GUYS, I HAVE BEEN THINKING OF REWRITING MY PREVIOUS PROJECT. PREVIOUSLY, I HAD NO EXPERIENCE IN WRITING, BUT EVEB THEN THIS BOOK HAD AMASSED SOME FANS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAD TO DISCONTINUE THE BOOK DUE IT NOT MATCHING MY VISION AND MY WRITING BEING REALLY POOR.
FINALLY, I FEEL LIKE I CAN WRITE BOOK ACCORDING TO MY VISIONS. THIS WILL BE THE THIRD AND FINAL REWRITE. AT FIRST, I HAD WRITTEN SEVENTY SIX CHAPTERS AND IN THE SECOND TRY I WROTE SEVENTEEN CHAPTERS. THIS TIME I PLAN TO WRITE TILL IT FINISHES. YOU GUYS CAN SUGGEST IF I SHOULD WRITE THE THIRD EDITION IN A COMPLETELY NEW BOOK, OR SHOULD I WRITE IT AFTER DELETING THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS OF THAT FANFIC?
YOU GUYS COULD AS FRIENDS I HAVE MADE THROUGH OUT WRITING THIS BOOK. DON'T WORRY, THIS ISN'T DROPPED AND I WILL UPDATE THE NEXT CHAPTER AFTER A FEW HOURS.
MEANWHILE, YOU GUYS CHECK OUT THE PROLOGUE OF MY PREVIOUS FANFIC. I CAN'T HELP BUT BE HAPPY WITH HOW IT TURNED OUT. SO, GIVE YOUR HONEST REVIEWS.
"Young lord, young lord, are you all right?" The sudden, soft voice pulled the pale, skeletal man back to reality. A simple black robe hung loosely on his frame. His eyes held a yellowish tinge, and his long black hair was matted with sweat.
He turned his head sluggishly toward an old man and spoke with difficulty, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm fine. You needn't worry about me dying in my sleep, Genzo. I'd almost be grateful if it happened."
Even these few words left him breathless. The old man's expression betrayed his anguish. He should have been at home at his age, playing with grandchildren. Instead, he was a man who had dedicated his entire life to service, and now he stood alone.
Gazing at the frail figure on the bed, the old man's heart clenched with pain. After his previous lord's death, he had sworn to serve the next heir. Yet fate had brought them to this dilapidated hut in the middle of an unknown village.
The old man grasped the frail man's hands.
"Young lord, when your father died, he entrusted you to my care. I may be a person of humble status, but to me, you're like my own grandson. Please—don't hurt this old man more than he's already hurting."
A faint smile touched the face of the frail man named Muzan. He was the last and only heir to the Kibutsuji clan, the one who should have inherited the title of Daimyo of the Land of Iron. But fate had other plans.
The man destined to become the next Daimyo had long since become a living corpse. His body was perpetually cold and numb, his heart stopping multiple times each day. At only twenty years old, Muzan was little more than a breathing cadaver with mere days left to live.
His father, the previous Daimyo, had turned the world upside down searching for a cure for his only son. But no cure existed for this terminal disease. Even before his birth, Muzan's heart had stopped repeatedly.
As the Daimyo's son, he should have lived in luxury, but his father's death had left him vulnerable. According to tradition, he should have been the next Daimyo—but who would accept a ruler destined to die at twenty?
Even then, he could have lived comfortably without becoming Daimyo. His father had owned numerous properties and businesses throughout the Land of Iron and beyond. But greed can turn family into enemies.
The architect of his current misery was none other than his own uncle, Shinji Kibutsuji—a man his father had trusted blindly. After his father's death, this same person turned his back on Muzan.
Since the next Daimyo could only be chosen from the Daimyo's family, everyone turned to Uncle Shinji after his father's passing. Though initially reluctant, Shinji had no choice but to accept the role, as there was no other heir and Muzan was dying.
As soon as he seized power, Shinji's true nature emerged. He gradually isolated Muzan under the guise of providing treatment.
Months passed, and servants departed one by one. His uncle visited only occasionally, feigning pity. Eventually, no more doctors came to continue treatment. After a year, when everyone had forgotten him, he was banished to this remote village. The only person who remained by his side was Genzo.
Genzo had been the Daimyo's personal servant, serving the family since Muzan's grandfather's reign. Even now, at eighty, he remained devoted to Muzan.
Muzan exhaled softly.
"Genzo, have you eaten?"
Genzo shook his head.
"Not yet, young lord."
Muzan pushed his frail body upright. Genzo immediately stood and helped him sit. Muzan leaned against the bed, a gentle smile crossing his face.
"Genzo, shall we have dinner now? Let's eat together. I'm a bit hungry."
Genzo nodded immediately.
"Yes, young lord. I'll bring the food at once."
With that, Genzo hurried away. Muzan watched the old man's retreating back—frail and small, yet to Muzan, it appeared as a shield protecting him. If there was one person Muzan would always be grateful to, it was Genzo.
Soon, Genzo returned with food—a simple meal of chicken soup. It was impossible for Muzan to chew solid food, so this broth was one of the few things he could consume.
Genzo served the food, then they began their dinner. Mostly, Genzo fed Muzan, as Muzan lacked even the strength to eat on his own.
Warmth filled Muzan from within. After finishing their meal, Genzo took the dishes away to clean. Muzan sat on his bed, a simple thought surfacing in his mind.
"Because of moments like this, I won't regret it even if I die. But I still want to savor these moments a little longer."
Yet in a sea of sorrow, happiness is always fleeting. And when it appears, it lasts only briefly. Muzan drifted to sleep, his frail body surrendering to unconsciousness the moment he closed his eyes, as though conserving every ounce of energy.
---
Screams tore through the quiet night. Wails echoed inside Muzan's small room.
His ears twitched, his brow furrowed. Within moments, Muzan jolted awake. Sharp screams reverberated outside his residence.
Pale moonlight illuminated his room through the window. He barely managed to sit up and look outside. People were running and screaming. The village was small, with fewer than a hundred residents. Most houses were clustered together. Only their hut stood somewhat apart from the village proper.
Muzan could clearly see the horror unfolding outside. He muttered quietly.
"Just... what is happening...?"
Bang!
Suddenly, his door burst open with a loud bang. Genzo rushed in, panicked.
"Young lord! The village has been attacked! We must leave, quickly!"
Muzan could see silhouettes of people fleeing. But what they were running from remained obscured. Escape was impossible for Muzan. He smiled self-mockingly.
"Genzo, you should leave without me. You know I can't run away in this condition."
Genzo opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words emerged. He knew Muzan couldn't flee with that body of his.
Muzan looked outside. The screams were dying down. He urged Genzo.
"Leave this place quickly. I'm destined to die anyway. Better if it's sooner."
But Genzo shook his head with a bitter smile.
"You know I can't do that either, young lord."
Muzan tried to stand, frustrated. He attempted to shout, but his voice came out weak.
"What are you doing, Genzo?! Leave now! I order you!"
But Genzo remained still. The screams outside had finally stopped. Muzan peered through the window to see what had happened, but an eerie silence had fallen.
Then, mad laughter echoed from behind them.
"Kekekeke... How touching~"
Muzan and Genzo whirled around, eyes widening in shock. Muzan couldn't help his surprise.
"Who is he?! How did he suddenly appear behind us?!"
But he didn't dare voice his thoughts. The scent of blood—a faint, metallic smell—wafted into his nostrils. No matter how much he'd contemplated death, when death truly arrived, even the most courageous forgot to breathe.
The intruder had medium-length grey hair slicked back and distinctive purple eyes. He wore a dark robe and carried a scythe. He seemed like the personification of death itself.
The intruder's body trembled with excitement. He whispered as he leaned toward Genzo.
"Hehe... Kekekeke... It brings me such joy to see faces like yours. But... you both look immensely disappointing. A cripple and an old man?"
Then he snapped toward Muzan, madness blazing in his eyes.
"But I only need one~"
Muzan gathered his courage. "W-what do you mean?"
The intruder tossed something to Muzan.
It... was a head.
A woman's head, cleanly severed. The moonlight illuminated it grotesquely.
Muzan instinctively threw it away, his heart—which usually stopped beating—now pounding violently in his chest, his eyes wide with terror.
The intruder giggled madly.
"Kekekeke... Now, you two decide who wants to sacrifice themselves~ Since I only need one of you, I'll let the other go."
Before Muzan could answer, Genzo spoke first, voice anxious.
"I-I—kill me!"
Muzan's eyes widened in shock. He shouted.
"What are you saying, Genzo?! If anyone should die, it should be me!"
He turned to the intruder. Courage surged in his heart.
"I don't know who you are or why you're doing this, but if you must kill one of us, kill me!"
The intruder dragged his scythe across the ground.
Screeeeech
"What's this~? You're both asking me to kill you. Are you that desperate for death~?"
He spoke with a mocking smile, then put a finger to his chin and hummed.
"A cripple or an old man~ A cripple or an old man~ A cripple or an old man... I guess it's the... CRIPPLE!"
Suddenly, he moved. His scythe whistled through the air toward Muzan.
Whoosh!
Muzan's eyes widened in shock, fear plastered across his face. Then a figure appeared before him.
Squelch!
A long horizontal gash opened across Genzo's torso, nearly cutting him in two.
Thud
Genzo's body collapsed to the ground, blood gushing from his mouth. His old, wrinkled face bore a smile.
Muzan knelt beside Genzo, his body trembling as tears streamed down his face. He felt heart-wrenching pain in his chest. He could only ask one thing.
"Sob... sob... why? Why did you do this? You know I'd die today or tomorrow anyway. So why did you do this?!"
Genzo weakly raised his hand and wiped Muzan's tears.
"Young lord, I'm in my eighties... Living this long was thanks to your family... Sooner or later, death would have claimed me too. So this humble servant wishes to serve you one last time before that. I hope you won't mind if this servant departs before you—"
Genzo's words ceased. But his smile never left his face. He looked as though he'd finally found peace.
Muzan grasped Genzo's hand and pressed it to his face, sobbing. He'd never met his mother—she'd died giving birth to him. His father had always been busy.
Throughout his life, he'd felt parental love from only one person. And tonight, that person had left too.
The intruder's mocking voice pierced through his grief.
"Keke~ I'm sure Lord Jashin will grant him peace."
Then he leaned toward Muzan, licking the blood on his lips and smiling in ecstasy.
"But I lied to you, you know?"
Before Muzan could comprehend anything, he felt sharp pain in his neck and his vision slowly faded.