In the final monts before his consciousness faded away, Hairo saw countless mories from his life as a human.
He saw himself as a child, holding this sword for the very first ti. His master had praised him for his talent, saying his swordsmanship improved faster than anyone else's and that one day he would surely beco an outstanding swordsman.
He saw himself in his youth, standing inside the dojo and swinging his blade over and over again. Sweat soaked through his clothes, blisters split open across his palms, yet he had never once thought it was painful.
Because he loved the sword.
He loved the sound of the blade cutting through the air. He loved the sharp crack of wooden targets splitting apart. More than anything, he loved the feeling of pouring all his strength and spirit into a single strike.
He saw the sumrs of Edo, fireworks filling the sky above smiling crowds of people.
He saw the sword that had accompanied him throughout his entire life as a swordsman.
Now, that sword had been broken cleanly into two pieces.
The rust covering its surface faded away, revealing the fresh, shining pattern of the blade beneath, as though sothing long asleep had finally awakened.
Then he saw Kyojuro Rengoku.
This man, covered in blood and riddled with bullet wounds, had never taken a single step backward. He had not closed his eyes before bullets, nor bowed his head before death. With nothing but a sword in his hands, he had carved a bloody path forward through sheer force of will.
This man's swordsmanship…
It was not rely technique.
Not rely forms and movents.
It was willpower itself.
Hairo had once believed that with the arrival of firearms, swordsmanship had already been abandoned by the tis.
But now—
Perhaps the way of the sword had never truly beco obsolete.
After all, the man before him had defeated him with a blade.
It was not that swordsmanship had lost its value.
Rather…
He himself had abandoned the sword.
And in the end, the sword had abandoned him as well.
That was why he had lost today.
His severed head fell from the sky and struck the ground. Even then, Hairo's eyes remained fixed on Kyojuro Rengoku.
He looked at the man still standing there, swaying weakly as he gasped for breath. He looked at the hand still tightly gripping the sword.
For so reason, he suddenly felt at peace.
"Your… swordsmanship is impressive."
Hairo smiled faintly as mories of his human life flashed through his mind one after another. Yet buried deepest within them all was always the image of himself holding a sword.
The self who had once admired the path of the blade more than anything else.
But—
Everything was over now.
Hairo's body slowly began to disintegrate. As demons died, a foul stench spread through the air.
Kyojuro swayed unsteadily where he stood before slowly sheathing his Nichirin Sword.
At this mont, his entire body was soaked in blood. His Demon Slayer uniform had long since lost its original color, drenched so completely that the fabric clung tightly to his skin. His vision was beginning to blur, and the sounds around him grew more and more distant.
And yet—
Kyojuro Rengoku remained standing.
Until—
His body could no longer endure any further.
His knees slamd against the ground, and his entire body collapsed heavily forward. The Nichirin Sword slipped from his grasp as Kyojuro fell into the ruins, facing toward the direction of the rising sun.
Blood slowly spread from beneath him, staining the earth crimson.
Even so, his eyes remained open.
His consciousness gradually faded.
In that haze, he thought he saw a familiar middle-aged man slowly walking toward him. The man wore a fla-patterned haori and possessed the distinctive golden hair of the Rengoku family.
Kyojuro stared at the approaching figure.
"Father…"
He called out softly, though his lips could barely move anymore.
There were so many things he wanted to say at this mont.
"Father… have I done enough?"
"Did I fulfill the duty of a Hashira?"
"Did you finally acknowledge ?"
His awareness grew dimr and dimr.
And in those final monts, he thought he felt his father's hand gently brush across his cheek, as though telling him—
Kyojuro had already done enough.
He had fulfilled the duty of a Hashira.
He had fulfilled the responsibility of the strong protecting the weak.
Tears slowly flowed down his face.
Kyojuro knew very well that his father could no longer answer him anymore.
His father had already died at the hands of Upper Rank Three, Akaza. There was no longer any possibility that he would ever hear words of acknowledgnt from him again.
"Father…"
Footsteps ca rushing from the distance.
Soone was calling his na.
Soone saw the condition he was in, their voice trembling in shock.
Soone knelt beside him, desperately pressing against the wounds covering his body to stop the bleeding.
Soone's tears fell onto his face, warm and salty.
…
While Kyojuro Rengoku fought a battle to the death against Hairo of the Twelve Kizuki—
Far away, on Mount Sagiri—
Soma sat inside his room, recording the recent training progress of the boys and girls staying on the mountain. Following the reports Makomo had given him, he carefully wrote out training plans tailored to each person.
Not only for the younger trainees, but also for Tanjiro, Nezuko, Takeo, Hanako, and the others as well.
Tap, tap.
A gentle knock sounded at the door, interrupting his thoughts.
Soma raised his head and looked toward the entrance.
"The door isn't locked. You can co in."
The wooden door creaked softly as it opened.
Nezuko stepped inside, carrying a small steaming bowl in her hands. Her delicate features looked as lovely as ever, with a natural cuteness that made her seem warm and approachable.
"I saw the light in your room was still on, so I thought you might be hungry. I made so porridge for you."
She lowered her head slightly as she spoke in a soft voice, though her eyes secretly glanced around the room first. When she confird Kanao was nowhere nearby, she quietly let out a sigh of relief.
If Kanao were here, Nezuko still would not have dared to co over so openly.
But recently, Kanao had almost always been sleeping beside her mother at night instead of staying in the sa room as Soma.
Which gave Nezuko a perfect opportunity.
Soma set down the work in his hands and looked at the steaming bowl placed on the table before lifting his gaze toward Nezuko.
The girl's bright eyes sparkled with expectation as she looked at him.
"Then I'll give it a try."
Soma smiled faintly, picked up the bowl, and took a sip before nodding in approval.
"It tastes much better than last ti. The texture is softer too."
"I specially cooked it for another half hour today."
Nezuko spoke happily, her beautiful eyes curving into crescent moons as she smiled.
Soma chuckled and lowered his head, quietly finishing the porridge.
anwhile, Nezuko picked up the papers spread across the table and began reading them.
Most of them were related to the work of a trainer—training schedules and lesson plans for the boys and girls on Mount Sagiri. Mixed among them were plans for her own training as well.
As she read, Nezuko secretly glanced at Soma from ti to ti. Seeing him enjoying the porridge she made brought a warmth to her heart.
But after lowering her gaze back to the papers, a trace of worry gradually appeared in her eyes.
"Alright, all finished."
Not long later, Soma finished the bowl.
Nezuko moved the dishes aside, yet she did not leave. Soma did not pay much attention to it and simply continued thinking about the specialized training programs while working on his notes.
At so point, Nezuko quietly moved closer to his side.
After staring at what he was writing for a while, she looked troubled again. She cautiously glanced around the room before lightly touching the wrist of the hand he was writing with.
Soma raised his head in confusion and looked at her.
"Doing... this... it won't be good for you."
"What do you an?"
Soma did not quite understand what she ant.
Nezuko glanced around carefully once more to make sure nobody else was nearby. Only then did she lean close to his ear and whisper softly:
"For all this ti, you've been trying so hard to improve the strength of these demon slayers… but that's dangerous for you."
Over ti, Nezuko had co to understand the Demon Slayer Corps quite well. She knew just how deeply this organization hated demons.
If the Corps ever learned Soma's true identity as a demon, the consequences would be extrely dangerous.
Even if many swordsn knew about the good things Soma had done, there would still be people who hated demons so much that they would never care whether he was different or not.
All they would see was that he was a demon.
And they would raise their blades against him without hesitation.
Recently, just sensing the hatred the Demon Slayers carried toward demons—even the younger boys and girls training on Mount Sagiri—was enough to make Nezuko feel anxious and frightened.
And yet Soma still wanted to keep making those demon slayers stronger.
Nezuko almost wanted to grab him and remind him properly—
You are a demon, too! If this continues, you are only making them a bigger threat to yourself.
Sotis...
Nezuko truly felt a sense of "frustration at his lack of self-preservation."
...
Read Advanced Chapters on : patreon/c/ReadJin
~ Every 200 PS = Bonus Chapter!
~ Push the Story forward with your [Power Stones]
User Comments
0 comments from readers