After parting with the Eternal Paradise Cult, the trio set out on their return journey.
Though a hint of parting sorrow lingered in their hearts, boys recovered astonishingly fast.
Before they had even gone ten li, Inosuke was already using the excuse of "disciplining an unruly underling" to forcibly tack on another ten percent of interest to Zenitsu's debt.
When they arrived back at the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters, a Kasugai Crow was already waiting.
"Caw! Delivering orders! Delivering orders!
By the Master's decree! In recognition of Hashibira Inosuke's outstanding performance in the Yoshiwara District battle, and his assistance in a Hashira slaying Upper Rank Five, he is hereby granted one instance of Hashira-level privilege!"
"Hashira-level privilege?!"
Zenitsu drooled with envy.
"Does that mean money? Or a big house?"
The crow cleared its throat and continued.
"Proceed to the Swordsmith Village! Be personally received by the village chief!
Master swordsmith Haganezuka Hotaru is specially commissioned to forge a custom Nichirin blade for Hashibira Inosuke!
The goal: to definitively cure his chronic habit of destroying swords! Caw!"
"The Swordsmith Village?"
Tanjiro's eyes lit up.
"I've heard it's the most mysterious place in the Demon Slayer Corps—every Nichirin blade is made there!
Inosuke-kun, that's amazing! You'll finally have a sword you don't need to modify!"
Inosuke froze for a moment, then planted his hands on his hips and burst out laughing.
"Hahahaha! That sickly Master knows what's good for him!
A genius swordsman like me should've had a dedicated craftsman serving me long ago!"
Outwardly arrogant as ever, Inosuke's mind was racing.
"The Swordsmith Village…"
His multicolored eyes narrowed slightly.
In the original story, the Swordsmith Village was exposed because of Gyokko, leading to a brutal bloodbath.
Tanjiro and the others were forced to awaken their Demon Slayer Marks early—trading lifespan for power.
But now, Gyokko had already offered himself up to art.
"Which means… the Swordsmith Village's location is safe for now.
As long as no one leads demons there, it's an absolute paradise beyond the world."
He glanced at Tanjiro and Zenitsu, who were still grinning foolishly beside him.
"That's good too.
"Without Gyokko's attack, these idiots won't have to desperately awaken their marks to protect the village.
"Live a little longer, you fools."
"Hey! What are you spacing out for?!"
"Let's go! To that village-thing!
This young master is getting an insanely cool sword made!"
The rules for traveling to the Swordsmith Village were extremely strict: blindfolded, ears plugged, carried relay-style by members of the Kakushi.
Though Inosuke could have memorized the route purely by touch, he was unusually cooperative this time, not making trouble for the Kakushi carrying him.
Finally, after days of jostling travel—
The scent of sulfur drifted into their noses.
When the blindfolds were removed, a rustic village hidden deep among misty mountains appeared before them.
"Wow! It's incredible!"
Tanjiro exclaimed.
But before they could enter—
A boy wearing an oversized Corps uniform, with long black hair and eyes as hazy as drifting clouds, stood blocking the path, seemingly lost in thought.
"Move aside,"
Inosuke strode up casually.
"Don't block this young master's way."
The boy slowly turned his head.
"Who are you?"
His voice was light and flat, without the slightest ripple.
"I don't remember ever seeing someone like you."
Mist Hashira — Tokito Muichiro.
...
A man whose right arm had turned into a bone blade sat atop a small mound made of severed limbs.
As if recalling something, he silently walked toward a familiar direction.
His eyes were hollow.
It was Sasaki.
His life was like a badly told third-rate joke.
He was a man cursed with bad luck.
That much had been proven the day he was born.
It was pouring rain that day.
The midwife broke her leg on the way over.
He was dragged out of his dead mother's womb by his father's calloused hands.
His father was a ronin—
The most useless and despised profession in a time of peace.
Yet his father loved him deeply.
Every day, his father polished his only good sword until it gleamed, then beneath a leaking roof, taught Sasaki to swing it again and again.
"Sasaki… you must become a great swordmaster."
His father always said this while coughing, spitting up blood.
"Only by becoming a swordmaster will a lord hire you.
"Then you'll eat your fill, marry a beautiful wife, and won't have to live like a dog the way your father does."
Sasaki believed him.
He truly worked hard.
When other children played in the mud, he practiced his swings.
When others slept, he trained iai.
He had real talent.
At ten, he could cut falling cherry blossoms.
At fifteen, no dojo within a hundred li could take a single strike from him.
Everyone said the Sasaki family would produce someone great.
But he was a man of bad luck.
At sixteen, he went to a guard selection trial.
That day, he performed flawlessly—he even forced the lord's chief guard back three steps.
Just as the lord was about to nod—
The lord's beloved cat suddenly darted out and clawed his face.
The lord flew into a rage. The selection was canceled.
Sasaki stood in the rain all night, sword in hand.
At eighteen, his father fell gravely ill.
They needed money—lots of it.
To buy medicine, Sasaki cast aside the dignity of a future swordmaster.
He guarded gambling houses.
Worked as muscle for rich merchants.
Even carried palanquins for courtesans.
He didn't marry.
He never bought new clothes.
Every copper coin he saved became bitter medicine poured into his father's pot.
Until that year—
A wealthy man named Tanaka took a liking to his swordsmanship.
"Sasaki. Be my personal guard. Five gold ryō a month."
Five gold ryō.
Enough for the best medicine. Enough to even buy some meat.
Sasaki knelt and kowtowed three times.
He thought his bad luck had finally ended.
That day, Tanaka was going to a place called the Eternal Paradise Cult.
They said a living god resided there.
Sasaki followed behind Tanaka, gripping the sword his father left him, thinking about buying roast chicken on the way back.
Then—
He met that child.
Only seven years old, beautiful like a divine child stepped out of a painting.
"Too slow,"
The child said.
Clang.
With that crisp sound, it wasn't just the sword that broke.
Sasaki even heard the sound of his own spine snapping.
The blade that carried his father's hopes was shredded by that child—using a ragged, serrated sword.
Tanaka wet his pants in terror.
The first thing he did upon returning was kick Sasaki out.
"Trash! You can't even beat a child! And you want five gold ryō?! Get lost!"
No one hired him again.
"Useless Sasaki who can't even beat a kid."
The nickname spread like a plague.
That winter was especially cold.
No money for medicine. No money for charcoal.
His father lay on a bed of straw, thin as dried firewood.
"Sasaki… my son… you are… a great swordmaster…"
Those were his father's last words.
Sasaki went mad.
He was an unlucky ronin.
He never met a teacher like Akaza's master—someone willing to pull him back even if he were a sinner.
What he met instead was a divine child who ground him into the mud.
He never had a warm family like Tanjiro's.
He had only endless wind and snow.
Later, he heard that the divine child used twin blades.
He killed a wild boar and wore its pelt on his head.
He smashed his new sword into a serrated shape.
He thought that if he became like the divine child, he would gain the divine child's strength.
In the woods near Mount Fujikasane, he met him again.
The grown-up divine child.
"So ugly,"
The divine child said.
He lost again.
Utterly.
Even his qualification to imitate was stripped away.
Until that night—
The man in the white fedora found him.
"Do you hate?"
Of course he did.
How could he not?
He hated this cursed world.
Hated this cursed luck.
Hated that high-and-mighty divine child.
He let the man's blood flood into his body.
It hurt.
But not as much as the day his father died.
He laughed joyfully.
Because he was finally strong.
No longer unlucky Sasaki—
But a demon personally chosen by the Demon King.
...
The moon hung high.
Eternal Paradise Cult.
Dragging the bone blade fused to his arm, Sasaki stood like a ghost among the shadows of the trees.
This was where his nightmare began—
And where he would end it.
He smelled it.
The divine child's scent wasn't here.
But here was the scent of what that divine child cherished most.
On the corridor—
A woman in plain robes sat alone, admiring the moon.
She held an unsewn haori in her hands, her face lit with a gentle, happy smile.
Kotoha.
"So beautiful…"
He murmured hoarsely, drool dripping from his pale fangs.
"So this is the divine child's… mother?"
"If I eat you…
"That divine child who's always above everyone else…
"That divine child who's never known despair…"
"What kind of expression will he make?"
Sasaki took a step forward.
Moonlight stretched his grotesque shadow.
This time—
Bad luck finally seemed ready to fall on someone else.
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