Disclaimer: Demon Slayer is not mine. This fanfic is a translation.
Enjoy Reading!
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Four hundred years ago.
During the Warring States Period,
When Kokushibo was still human, his name was Tsugikuni Michikatsu, and he served as the Moon Hashira for the Demon Slayer Corps at the time.
Although he was the last to join the Corps, he quickly rose through the ranks and became the second strongest Hashira of his generation.
One day,
"Yoriichi."
Both brothers took a walk through the mountaintops, gazing at the sunlight peeking out of the clouds on the horizon.
"No one can match you and me in strength." Michikatsu said with a nervous undertone as if he's trying to keep his calm.
"The learning process of the breathing method is simply disastrous..."
"If this continues, all our hard work that has been honed over the years will be lost."
Yoriichi continues to walk as if he didn't hear his brother's worries.
"Aren't you worried, Yoriichi?" Michikatsu glanced at his brother.
His younger brother, the man who embodied everything in the world in his heart.
His tone of voice was full of worry and anxiety, although there is a hint of contempt hidden beneath.
Yoriichi finally stopped at a cliff that gazed over the horizon with his back to his brother.
The breeze blew their clothes, and the dark red feather weave was draped over Yoriichi's shoulder.
"Brother."
"You overestimate us too much." Yoriichi said calmly.
He stood there just taking a deep breath and enjoying the wind.
"You and I are just two more travelers in the long history of mankind..."
"A person with more talent than you or I could ever dream of may be born somewhere in the world right now."
"I believe they will eventually reach the same realm as you and I."
Yoriichi's voice was so carefree, so unburdened by any emotional weight, and he did not notice the incredulous look his brother gave him.
"Don't worry too much."
Yoriichi turned to finally face his Michikatsu with a small smile on his lips. His tone of voice seems to change to a more prophetic tone.
"Even if the time changes or our paths are different."
"We're all going to the same place."
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"Don't you think that's a beautiful thing?"
"Brother."
Yoriichi's soft and gentle voice echoed in his mind.
Splash—
The bright red blood gurgled out from his wound to the ground, staining it red.
Kokushibo covered his injuries. The muscles around the wound were pulsating, and charred tissue bulged out.
His blood still gushed from what's left of his hand.
His right arm didn't grow back instantly like usual.
He subconsciously raised his injured arm to see.
Tsss—
A puff of burnt white smoke rose from his stump of an arm.
His superior regeneration was hampered.
Kokushibo looked over to Tanjuro, and he saw the black blade that caused such a horrific wound.
The black katana was evaporating with smoke and glowed bright hot red.
Paired that with Tanjuro's appearance...
...it's as if Yoriichi has come back to life, terrorizing demons with his Bright Red Nichirin.
The sight of Tanjuro advancing toward him seems to help clear Kokushibo's mind. A revelation was happening inside his heart.
'I see...'
Kokushibo released a very long exhale as his emotions stirred up again in his heart.
'So that's how it is...'
'Yoriichi.'
'You predicted that someone like him would appear...'
'Even if it takes hundreds of years...'
'You knew...'
'That someone would step up... and take on your mantle.'
'Is this what you mean?'
'Yoriichi.'
Kokushibo committed the image of Kamado Tanjuro in his mind for eternity.
The marking on the man's left forehead was particularly striking due to his higher body temperature, and the strong body under his dark red haori made him more regal than usual.
His crimson hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and he wore the familiar hanafuda earrings that have been passed down through generations.
With the bright red sword in his hands.
Truly, Tanjuro is the perfect picture of the reincarnation of Tsugikuni Yoriichi, the legend of the Demon Slayer Corps 400 years ago.
"Those who have exhausted their paths... will return to the same place..."
Kokushibo stared blankly at nothing in particular as he finally understood Yoriichi's vision and words from 400 years ago.
This revelation left him a bit... surprised.
The joy from the bottom of his black heart was tremendous, and yet...
"Was my path... wrong...?"
Kokushibo muttered to himself. He looked and seemed to notice for the first time his protruding veins all over his body and his dark nails.
Those who have explored every possible avenue in their pursuit of excellence.
Was it right or wrong for him to choose to become a demon in the first place?
He had thought about this question once before when he found his brother's childhood clothing.
But this time, Yoriichi's scolding echoed loudly in his heart.
"How pitiful... brother."
...
...
...
...
...
...
It's meaningless.
Everything he did is meaningless.
There's no point for him to keep fighting here.
Sreek...
Kokushibo slowly stood up, no longer concerned about Tanjuro.
He walked out to meet the man.
He knew he had lost.
He lost again, whether in strength or in vision.
He lost to the man in front of him, who looked so much like Yoriichi.
He lost to his younger brother, who foresaw this event 400 years ago.
At the time, he was concerned and pissed that his swordsmanship would be lost in the next generation.
However, Yoriichi had already set his sight on the future, even hundreds of years long.
A complete defeat.
But there was no frustration in his heart or jealousy that he used to feel.
Riipp...
He reached and tore off the remaining fluttering pieces of clothing on his body.
Revealing his naked upper body to the world. Muscles taught from being honed for hundreds of years.
Tanjuro kept his distance, holding Kusabimaru up for another barrage of attacks to parry, and slowly made his way closer.
Click.
Kokushibo raised his blade and pointed it at Tanjuro.
"You..."
His voices no longer carry that disgust and anger.
"What's your name?"
Tanjuro narrowed his eyes at this strange attitude from his opponent.
He searched Kokushibo's face to see any sign of deception or tricks, but Kokushibo kept silent, waiting for Tanjuro to answer the question.
His hold on Kusabimaru never relaxed for even a little.
"...Gonpachiro."
Tanjuro casually answered.
Kokushibo didn't react outwardly or in any other way that was obvious. He just nodded his head as he murmured. "Gonpachiro... I'll remember it."
Kokushibo's enlightenment led to him questioning every action he ever took.
He had left nothing in the past.
He didn't build toward the future.
If he didn't have a mark in this world…
Then...
'What is the meaning of my existence?'
Kokushibo's heart kept ringing with this question over and over again.
While Kokushibo seems distracted, Tanjuro adjusted his stance and breathing.
However, before he could even do anything else, Kokushibo reached into his hakama and took out a small bag with a delicate purple-pink pattern.
In it was a rough wooden flute broken in two.
Whoosh!
The Upper Moon One turned into afterimages and vanished without a trace.