Two. Killing someone unafraid of death was no fun at all.
Only at death's door could a person reveal their deepest vulnerabilities and sorrows without reservation.
Fear, despair, helplessness, pleading...
For the long-armed demon, witnessing such pitiful human frailty was its greatest joy.
"Then wait all you like. After I kill the strong ones you speak of, you'll despair soon enough!"
Lower Two knocked Murata unconscious with a slap. Before his eyes closed, he glimpsed three Kasugai Crows darting through the night from another direction, a satisfied smile curling his lips.
He'd succeeded in diverting the demon's attention—the intel had gotten through after all.
Those three crows belonged to the other three members of Murata's squad. When Murata encountered Lower Two, they'd been nearby, hearing his shouts loud and clear.
The long-armed demon didn't notice the three distant crows. Besides, it had a trump card—one even capable of handling a Hashira.
Lower One had recently died. If it could kill a Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps, it would earn a promotion and more blood from the Scrap Boss.
At least, that was its delusion.