In a refined and spacious courtyard, the evening wind scattered late-blooming cherry blossoms, their petals drifting onto the shaded wooden steps.
A young man with shoulder-length black hair sat quietly beneath the eaves, a messenger crow perched on his arm with its wings folded.
A Kasugai Crow—used to relay messages with the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters.
Every member had one. Though they looked indistinguishable, each possessed a different personality. And the message this crow carried came from one of the Corps' Hashira.
"Lord Rengoku says he has found someone extraordinarily gifted…"
The young man smiled, his voice carrying a gentle warmth that soothed the listener.
He lifted his head. Around his left eye spread a strange, ominous dark purple pattern, like writhing veins. The light in his eye flickered on and off, his gaze unfocused and distant.
"Extraordinarily gifted?"
Behind him stood an exceptionally beautiful woman with rare, pure white hair. Her tone held a trace of surprise. As the wife of the Demon Slayer Corps' leader—someone who had long assisted her husband in handling matters concerning demons—she knew just how powerful the Flame Hashira, Shinjuro Rengoku , was.
For someone like him to describe a child as "extraordinarily gifted"… what kind of anomaly must that girl be?
"Yes. According to the letter, that girl can completely kill demons even without a Nichirin Blade. She possesses eyes that can perceive death itself. Even 'immortal' demons are nothing more than withered branches before her—fragile, shattering at a touch."
The young man continued smiling.
"To think someone like that exists…"
The woman sighed in admiration.
Eyes that perceive death… such a thing was like holding the key to Yomotsu Hirasaka itself.
"Has she decided to join the Demon Slayer Corps?"
she asked.
Someone like that could easily become a pillar of the Corps in the future. No matter what, they had to secure her.
"She personally requested it from Lord Rengoku."
The young man paused slightly.
"Someone so gifted… it seems she is also a victim of demons."
…
Amid the mountains and wilderness, a bright full moon hung high.
Night always came so quickly.
Sui gently wiped the blood from her blade, her movements as tender as if she were caring for a lover.
The sword bore the name "Yatsugashira Tsushita Yomi Taidō." It was the only thing she had taken from her home—a venerable blade that had tasted countless lives.
Its guard was forged from brass, carved with eight lifelike serpent heads. They bit and coiled around one another, forming the shape of a lotus. The blade's curve was clear and beautiful, like flowing water.
That person had once said the lives taken by this sword were as many and as dreadful as those devoured by the mythical Yamata no Orochi, stained with the karmic flames of the underworld.
That was why her family had worshipped it for generations, praying to dispel its violent aura.
But now, that was no longer necessary.
The girl's eerie eyes turned forward, where the corpse of a demon lay sprawled.
It had only taken a single exchange.
The demon had been cleanly split apart. Irreversible death had claimed it instantly—it hadn't even been granted the right to scream.
"Girl, excellent!"
The man's booming voice rang out in praise. For someone he recognized, the Flame Hashira held nothing back—his voice loud enough to shake the leaves in the forest.
"You flatter me."
Sui slowly sheathed her blade. Her ice-blue eyes closed, and when she opened them again, they had returned to an ordinary dark brown.
"However, you'll need to be careful from now on."
The swordsman stepped forward.
Sui watched as he drew his weapon—the demon-slaying blade with a snow-white scabbard. Even the faint exposure of its edge radiated a scorching heat like the sun.
It was hard to imagine what it would look like when he fully unleashed it.
Shinjuro Rengoku raised his blade and severed the demon's head. The creature was already dead, of course—it offered no resistance.
As the blade fell, a burning scent filled Sui's nose.
The demon's body turned to ash upon decapitation, like a moth consumed by sunlight. Even the ashes scattered into the air, mixing with dust, leaving nothing behind for the world to see.
"Nichirin Blade,"
the man explained, noticing her gaze.
"It's forged from ores that absorb sunlight—Scarlet Crimson Iron Sand and Scarlet Ore. It's also called a color-changing blade, shifting depending on its wielder and reflecting the Breathing style suited to them."
"A demon beheaded by a Nichirin Blade dies completely. So far, aside from these blades, we have no effective way to deal with demons."
He sheathed his sword, his flame-patterned haori fluttering in the wind.
The powerful swordsman's eyes burned with intensity.
"But you are an exception!"
"You possess eyes that can perceive death. A demon's immortality is nothing more than a joke before you! However, the demons you kill won't turn to ash like this. Girl, that detail could work against you."
Sui paused for a moment, then shook her head with a faint smile.
She understood what he meant.
Demons killed through the Lines of Death would leave behind corpses—they wouldn't vanish like those slain by Nichirin Blades. And leaving bodies behind could invite trouble, even schemes from ill-intentioned people.
But…
"You worry too much."
Her ice-blue Mystic Eyes lit up again, blooming like flowers. She turned slightly and extended her pale arm, her fingertip lightly brushing against the trunk of a nearby tree.
Her hands were well cared for—smooth and delicate like fine jade, without a trace of calluses. As that person used to say, a girl's hands were her second face. If they saw her holding a broom, they'd probably scold her to put it down.
Yet that same person had never cared for their own "second face."
"How ironic…"
Sui murmured softly.
Her fingers danced along the tree trunk like a forest spirit. But under the gaze of those Mystic Eyes, her hand traced along the tree's line of death.
The tree died.
Before Shinjuro Rengoku 's eyes, the once-thriving century-old tree withered at a visible speed. Its moisture was stripped away, the yellow of death climbing upward from its roots. A process that should have taken centuries was reduced to a single breath.
Shinjuro Rengoku fell silent, deep in thought—and then—
"I see!"
he shouted, his face filled with triumphant understanding, like a child who had just solved a difficult problem.
"It's not merely killing—it is the imposition of death."
Hands on his hips, he declared,
"Girl, even without a Nichirin Blade, you can burn demons to ash, can't you?"
Sui nodded.
She closed her eyes, the icy blue glow fading. Immediately, a heavy fatigue washed over her from head to toe, leaving her slightly unsteady. The burden of using these eyes was still not something she could easily bear.
"Tired?"
The swordsman turned to look at her.
A pale, disk-like full moon hung overhead. The road stretched forward, flanked by open forest.
At the end of the path, a large estate gradually came into view—its tall walls painted vermilion. Around it bloomed clusters of wisteria flowers, their colors dreamlike in the night.
It seemed they had arrived.
The House with the Wisteria Family Crest.