They say that once the sun goes down, man-eating demons roam. And there are Demon Slayers who cut them down and protect the living.
A fine rain pattered on the eaves. Ryuzaki Tsugikuni tugged his thin clothes tighter. Drops slid from the red tips of his hair and spattered onto the bamboo chair beneath him.
Drip. Drip.
Rain tapped the bamboo like it wanted to speak. The boy was about to be offered up by the villagers to their so-called mountain god. Only he knew that "god" was nothing but a demon that ate people.
Four burly men carried him up moss-slick, green stone steps to a ruined red shrine. The peeling walls told how long it had been since anyone came here.
All at once, the four knelt in front of him. One man sobbed, "Ryuzaki, we've wronged you. But we raised you for fourteen years, please don't hate us."
Ryuzaki opened his mouth to answer.
A beastlike roar burst from the dark shrine. The men scrambled to their feet, panicked, and bolted down the steps.
Whether it was fear or the slippery rain, one of them nearly fell. Ryuzaki, however, didn't flinch. He stared at the shrine doors, jaw set.
"We agreed we wouldn't be scared. Then why are your hands shaking?" he muttered to himself. "You're descended from the man people called a god. Don't be afraid."
Today marked fourteen years since Ryuzaki was reborn into this world of Demon Slayer. He'd lived deep in the mountains so long he'd lost any sense of what was happening outside. Every day, he prayed to god, hoping that his beloved waifu, whom he liked a lot, Shinobu Kocho, was still alive.
As a die-hard fan in his past life, of course, he knew Kimetsu no Yaiba. He remembered those late nights under the blanket, quietly crying over the tragedies that his favourite characters faced. He still couldn't accept Shinobu's death. Or Rengoku's fate, either.
Ryuzaki fished out a tiny bronze mirror from who-knows-where and studied the mark on his brow, as if it were a burn. Only he knew it for what it was, the fabled Demon Slayer Mark.
The day he realized he bore a Mark, he nearly died on the spot. Marked swordsmen never lived past twenty-five. But when he read the family registry and saw the name Yoriichi Tsugikuni, his eyes lit up. A descendant of Yoriichi? Being born with a Mark made perfect sense.
Even so, the thought of a short life gnawed at him. Then he remembered: in his last life, he'd trained hard and learned Tai Chi, the same old, boring but reliable methods to strengthen the body and stretch out one's years.
And so, from the age of eight, Ryuzaki practiced Tai-Chi every day and swung his sword five hundred times until his shoulders burned. His body was sturdy, his appetite great. He silently thanked his high-school kendo coach for drilling those basics into him. One day, he swore, the whole Corps would know the greatness of Tai Chi. Sure, it wasn't some xianxian moves, but these Tai Chi were still a great thing to have.
Another roar ripped out of the shrine and yanked him back to the present. Ryuzaki stood and tightened his grip on his battered sword.
It was an heirloom, one of the few things he owned. He had no idea whether it could even kill a demon.
The shrine doors shuddered, then blew off their hinges. Ryuzaki slipped sideways. The slab of wood hissed past his Hanafuda earring and clattered away. Those were another of his treasures, the same style as Yoriichi's.
When the dust settled, a dirt-stained demon crawled out on all fours. In its eyes, Ryuzaki was a lamb for slaughter, a flick of the claw away from death.
The stench of blood rode the wind and stabbed up his nose. His stomach lurched.
He'd thought himself tough, but facing the real thing, this was different. Nausea rose like a tide.
"Kid," the demon sneered, "you holding that blade to cut me?"
"Uh, did the door crush your head and make you an imbecile?" Ryuzaki shot back. "If I'm not cutting you, what am I using it for, slicing myself up so you can snack on me?"
Now he was a little worried about this demon's IQ. It didn't look too bright.
"Tch. Slick tongue. When you're on your knees begging me not to eat you, we'll see if you're still so arrogant!"
Arrogant? Ryuzaki blinked. He'd just told the truth. This person had to be sick in the head.
The earth-colored demon stopped snarling and got down to business. Toying with the Marked, now that was his hobby. He coiled his legs and kicked off like a beast, launching straight at Ryuzaki.
Ryuzaki didn't move. He watched the arc of the leap, though his body trembled.
First time seeing a demon that ate people. In a child's body, no less. Fear was natural. But he trusted his drills.
At the instant the demon struck, Ryuzaki bent like a reed in the wind and let the rush whistle past. The demon's eyes went wide. Rubber bones? How was this brat so flexible?
Ryuzaki flowed with the motion, drew his sword, and cut for the neck. A smile of victory tugged at his mouth.
"You underestimated me," he crowed. "Just because I'm a kid doesn't mean I'm weak. Think you can handle six years of work?"
Of course, when things aren't supposed to go wrong, that's when they do.
Crack.
The blade snapped in two in his hands. The demon burst out laughing.
"Ha! That's your six years of work? I'm so scared."
He slashed. Fast. Ryuzaki didn't even get a chance to react. A clean arc traced across the rain. The boy flew ten meters and hit the ground hard.
He tumbled, skidded, then slammed into a tree. Blood slicked the corner of his mouth.
Grimacing, he clutched his chest. A stabbing pain twisted through his ribs, probably broken. Some heirloom breaks just like that.
Using half a blade to prop himself up, Ryuzaki pushed to his feet. The demon sauntered toward him, savoring the moment.
Ryuzaki suddenly pointed past the demon and shouted, "Look! Your daddy, Muzan, is here!"
The word Muzan hit like thunder. The demon's pupils blew wide. Its whole body shook. It spun around and dropped to its knees.
Of course, he'd tricked it. Muzan Kibutsuji was the last person Ryuzaki wanted to meet. A Tsugikuni descendant in front of Muzan? That story ends one way: dead.
Still, invoking the big boss to spook the underlings clearly worked. He should use that more often.
"Idiot," Ryuzaki called, "your boss wouldn't set foot in a backwater like this. Quit kneeling. By Daddy Ryuzaki's permission, you can stand."
Mockery, maxed out.
"Running is winning," he told himself. Running is winning.
Time to bolt.
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