Chapter 6: Ubuyashiki Kagaya
His gaze, calm and steady, swept across every swordsman who had returned, lingering for a moment on the grievously wounded Sabito and on Ryuji, who was caked in dust and blood, then he bowed slightly.
\"Welcome home, my swordsmen.\
His voice was gentle and clear, like a mountain stream flowing steadily through a ravine. "Congratulations on passing the final trial."
He stepped forward two paces, meeting each of their eyes in turn, and continued, "Your safe return is the Demon Slayer Corps' most precious treasure.
Ryuji stared at the young man before him, the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly.
Lavender eyes, neat black hair, and that telltale small scar at the outer corner of the left eye… Damn, this was unmistakably Ubuyashiki Kagaya!
The master himself.
No wonder—no wonder these swordsmen were risking their lives to protect Ubuyashi Kagaya!
As the spiritual pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps, he had personally come to the terminus of Mount Fujikasane, braving the risk of demon attack, just to welcome a group of rookies who had only just passed their trial?
Ryuji couldn't help grumbling inwardly:
So he's basically a succubus! Who could resist that? Everyone would fight to the death, right?
Well, except for scumbags like Kaigaku.
"Next, you will have fifteen days to rest and recuperate."
Ubuyashiki Kagaya's voice remained gentle as he gently lifted the red cloth behind him, revealing rough, uneven lumps of Ore. "During this time, the smiths of Swordsmith Village will forge your personal nichirin blades. Please choose your tamahagane."
With a faint smile, he gestured invitingly. "Please."
Ryuji stepped up first, hefting the lumps of Ore on the table and finally picking up the heaviest one.
He looked straight at Ubuyashiki Kagaya and asked, "My lord, may I request a custom nichirin blade? My Stone Breathing style is extremely hard on swords."
"Normally, only Hashira-rank slayers are allowed custom blade forms…"
Ubuyashiki didn't immediately agree; he kept his gentle smile fixed on Ryuji. "But since you're a Stone Breathing user… I shall discuss the matter with your smith once I return. Would that be acceptable?"
Ryuji nodded and said no more.
Ubuyashiki Kagaya was easy enough to talk to; whether the smith would be so accommodating was another matter.
Everyone else froze at Ryuji's words. It was the first time a newly promoted swordsman had made a demand! No—this was the master they were talking to!
And he'd dared speak to the master like that!
"All right, the rest of you swordsmen, come choose your tamahagane as well. After that we still have to treat the wounded and more."
Soon the selections were done. Ubuyashiki smiled at the swordsmen. "Next we'll distribute uniforms and crowss."
As he finished speaking, many Crows emerged from behind him.
Among them, a burly crows with crimson eyes beat its wings aggressively, driving off any rivals that tried to approach Ryuji, yet it hovered in mid-air, refusing to land, as though waiting for something.
"Oh? Pretty domineering."
Ryuji stretched out his left hand, meeting the Crow's blood-red pupils head-on.
Bird and man stared at each other in silence.
In the end, the Crow conceded, drifting down to perch on Ryuji's left hand and rubbing its head against his arm in greeting.
Ryuji stroked its head and murmured, "Good. What should I call you?"
Naming things had never been his strong suit; after some thought he settled on the most straightforward option:
"For now, let's go with Little Red."
Little Red froze at the words, as though its gears had jammed, then squawked indignantly, "What lousy naming sense! I'm done serving!"
It pecked Ryuji's arm hard and flew off.
Ryuji: "…"
Actually, Little Red sounded pretty nice…
At the foot of the mountain Ubuyashiki Kagaya stood by the road, watching Ryuji's departing figure with a faint smile.
"An interesting child.
Steady footsteps sounded behind him.
Without turning, Ubuyashiki said quietly, "That boy, like you, is a Stone Breathing user, Gyomei. Why not take him as your Tsuguko?"
"Amitabha."
Towering like an iron pagoda, Himejima Gyomei pressed his palms together, his voice a deep bell: "My lord, you should not have risked coming yourself. If you insisted, you should have allowed this monk to accompany you…"
"Enough."
Ubuyashiki Kagaya cut him off gently. "I simply wished to see the wisteria flowers once more while I still can. If I've troubled you, Gyomei, I apologize."
"Amitabha… the master is ever thus.
Himejima Gyomei bowed his head in silence for a moment, then spoke again. "Once his nichirin blade is forged, I shall instruct him well."
A small fishing village by the sea.
"I'm home!"
Ryuji pushed open the tattered wooden gate of the village courtyard and called toward the cottage, "Teacher Mochizuki, are you all right?"
Bang! Clatter—frantic sounds came from inside.
A wiry, dark-skinned old man scrambled out while straightening rumpled clothes, followed by a flushed young woman who hurried past with lowered head.
Ryuji took in the scene, the corner of his mouth twitching silently.
Damn… still virile in his old age.
"Ahem, good you're back," Mochizuki Tosaburo cleared his throat, trying for a teacherly tone. "Any injuries? Meet any pretty girls up there? I'm telling you, when I was your age—"
"The handsomest young man in ten villages—I know."
Ryuji rolled his eyes before he could finish. "How many times have you said that? My ears are callused… I don't get how you can say it with a straight face."
It wasn't disrespect.
The old man's looks were far from "handsome"—short but powerfully built, skin weathered black by years at sea, most striking of all the vicious claw scar across his left cheek. He looked more like someone who'd make children cry than a heart-throb.
"Brat!"
Mochizuki Tosaburo laughed, then grew serious, the eyes that had weathered countless storms softening:
"Welcome home.
Inside the cottage they sat opposite each other while the young woman in her plain kimono knelt silently to one side, eyes lowered.
"Another bowl, please.
Ryuji handed his empty wooden bowl to the woman; she took it gently and refilled it with steaming barley rice.
Mochizuki Tosaburo puffed on a slender pipe, saying nothing at first, simply watching his apprentice devour the food. At last, amid curling smoke, he spoke:
"Eat slowly, no one's stealing it… When you're done, come to my room."
Ryuji nodded. "Got it."
The moment he opened the door the smell of tobacco, brine, and old wood hit him. The room was a mess—bright bits of women's intimate wear lay scattered across the tatami.
Ryuji's gaze lingered for a heartbeat, then he looked away expressionlessly.
"Don't mind the details.
Mochizuki Tosaburo's leathery face reddened; he hastily crammed the garments under a pile of bedding in the corner.
"It's time to give you something. You're fourteen now."
He knelt at one side of the tatami, pried up two floorboards, and drew out a dark wooden box from the hidden space beneath.
"You know I found you on the beach…"
Mochizuki Tosaburo murmured, lifting the lid and turning the box toward Ryuji.
"This was hanging around your neck.