That crow had actually arrived the night before—but upon seeing everyone already fast asleep, it wisely decided not to start squawking in the middle of the night.
After all, Chika's team had been running mission after mission nonstop. A bit of rest was the least they deserved. The crow prided itself on being a disciplined, well-bred professional, not some uncultured bird that woke people up just to meet a deadline.
The next morning, when Chika slid open the door, the crow flapped its wings eagerly, ready to rush inside—but then froze midair.
It realized who had opened the door.
Its instincts clashed—one part wanted to fly in, another screamed to flee. The result: an awkward, spasmodic dance that looked like a bird doing interpretive yangko.
As Chika stepped out, Tanjiro and the others followed, along with the group of rescued children.
When the kids spotted the crow fluttering above, their eyes sparkled.
"So that's the talking crow you mentioned? Amazing! It really is a divine bird!"
Hearing such flattery, the crow puffed up its chest, nearly forgetting its professional composure. If not for protocol, it might've landed to play with them on the spot.
"Ahem! Caw! Support request! Support request! Northeast by north! The Spider Mountain sector requests immediate backup!"
The children gasped at the sight of a crow speaking human language. To them, this was peak wonder—proof that the world still had endless surprises waiting to be found.
Zenitsu, however, lowered his head and sighed dramatically.
"Another mission… At this rate, we'll die from exhaustion before any demon gets the chance."
In truth, before Demon Slayer earned the nickname The Pillar-Killing Blade, its earlier, more fitting title had been The Corporate-Slave Blade.
Tanjiro straightened up, his aura shining with "model employee" energy. "If they've requested support, it must be serious! We need to hurry!"
Beside him, everyone else's expressions said Why are you like this?
After brief farewells to their hosts, the group set off toward the crow's direction—toward Mount Natagumo, where a Lower Moon awaited.
Chika and Tanjiro led the charge, Inosuke followed in the middle, and Zenitsu stumbled along at the rear, his breath already ragged but still finding enough air to complain.
Soon, the shadowed slope of Mount Natagumo came into view. Hidden in the grass nearby, a Demon Slayer in uniform kept watch—Murata, a swordsman of the Kanoe rank.
Murata wasn't just any foot soldier. Fans would one day call him the "Background King," the "Lucky Star."
Time and again, he faced death—yet always, miraculously, survived. Though only a Kanoe now, he would later rise close to Pillar-level combat strength and even make it through the Final Battle without losing so much as a limb.
Spotting the newcomers, Murata exhaled in relief—until he heard their ranks.
"What are your classifications?"
"I'm Mizunoto (lowest rank)," said Tanjiro.
"I'm Mizunoto too."
"I'M Mizunoto!" Inosuke yelled.
"Same here," Chika added casually.
Murata's face froze. Four Mizunotos?!
He was barely hanging on as a Kanoe—and they'd sent him a pack of rookies? Where were the Pillars? He needed Pillars!
"Wait—are you looking down on me?!" Inosuke roared, instantly grabbing Murata by the collar.
Sweating bullets, Murata waved his hands. "N-no! Not at all! I just mean—it's dangerous here, really dangerous…"
Before he could finish, a figure in Demon Slayer uniform stumbled out of the trees. Murata recognized him instantly—a comrade.
"Hey! You're safe—"
The man's body jerked unnaturally, limbs twitching as his sword flailed wildly. Then he charged straight at them, eyes blank.
"Get down!"
In a flash, Chika dashed forward and kicked the man off his feet, pinning his head into the dirt. Tanjiro followed up, slashing the thin, glinting threads wrapped around the man's body.
A soft snap—and the puppet-like movement stopped.
"Someone's manipulating people with spider silk!" Tanjiro said sharply. "If you can't cut the threads, restrain the victims!"
He had realized the trick the moment Chika acted—without needing her to say a word.
He's grown… Chika thought, proud.
Murata, meanwhile, stared blankly.
Wait—what just happened?
How did they even see those nearly invisible threads?
How did they react that fast?
And how did they cut them cleanly in one motion?!
This isn't human reflexes!
He gulped. "You guys… what rank did you say you were again?"
"Mizunoto."
"…Oh. (Yeah right—you're all lying through your teeth.)"
Murata's smile twitched. Inside, he'd already upgraded his assessment: They're disguised elites. Probably Mizunoe or even Kinoto—maybe undercover Pillars.
While Murata was busy re-evaluating his life choices, Zenitsu patted his shoulder sympathetically.
"Don't worry, this is normal for them. Logic doesn't apply."
Murata blinked. Then he noticed something else—Zenitsu was breathing in steady rhythm. Total Concentration Breathing.
Right now. Outside battle.
He glanced at Inosuke. The boar-headed lunatic was doing it too.
Wait. That's not just normal breathing… that's—Total Concentration, Constant?!
He'd heard of that before—an advanced technique supposedly only mastered by Pillars!
Murata's eyes bulged.
First Chika and Tanjiro with their godlike reactions, and now this?!
Conclusion: these four weren't rookies.
They were undercover monsters.
Murata swore then and there—he would stick to these people like glue.
As long as he clung tight enough to these walking nukes, he would survive this mountain.
Even if the gods themselves came down swinging, he'd be fine—
because he'd already found the strongest shields in the entire Demon Slayer Corps.