Muzan's chest rose and fell in shallow movements. Each breath scraped through his throat like sand. The ceiling of the hut had a crack running through its center that he'd memorized months ago.
His body felt cold. It always did. The numbness had spread from his fingers to his arms years ago, creeping inward like frost on glass. Now only his chest retained any warmth, and even that flickered like a dying candle.
The door creaked open.
"Young lord, you're awake."
Genzo shuffled inside carrying a wooden tray. Steam rose from the bowl of broth. The old man's hands shook as he set it down, and some liquid sloshed over the rim.
Muzan tried to push himself upright. His arms trembled under his own weight. Genzo moved quickly despite his age, sliding an arm behind Muzan's back and helping him sit against the wall.
"Thank you," Muzan said.
Genzo picked up the bowl and brought a spoonful to Muzan's lips. The broth was warm but flavorless. Muzan's tongue had gone numb two years ago. He swallowed because his body needed it, not because he could taste anything.
"You need to eat more," Genzo said. "You've gotten thinner."
Muzan glanced down at his arms. The black robe hung loose around bones wrapped in skin. His wrists looked like they might snap if he moved too quickly. He was twenty years old and weighed less than he had at fifteen.
"I know."
Genzo fed him another spoonful. Then another. The process took time because Muzan's throat struggled with each swallow. Sometimes the broth would catch and he'd cough, his whole body shaking with the effort.
After half the bowl, Muzan shook his head slightly.
"That's enough."
"You barely ate anything."
"I can't manage more."
Genzo's jaw tightened, but he set the bowl aside. He'd learned not to push. Forcing Muzan to eat more only made him vomit later.
The old man sat on the floor beside the bed. His knees popped as he lowered himself down. Eighty years had bent his spine and thinned his hair, but his eyes remained sharp.
"How do you feel today?"
"The same as yesterday." Muzan looked at the window. Pale afternoon light filtered through the paper screen. "My heart stopped three times last night."
Genzo's face tightened. "Three times?"
"I counted." Muzan had learned to recognize the sensation. The sudden coldness in his chest. The way his vision would blur at the edges. Then the stuttering restart, his heart jerking back into rhythm like a stone skipping across water. "The longest was maybe twenty seconds."
"We should call for a doctor."
"With what money?" Muzan's voice held no bitterness, only fact. "Uncle Shinji stopped sending funds six months ago."
Genzo looked away. They both knew the truth. Shinji Kibutsuji had taken everything after Muzan's father died. The title of Daimyo. The properties scattered across the Land of Iron. The merchant contacts and trade agreements. All of it had passed to Shinji under the excuse that Muzan was too ill to manage.
At first, Shinji had visited. He'd brought doctors and herbal treatments, wearing concern on his face like a mask. But the visits grew shorter. The doctors stopped coming. Eventually Shinji had sent men to relocate Muzan to this remote village, away from the capital, away from anyone who might remember that the rightful heir was still alive.
Only Genzo had followed. The other servants had scattered once Shinji's intentions became clear. They had families to feed and no loyalty to a dying boy who could offer them nothing.
"Your father would have never allowed this," Genzo said quietly.
"My father is dead." Muzan closed his eyes. "And I will be soon too."
"Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true." Muzan opened his eyes and looked at the old man. "I was born with this disease. The doctors told my father I wouldn't live past ten. Then fifteen. Then twenty. Every year they expected me to die."
"But you're still here."
"For how much longer?" Muzan gestured weakly at his own body. "Look at me, Genzo. I can barely sit up without help. I can't walk more than a few steps. My heart stops multiple times every day." He paused, gathering breath. "This isn't living. This is just a very slow death."
Genzo's hands clenched into fists on his knees. "Your father spent everything searching for a cure. He never gave up on you."
"And it killed him." Muzan's voice softened. "All that stress. All those failed treatments. He worked himself to death trying to save me, and in the end it was all for nothing."
"Don't say that. You meant everything to him."
"I know." That knowledge sat heavy in Muzan's chest. His father had loved him despite everything. Despite the frailty. Despite the burden of raising a son who would never inherit, never marry, never carry on the family name. "That's why I wish I'd died earlier. Before he wasted so much on me."
Genzo stood abruptly. His knees shook but he steadied himself against the wall. "I won't listen to this. You're talking like your life has no value."
"What value does it have?" Muzan met the old man's eyes. "Tell me honestly, Genzo. What can I do? What purpose do I serve?"
"You're your father's son. The rightful heir to the Kibutsuji clan."
"A title that means nothing when I'll be dead before summer ends." Muzan leaned his head back against the wall. "Shinji knows it too. That's why he's not worried about me. Why bother killing me when I'll die on my own soon enough?"
Genzo's face worked through several expressions before settling on resignation. He sat back down, slower this time. When he spoke again, his voice had aged another decade.
"What do you want me to say?"
"Nothing." Muzan closed his eyes again. "I just want you to understand. When I die, I don't want you to grieve. I want you to leave this place and find somewhere peaceful to spend your final years. You've done enough."
"I made a promise to your father."
"My father is dead. The promise died with him."
"Not to me."
Muzan opened his eyes and looked at the old man. Genzo's face was set with the same stubborn determination that had kept him here all these months. The same determination that had made him follow a dying boy into exile rather than accept a comfortable retirement in the capital.
Something warm stirred in Muzan's chest. Not physical warmth, his body was too far gone for that. But something deeper. The knowledge that at least one person in the world still cared whether he lived or died.
"You're a fool," Muzan said softly.
"Perhaps." Genzo smiled. "But I'm your fool, young lord."
They sat in silence for a while. Outside, Muzan could hear distant sounds of the village. Children playing. Adults working in the fields. Normal life continuing around them, indifferent to the slow death happening in this forgotten hut.
His eyelids grew heavy. They always did after eating. His body used what little energy it had for digestion and left nothing for staying conscious.
"Rest," Genzo said. "I'll wake you for dinner."
Muzan wanted to protest, but sleep was already pulling at him. He let himself sink sideways onto the bed. Genzo pulled a thin blanket over him, tucking it around his shoulders with careful hands.
The last thing Muzan saw before darkness took him was Genzo's wrinkled face, creased with worry and affection in equal measure.
---
Screaming woke him.
Muzan's eyes snapped open. The room was dark. Night had fallen while he slept. Moonlight filtered through the window, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow.
More screams outside. Multiple voices, high-pitched with terror.
His heart hammered against his ribs. The sudden acceleration made his chest ache. He tried to sit up but his arms had no strength. They shook and gave out, dropping him back onto the bed.
The door burst open. Genzo stumbled inside, his face pale in the moonlight.
"Young lord, we need to leave. Now."
"What's happening?"
"The village is under attack." Genzo moved to the bed and grabbed Muzan's arm, trying to pull him up. "We have to run."
Muzan didn't move. He couldn't. His body wouldn't respond. "Who's attacking?"
"I don't know. I saw people running. There's blood everywhere." Genzo pulled harder, desperation making his voice shake. "Please, young lord. We have to go."
"I can't run, Genzo. You know that."
"I'll carry you."
"You're eighty years old. You can barely walk yourself." Muzan met the old man's eyes. "Go without me."
"No."
"That's an order."
"I don't care." Genzo's hands trembled as they gripped Muzan's arm. "I won't leave you."
Outside, the screaming had stopped. The sudden silence was worse than the noise. It meant whatever was killing people had finished.
Muzan's breath came faster. Fear tasted like metal on his numb tongue. He'd spent so long accepting death that he'd forgotten how terrifying it actually was when it arrived.
"Genzo, please. Save yourself."
"No."
Footsteps outside. Slow and deliberate. Someone was walking toward their hut.
Muzan's heart stopped. Not the usual flutter and restart, but a complete cessation. His vision blurred at the edges. He gasped, trying to force air into lungs that wouldn't work properly without his heart pumping blood.
Then his heart restarted with a painful jolt. The world came back into focus.
The footsteps had stopped right outside their door.
Laughter echoed through the thin walls. High-pitched and unhinged, it sounded like someone had broken inside and reassembled wrong.
"Kekekeke... I can hear you in there."
The door didn't open. The voice came from behind them instead.
Muzan's head jerked around. A man stood in the corner of the room, though the corner had been empty a moment ago. He had grey hair slicked back from his face and purple eyes that reflected moonlight like an animal's. A scythe rested across his shoulders, its blade dark with something that looked wet.
Genzo moved in front of Muzan, spreading his arms despite having no weapon.
The intruder tilted his head, studying them. His smile was too wide. "An old man and a cripple. How disappointing." He giggled again. "But I only need one sacrifice tonight, so this works out perfectly."
"Who are you?" Muzan's voice came out weaker than he intended. "What do you want?"
"What I want?" The man's smile grew wider. "I want to send someone to Lord Jashin. But since there's two of you, I'll be generous." He pulled something from his robe and tossed it toward them.
The object bounced once on the wooden floor before rolling to a stop at Genzo's feet.
It was a head. A woman's head, severed cleanly at the neck. Her eyes were still open, frozen in the expression she'd worn when the blade took her.
Muzan's stomach lurched. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it down, tasting acid. His heart hammered so hard it felt like it might break through his ribs.
The intruder dragged his scythe across the floor. The blade carved a thin line through the wood with a sound like tearing cloth.
"So here's the game. You two decide which one dies. I'll let the other one go free." He pointed the scythe at them. "Choose quickly, or I'll just kill you both."
"Take me," Genzo said immediately. "Kill me and let the boy live."
"No." Muzan tried to push himself up. His arms shook violently but he managed to get his elbows under him. "If anyone dies, it should be me. I'm already dying anyway."
"Young lord, be quiet."
"You still have years, Genzo. While I will die soon. So, don't do this." Muzan looked at the intruder. His whole body trembled but he forced the words out. "Kill me. Let him go."
The man's eyes lit up. "Oh, how touching. You're both so eager to die for each other." He tapped the scythe against his shoulder. "But I think... I'll choose the cripple."
He moved.
Muzan's eyes couldn't track it. One moment the man stood across the room. The next moment he was right in front of Muzan, scythe already swinging in a horizontal arc aimed at his neck.
Muzan's breath stopped. His muscles locked up. He couldn't move, couldn't dodge, couldn't do anything but watch the blade coming toward him.
Then Genzo was there.
The old man stepped between them just as the scythe completed its arc. The blade caught him across the torso, cutting through cloth and flesh and bone. Blood sprayed across Muzan's face, warm and wet.
Genzo's body crumpled. He fell sideways onto the bed, one hand reaching out to grip Muzan's shoulder.
"No!" Muzan grabbed Genzo's hand with both of his own. "No, no, no."
Blood poured from the wound. Too much blood. It soaked through Genzo's robes and pooled on the bed beneath him. His breathing came in wet, rattling gasps.
"Why?" Muzan's voice broke. "You knew I was going to die soon anyway. Why did you do this?"
Genzo smiled. Blood stained his teeth. "I'm eighty years old, young lord. I've lived longer than I had any right to." His grip on Muzan's shoulder tightened. "Your family gave me everything. A purpose. A home. Dignity." He coughed and more blood came up. "Let this old servant... protect you one last time."
"Genzo..."
"Don't cry." Genzo's other hand rose shakily to touch Muzan's face. His fingers were cold. "I'm happy. I got to serve the Kibutsuji clan my entire life. What more could a servant ask for?"
His hand fell away. His eyes remained open but the light behind them faded like a candle going out.
Muzan pressed Genzo's hand against his face and sobbed. The sound came from somewhere deep in his chest, tearing its way out through a throat already raw from disuse. Tears ran down his face and mixed with the blood still warm on his skin.
The only person who had stayed with him. The only person who had cared when everyone else abandoned him. Gone.
"Kekekeke... that was beautiful."
Muzan had forgotten about the intruder. He looked up through blurred vision and saw the man watching them with that same too-wide smile. He was licking blood off his fingers.
"Lord Jashin will be pleased with this offering." The man stepped closer. "But you know what? I lied earlier."
Muzan didn't understand. His mind felt sluggish, still processing Genzo's death.
The intruder leaned down until his face was level with Muzan's. His breath smelled like copper. "I said I'd let one of you live. But I can't have someone know about me, can I?"
Before Muzan could comprehend anything, he felt sharp pain in his neck and his vision slowly faded.
The last thing he saw was the intruder's purple eyes, bright with religious ecstasy.
Then darkness swallowed everything.