The cedar grove shuddered. It wasn't the wind. Rengoku Kyojuro already had his hand on the hilt. His Nichirin sword—forged from scarlet-hued ore—began to radiate faint warmth. That response, which only those with an affinity for Flame Breathing could feel, now pulsed quietly in his grip. (At least four. No, more than that.) Orange twilight still clung to the edge of the sky. The presence came before sunset—that alone told him something was wrong. Demons die in sunlight. They don't move until darkness falls. Yet now, something unmistakably seeped from the shadows of the cedars. "[whispers]…Don't come," The words escaped like a whisper to himself. In that instant, the air behind him shifted. There was no sound. When Kyojuro turned, deep blue-green hair swayed into his vision. It was Aoba. She emerged from the cedar grove as if gliding, cast one glance at Kyojuro's face, and opened her mouth quietly. Her calm, crystalline silver-green eyes already calculated the darkness around them. "[serious]Eight or more. Scattered in all directions around the village—three in the northeast cedar grove, two along the Tsugumi River to the south, the rest lurking in the western hills and eastern farm road. However, their movements are strange," "[serious]Strange, how?" "[serious]They're positioned to cut off escape routes. You know demons hold territory and hunt alone. Yet tonight, they move as if deliberately encircling the village with intent. This is no coincidental gathering," Kyojuro turned her words over in his mind. Eight or more. Encirclement. Deliberate positioning. (I could only sense... five or six at best.) That was Kyojuro's limit. Aoba had already circled the entire village by another route, mapping every position. In that same time, Kyojuro had stood alone on this road. The difference settled heavily on him—not panic, but the simple fact that he hadn't yet reached that level. It sank like stone to the bottom of his chest. Before her report finished, the shadows in the cedar grove moved. A dull thud of impact. Two lower-rank demons burst into the dim light. Their bodies, twisted into grotesque shapes, had claws stretched unnaturally long and mouths split to their ears. Kyojuro reached for his sword—one instant too late. A sharp whistle of wind. Aoba had already drawn. Wind Edge Breathing—a derivative technique Aoba had created independently from Wind Breathing. Her First Form was unleashed. Wind blades wrapped around her blade, tracing an arc that severed the first demon's neck. The rotating trajectory flowed into a horizontal slash, cleanly cutting the second demon's neck in succession. Two seconds, perhaps less. As the demons' bodies turned to ash and scattered, Aoba wiped the blood from her blade with a casual flick and walked forward without looking back. Kyojuro stood with his sword half-drawn, watching her back. (Fast.) That was all he could think. --- Hotarubi Village—its name came from the fireflies that danced through it in summer. But now, the village held no air befitting such a gentle name. When the two entered, the shutters of every house were sealed tight. Despite the twilight hour, not a single wisp of cooking smoke rose. No children's voices, no barking dogs—nothing. The entire village seemed to be holding its breath. The house with the wisteria flower crest—a cooperative family that provided free lodging and information to Demon Slayer Corps members—"Unebi House" stood near the village entrance. When Aoba knocked, the door opened slightly after a moment. An old woman. Small-framed, her white hair tied up, tears welled in her eyes the moment she saw Aoba. "[crying]Aoba-sama... you came," "[gentle]Shige-san, please tell me everything you know," Unebi Shige—the elderly matriarch of the house—seated them before the hearth and poured tea with trembling hands. As Kyojuro listened to her account, his expression gradually hardened. For three days, villagers had been disappearing when night fell. First, a middle-aged man who went to the charcoal kiln in the northeast. Then a young mother who went to draw water from the river. Last night, a boy who went to gather firewood for dinner. Three people, gone. "I thought they'd return by morning... but they don't. Everyone says no one should go outside at night, and yet..." The old woman's voice cracked. Kyojuro understood the kind of fear in that voice. Resignation and helplessness. Every night, waiting for dawn, praying to the gods. That had continued for three days. Aoba carefully extracted information from Shige about the terrain. The location of the charcoal kiln, the condition of the riverside path, the position of Hotarubi Shrine. As she confirmed each detail, it was clear she was constructing a patrol route in her mind. (Impressive.) Kyojuro thought, watching her. She stripped away emotion, extracted only necessary information, and converted it instantly into judgment. He couldn't do that yet. --- After leaving their belongings at the lodging, Aoba led Kyojuro south through the village. Tsugumi Bridge—a wooden bridge spanning the Tsugumi River that flowed south of the village—and before it, an open dirt plaza. The moon was beginning to rise, casting two shadows on the grass. "[serious]Before we patrol, I need to confirm our coordination for tonight," Aoba stood directly before Kyojuro. Her silver-green eyes looked straight at him. "[serious]I'll use Wind Edge Breathing to restrict the demons' movements. I'll create openings. You use Flame Breathing to sever their necks in those gaps. That's all. Simplicity is best," "[serious]If the timing is off—" "[cold]I die. You might die too," She said it matter-of-factly. Her expression didn't change. No emotion in her words, just explanation. Yet Kyojuro sensed something strange in them. Unspoken trust: *You can do this.* (She's betting everything on me.) Kyojuro accepted that weight with his lips pressed tight. "[serious]I'll match your timing perfectly," "[gentle]I trust you," With only that, Aoba walked into the night village. --- The first encounter with a lower-rank demon came at the entrance to the northeast cedar grove, before the charcoal kiln. Small-framed but with abnormally developed claws, the creature moved swiftly through the darkness with sinuous motions—not a simple charging type. It measured the distance between them, gradually closing the gap. Aoba stepped forward. Wind Edge Breathing, Third Form—"Jade Spiral." Her blade wrapped in greenish wind, rotating in an arc. The green trajectory burned a brief afterimage in the darkness, sealing the demon's limbs. Its claws raked empty air. Its body froze. That stillness lasted perhaps 0.3 seconds. Kyojuro was already moving in. Total Concentration Breathing ignited within him. Flame Breathing, First Form—"Unknowing Fire." His blade glowed red-hot, a single slash tearing through the darkness. The neck flew. The demon's body turned to ash and scattered. Cedar leaves fell with a soft rustle from the slash's aftermath. Silence. Aoba exhaled softly. Then she looked at Kyojuro. Too faint to call a smile. Yet something gentle flickered across her profile for just an instant. Not evaluation, not praise. Just—*good*—a feeling that seeped through. Something large leaped in Kyojuro's chest. Aoba immediately turned her gaze back to the darkness ahead. Her face shifted into alert mode. Kyojuro closed his mouth and took position beside her. (What was that?) He told himself to stop thinking. They were in the middle of a night patrol. Don't bring unnecessary things. Even knowing that, the expression from that instant wouldn't leave the corner of his mind. --- After defeating the third demon, the two emerged along the Tsugumi River's bank. Only the sound of the river. The water's surface shattered moonlight into fragments, rippling. Aoba said they should rest briefly. As she sat on a rock, moonlight fell across her profile. That's when Kyojuro noticed. Aoba's left cheek—just below her high cheekbones—bore an old scar. Fine, taut skin marked by time. In the night's light, it was usually invisible, but at this angle, it was unmistakable. Aoba was aware of his gaze. Without deflecting, she opened her mouth quietly. "[serious]A scar from a mission two years ago," "[serious]…From a demon's claws?" "[serious]No. From a comrade's Nichirin sword," Kyojuro fell silent. "[serious]One of my comrades was being caught by a demon. When I tried to shield them, their blade grazed my cheek. The trajectory meant to cut the demon... missed," The river water struck the rocks. "[serious]That person died in that mission. Only I survived," Aoba's voice was flat. Emotionless, merely stating facts. Yet within that flatness, Kyojuro felt something sealed tightly shut. "[serious]Even now, I think it would have been fine if I'd died then. But—I cannot die until you become a Pillar. That is the only reason I exist here," Something tightened deep in Kyojuro's chest. Aoba had already assigned her own life a light value. Kyojuro becoming a Pillar was her reason for living. The weight of those words spread slowly through him. (I don't want her to say such things.) His respect for his teacher sank deeper. Simultaneously, something more immediate—a concrete emotion: he didn't want to see Aoba standing in danger anymore—stirred clearly within him for the first time. Words wouldn't come. Even if they did, they'd feel hollow. So Kyojuro remained silent, watching the river. Aoba said nothing either. Only the river's sound flowed between them. --- As the night deepened, the two's coordination sharpened. The fourth demon was defeated about an hour before dawn. An individual encountered on the eastern farm road—Kyojuro moved forward as bait while Aoba sealed it with Jade Spiral, then severed its neck. The reverse pattern. Yet the timing aligned perfectly. Four demons total. No casualties among the villagers. When dawn light began seeping from the mountain's edge, Aoba stopped. At the village's outskirts—before Hotarubi Shrine. A small shrine dedicated to Hinokagutsuchi stood dimly visible on a hill. Aoba's gaze fixed on the cedar grove before it. Kyojuro stopped as well. The stench of rot reached his nostrils. But not just that. Something else mixed in. A raw, metallic smell. Blood. A lot of it. It lay at the base of a cedar. One of the missing villagers. Clothing remained, but the body was damaged. Kyojuro stepped closer and his breath caught. Flesh remained. Arms, legs. But the abdomen was opened. The cut surface was clean. Sharp. Not torn by demon claws or fangs. Cut with a blade. Precisely. Only the internal organs had been removed, leaving everything else. Aoba crouched to examine the body. For a long time, she said nothing. Kyojuro stood breathing carefully. This wasn't predation. Demons consumed humans. There would be bite marks, missing flesh. But this corpse had flesh remaining. Organs taken, flesh left behind. Aoba stood. "[serious]…This isn't mere predation," Her voice was low, quiet. "[serious]Organs are being harvested for some purpose. If a demon did this, it was either ordered to—or a human is involved. One of the two," Kyojuro absorbed those words. The four demons they'd defeated last night were lower-rank. They lacked the intelligence for such precision. Which meant—whoever performed this act still lurked somewhere in the village. Morning light began filtering through the cedar leaves. Aoba's expression remained stern and fixed. Kyojuro looked down at the corpse. The sharpness of the cut surface was unmistakable in the dawn light.