Well-Adjusted Barely Traumatized Demon Slayer (Murata SI-ish)

Murata watched the river. It flowed simply, not a care in the world.

His reflection stared back at him. This appearance was familiar, and not in a flattering way.

When Murata remembered the reason he kept his hair in such a manner, he cried to himself.

In a world of demons, this was the person he became?

Murata put his hands on his hair and groaned.

-

He was more than just Murata, but don't tell anyone that. It didn't really matter since no one would believe him.

Maybe his mother and father would, but they were long gone. It was only after he was rescued that a flood of life poured into his mind.

It wouldn't be wrong to say that a part of him died when an unnamed, unimportant demon slaughtered his family and friends. It just so happened that another life found itself imbedded in him.

So with two half-lives, he moved forward.

He moved forward towards certain death. He was training under a waterfall freezing from hypothermia.

Cultivators were rare, good ones especially so. To be completely fair, one had to be insane to survive this long as a demon slayer. An unfortunate side effect is that many of them went past the point of teaching. In other words, teachers trained their childish students to exhaustion.

In a world of supernatural abilities, it actually made sense in a morbid way. If you pushed yourself to the absolute limit, you could break barriers and reach the unseen world of strength and power. This is called plot armor because otherwise, you would just die.

He was Murata with something else, but the distinction mattered less and less. Two blueprints existed in this body. The original host and the parasite fused together to make something. Again, he was Murata, but not the same seen on the pages of a book.

While he was older than most children his age, it didn't help as much as he would have hoped when it came to knowledge.

Just because you knew something doesn't mean you could prevent it! Much less, affect events so as to change the world!

But he would try anyway. Because in a world full of unnecessary suffering, it was worse than doing nothing.

-

Breathing styles involved more than breathing. It goes without saying, but most people forget about that fact.

Take for example, Water Breathing. At a basic level, it mimics an aspect of Sun Breathing. All breaths do to a certain extent.

Water Breathing focuses on adaptability and ease of use. It became something more usable for anyone who wasn't Yoriichi.

However, besides breathing, one had to understand how to move their body. To be like water and to understand how the breath affects that process.

Water Breathing was seen as the most approachable breathing art due to water's nature. It flows and it's adaptable.

"You are terrible at this," Murata's teacher said. "I've never had a worse student."

Murata held back a complaint. He was his teacher's only student.

A punch to the abdomen, a smack to the back, and a kick to the leg.

"Your stance is off and your body's trembling. What was the point of all that physical conditioning? Are you naturally weak?"

He was only given a month or so of physical training.

Murata legs buckled and he fell to the ground tasting dirt. It was a familiar taste. Murata and the ground were about as good friends as comrades who've seen years of war together.

"After you get up, go back and down to the village. Guess we'll spend more time training before working on technique."

Murata could only nod as he began the hour long run.

-

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

Murata's training sword broke as it collided with the dummy.

"Good try," Sato said. Surprisingly, Murata and his teacher shared the same last name.

Unsurprisingly, it's also one of the most common last names in all of Japan. Murata's lack of distinction was its own trait at this point.

Sato unleashed the first form against the second wooden dummy. Murata didn't even see the unsheathing of the blade. Only the remains of the dummy allowed him to realize something was done.

"If you get to my level, maybe you can make a difference," Sato said. Murata knows the man is impressive, but he's also bragging to his only student.

Murata spoke up. "When I get there, then I get to take part in Final Selection?"

"If you were that good, then there wouldn't be any demons left at the end," Sato said. "Instead, once you master the first five forms to my liking, then I'll allow you."

Murata nodded. Though, the timing on this was tough. As far as he knew, he participated during the same time as Giyu. When that took place, he had no clue.

If he trained hard enough, it might be possible to help Sabito. The dead boy was stronger than Giyu at that point, so maybe his potential was even greater.

"Why only the first five?"

Sato smacked him. "I'll be dead by the time you master all of the forms. Just stick to the core principles, and you'll at least stay alive."

Murata nodded and unleashed the first form with a new training sword.

-

Truth be told, Murata had a good cultivator. Sato, or old man Sato, as Murata mentally called him, had the ability but never became a hashira. He retired as a kinoe when a demon tore off his arm.

Murata was very lucky. It was a shame that he couldn't make the most of it. People might think being a demon slayer was all about training hard and being strong, but being stupid was more of a danger than being weak.

It was important to understand a proper course of action in any given situation. Proper planning, weighing risk and reward, protecting the general populace, basic first aid and survival skills, and much more.

It took especially long because Murata wasn't a special prodigy nor did he have an instinctual knack. He couldn't move his organs or smell the intention of others. He can't hear feelings or see through flesh. So, training took up most of his time.

Even the memories were fading. Details became sparse, and the memories of his lives blended together.

Though, it was because of this seamless integration that he had one advantage above other people:

He had experience. Not demon slaying experience, but life experience. It may not make him a giant but that small thing could make all the difference.

Murata unleashed the third form as he stewed in his thoughts.

-

Sato lay on his deathbed. He was sick, he knew it, and Murata knew it as well.

At first, it was a cough. Then a limp. Next, the constant fog in his brain. Lastly, his strength began leaving him.

Murata was not a special miracle. But he did surpass his teacher's expectations, managing to perform the tenth form. It was awful and left Murata weak for the next day, though the fact he could even do it was a testament to his efforts.

Murata cleaned his teacher's towels and prepared warm soup for him. Sato could not even muster the ability to smack his student. There were lots of things he wanted to say but not enough time to say it.

"You've done well," Sato said.

"I know."

"I think that of all the students I've had, you were the best."

"I was your only student."

Sato shook his head. "I had one son, and he wanted to prove himself to this old man. He would become the Water Hashira, and he wanted me to take care of the estate."

Murata froze. He watched as his teacher gained a clarity in his eyes.

"But he died. Fighting a Lower Moon. I thought, why is the world cruel?" Sato coughed.

"That was the wrong question. I should have asked, why was I not stronger?"

"But you are strong."

"Of course I am!" Sato coughed again. "But I'm also old and weak. Seeing you grow made me grateful. Even though this world is cruel, there are those who can't help but want to change that."

"It's for selfish reasons," Murata said. It was true. His parents and sister died to a demon attack, and it was Sato who saved him. Unlike a certain kind-hearted person, Murata would never stop hating demons. Nor has he found the inner strength to emit a presence of focused tranquility.

"That you do it at all is enough for me. Truthfully, I didn't think you had it in you. I still don't," Sato laughed.

Murata frowned.

"You somehow reached a level of Water Breathing I didn't expect. If it suits you, so be it. But don't be afraid to be different if it helps you survive."

"I am not like others. I cannot just make a breathing style."

"Of course not," Sato said, "that's not what I said. Don't be afraid to take things to new heights."

Pausing, Murata collected his thoughts. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that. Keep my sword. Take it to Final Selection."

"I will."

"I'm leaving everything here to you. Do you still want to become a demon slayer?"

Sato had everything necessary to survive. A built house, a small garden, and beautiful nature to relax in. All Murata would need to do is to find a wife, have some children, and he could live a life his parents would be proud of.

But not like this. This was the tragedy of a demon slayer. Not a single one was 'normal.' Even Murata, the man who would be mocked as 'pitifully average' by those who read about him, had a righteous heart and innate desire to fight against monsters that could easily kill hundreds of humans. Even with his unexplainable memories, that determination had not wavered.

"Even so, I'm going to become a demon slayer."

Sato sighed, then he cried. Murata stayed silent, allowing his teacher to grieve about the past and future.

"I…wish you all the best. Stand tall and help others. Those small actions can change the entire world," Sato whispered.

An hour later, old man Sato died. That night, Murata dug a grave for his teacher and offered his prayers.

If Murata cried, then no one was there to see it.

Murata prepared for Final Selection as best as he could. Even if the feeling of fear would never disappear, he must move forward.

He traveled light and mentally assured himself. He focused on his breathing the entire way, reviewed his plans, and triple checked his meager supplies.

Over a week of running, later, he could see the gates to Mount Fujikasane. He pocketed some wisteria and made his way towards the rest of the attendees.

He gazed at each one, trying to find a familiar face. Everyone looked either afraid, angry, or empty.

The last girl he looked at was short, had blue eyes, and wore a fox mask.

Wait, what?

Was Makomo after or before Sabito and Giyu? His mind filled itself with questions.

His thinking was interrupted by Lady Amane, who gave the opening speech.

"Welcome to Final Selection. After seven days in the mountain, return here. If you find yourself coming back here before then," she gestured around herself, "then you failed, but can try again later. Do not be so quick to lose your life."

The kakushi flanking her stepped forward and bowed.

"The kakushi will tend to your injuries, whether you pass or fail. I wish you all the best of luck."

The participants began running into the dark forest after the brief announcement.

-

Final Selection was a seven day initiation that was more of a survival course than an actual demon slaying test. At least, that's how Murata saw it.

After all, you could kill not a single demon but still pass as long as you survived. It still tested one's ability to slaughter demons, especially if you were proactive. But the option to just hide somewhere in the mountain was available.

Other things that were tested included sleep deprivation training and survival skills. The mountain was covered in trees and the sky could be covered with clouds, so any opportunistic or reckless demon could still hunt for you during the day. Sleeping could be fatal, but it was necessary to perform well.

That was probably the most dangerous part of the test. Most people, after days of paranoia and exhaustion, would be easy pickings for some of the stronger demons on Mount Fujikasane.

Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance

Murata sliced the head off his first demon.

"Curse you…!" The demon crumbled away.

He sighed and prepared a sleeping spot at a nearby tree. The test started in the early morning, so the first day was essentially a free pass.

Murata continued his breathing and mentally reviewed his forms as the sun rose.

Old man Sato made Murata think twice about Water Breathing. Yes, he was able to use each form. However, it didn't mean he could do them well.

Anything past the fifth form was questionable, and the tenth form, while powerful, left him defenseless for a time.

To surpass hundreds of years of knowledge and advance his technique to new heights?

It's not like he could just come up with something to suit his physicality. That required a deep understanding of self and a ridiculous amount of talent.

Maybe one day, but not today.

-

The next few days and nights became a rhythm. He would rest during the day and hunt during the night.

He only had to administer his bandages once. The poor guy fell down a tree, its limbs tearing him up as he ate dirt.

He directly saved someone else's life from a demon attack. Apparently, their sword broke and they were trying to return to the wisteria clearing.

It was not as impressive as say, Sabito, but it wasn't bad at all.

On the last night of Final Selection, Murata had the unfortunate luck to find the hand demon.

Worse yet, Makomo was fighting and losing badly. One arm limped and blood was staining her clothes.

The demon's eye swirled with madness as the arms slammed the dirt repeatedly.

"The last one was extremely tasty! Her cries were so satisfying."

Makomo cried in rage and rushed at the demon. It was a trap and the demon grinned at her mistake.

Murata could only pray for his future self as he did the only thing that would save her.

Water Breathing, Tenth Form: Constant Water Flux

Murata closed the distance, cut through the hands, and tackled Makomo away from the demon. Her rage was stifled immediately and he whined in pain.

The tenth form was taxing on his body. A culmination of several techniques, it was dangerous to pull off successfully.

The hand demon charged at them, still grinning like a monster. Watching the shambling demon was nightmare fuel. Seeing Makomo's reckless intent to attack again made him want to scold her. Murata took out the grounded wisteria from his pocket and threw it at the demon as he wearily ran towards them.

"That burns!"

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

After prying herself out of Murata's grasp, she launched herself at the demon.

Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance

Murata summoned his last vestiges of strength, weaved towards the demon, and cut the arms closest to the ground.

The demon lost its balance, causing his arms to flail wildly and expose his neck. Makomo sliced off its head.

Murata held his breath until the demon completely crumbled away.

Then, he fell to the ground, tasting the dirt. He could hardly move his body.

Makomo whirled on him like a tsunami.

"That was incredibly dangerous!" She told him. Hypocitically too, Murata thought.

He passed out. Not only did he exhaust himself but that encounter would give him enough nightmares for a while.

-

Murata woke up to the sensation of the hard ground. It felt cool and stiff.

In a way, it was relaxing. The ground would never leave him. It was a familiar friend in a world of pain.

He pretended to stay asleep because of his exhaustion.

"Wake up! I know you're awake," Makomo prodded him with her foot.

Whining, Murata took his time standing up. Makomo continued walking away.

"I had to carry you across half the mountain! You're very lucky demons didn't find us. I would've left you," she mumbled the last part.

Murata rolled his eyes. He couldn't help but a little offended at that, yet he thanked her for the courtesy of carrying him.

He remembered a calm and thoughtful child, so why was this girl the complete opposite of that?

Did becoming a spirit change her entire personality? Or maybe she was high-strung from Final Selection. Maybe the fact that he saved her life soured the act of avenging her teacher's students.

Perhaps Murata was the type of person people couldn't help but antagonize a little bit.

Shaking his head, Murata continued walking. On the other side of the clearing, Makomo kept an eye on him.

The most average looking person she's ever seen saved her life. He even did a good job at it, considering his lack of external injuries. But, he overestimated himself and used more strength than was healthy.

Don't get her wrong though! He had potential, maybe.

"My bandages!" Murata cried out. His small bag was completely empty.

Makomo laughed to herself, wincing in pain as the bandages on her body shifted.

-

Lady Amane greeted the survivors at the base of Mount Fujikasane. Not everyone made it in one piece.

More morbid was that only five of them would become demon slayers. The other survivors failed the test by leaving early. Whether they would become kakushi or try again later remained to be seen.

Murata put on his demon slayer uniform and picked out his ore for his future sword. He had no way of knowing what looked 'powerful' or 'special,' so he just chose the biggest rock.

Makomo chose the second largest.

His crow arrived immediately and sat on his head. It did a little dance with its feet, scratching the scalp on which it was perched on.

"Stop that!" Murata swatted at his bird.

This bad behavior didn't deserve a reward so Murata would not give his bird a beautiful name.

It mattered little since the crow named itself.

"Nobunaga!"

"No!"

"Nobunaga!"

Murata sighed. Why couldn't he get an average crow to suit him?

-

Arriving at Sato's home, Murata set down his belongings and thought to himself.

It was his home now so what was the next step?

One had to wait for their swordsmith to come by, so in the meantime, Murata practiced and cleaned.

He cut the wood, moved the rocks, and tidied up the small house. He practiced breathing, exercised to exhaustion, and thought about the future.

The world he lived in has stayed the same for hundreds of years. The secret war against demons and demon slayers has seen ups and downs, but neither side overwhelmed the other.

It was out of apathy on Muzan's part and lack of ability on Ubuyashiki's side.

Until Tanjiro's presence, things stayed much the same. Though, wasn't it a coincidence that by the time Tanjiro became a demon slayer, Ubuyashiki had gathered the finest group of hashira since the Sengoku era?

Murata certainly thought so. But thinking more on it, the Demon Slayer Corps could've had an even bigger advantage.

The deaths of promising children like Sabito, Yuichiro, and many others were a tragedy.

Even people like Tanjiro's younger brother could have saved dozens of lives. If Tanjiro and Nezuko had such amazing capabilities, then how about the third oldest sibling?

Such examples brought tears to Murata's eyes. He could only do so much but no matter what, he must move forward one step at a time.

It was impossible to do everything but that was no excuse for not trying.

Murata was brought out of his head when Nobunaga screeched at him.

"Swordsmith!"

True to word, a swordsmith walked up to Murata's home. They shared small pleasantries and a cup of tea.

Unsheathing the blade, Murata watched as it changed color.

At first, it did nothing, then specks of very light blue scattered itself on the length of his blade.

The change felt so miniscule though! At a faraway glance and under certain lighting, it looked no different than an unchanged blade.

The swordsmith's pipe released a huff of steam.

"I've…never seen this happen. I can't even tell if this is a good or bad thing," the swordsmith shrugged. "But the fact it did change even a little bit is good. At least you have the ability to use breathing arts."

Murata mentally wept.

Didn't the color of the blade help determine your breathing style? Did this mean he would be a weak water breather? Did it mean he would have to come up with something different?

Was old man Sato onto something? Though he never explicitly said anything to that effect.

Murata couldn't even feel elated because it meant that either way, he would have to work even harder to understand himself.

He bowed in appreciation. "Thank you for your hard work, swordsmith."

The swordsmith waved him off. "My name is Tetsuido. If you ever need the sword repaired, then send a message through your crow."

As Tetsuido walked away, Murata was left with a loss.

Who even was Tetsuido?

"Northeast!"

Nobunaga circled around Murata as he jogged closer to the village.

Japan was just too large for a single person to traverse in a reasonable amount of time. And because of the ban on carrying swords, it was easier to avoid the large cities altogether than to risk being arrested.

Most demon slayers were assigned to specific regions to avoid this problem. A very unlucky demon slayer could have a mission in Hokkaido then have to make the journey down to Kyushu.

That was incredibly unlikely but not impossible. So, each demon slayer was assigned a specific region, while their crow would relay missions taking place within that region.

Sometimes, they could take place in different regions depending on the distance, but the crows were trained to understand that.

As for how the crows were trained? Murata did not have a single clue.

Murata, meanwhile, was in Chubu, which served perfectly well for him. It was where he lived with old man Sato, and his village was not too far from his deceased mentor.

Murata kept a steady jog, maintaining his strength while training his body. He really couldn't avoid this part of life. His lack of a supernatural or mystical ability meant he shouldn't slack off on physical conditioning. It could make the difference between life or death.

Not everything was off the table though. He's committed to several theories regarding the mark, but nothing to prove any of his ideas.

Catching his breath, Murata found himself in a village similar to the one he used to live in as a child.

With his meager savings, he bought a meal and a room at the only inn. The sun remained high in the sky, so he would sleep and investigate at night.

-

After leaving the inn, Murata set out around the outskirts of the village with a lantern.

Every shadow, every wisp of wind, and every unexplained noise ate away at his tranquility and increased his paranoia.

One hand remained twitching at the hilt of his sword, while the other gripped the lantern tightly.

The half-moon remained weak, its light barely helping his vision.

Suddenly, a scream echoed out in the forest.

Turning quickly, Murata instantly rushed towards the trees.

Reaching the source of the sound, he saw a disgusting demon.

Granted, all demons were disgusting in a moral way, but this one, just like the hand demon, was just disturbing to witness.

Numerous legs wrapped around a tree while the head was poised to strike at the unlucky girl, similar to a snake chasing a mouse.

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

Murata slashed the only two arms the demon possessed while pushing the girl behind him. He set the small lantern at his waist, allowing both hands to hold his sword.

"Run away. Go back to your home!" Murata told her. The girl did not hesitate. She ran as tears trailed down her face.

Fortunate, because a frozen or panicked civilian would make things more difficult.

The demon centipede scrambled and screamed in anger. Standing tall as a dozen legs supported him, he towered over Murata.

"I'll eat you alive! I'll grind your bones, I'll-"

While the demon rambled stupidly, Murata threw a vial of alcohol in its mouth.

"That's disgusting!" The demon spat out the shards of glass puncturing its mouth.

Turns out man-eating monsters don't like alcohol.

Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance

Dicing through several legs, Murata rushed for the kill, only to be kicked back by another limb.

A nearby tree broke his fall. Murata's back spiked with pain, but he immediately began climbing the tree.

The demon laughed as it crawled faster than Murata expected.

Water Breathing, Second Form: Water Wheel

Jumping off a tree limb, Murata aimed for its neck.

The demon twisted in time, but not before getting half its face cut off.

Landing on his feet, Murata rolled away to refocus his stance.

The demon angrily stomped the ground as the force of several dozen legs rumbled like an earthquake. The dirt loosened, the trees shook, and the nearby critters ran away in fear.

Murata shuddered. He'd rather fight a demon moon than this abomination. At least most of them looked vaguely human.

They danced together. Murata, like a praying mantis, went for precise strikes while the demon centipede relied on pure physicality.

Murata received more cuts and bruises as the demon regenerated its own wounds.

But, while hiding atop a tree, Murata committed a final plan of attack.

"Found you!" The demon laughed.

Its teeth tasted Murata's leg, offsetting the timing of his jump. The tree groaned, both from the demon's weight and from the force of Murata's jump.

Tumbling to the ground, Murata positioned himself carefully and watched as the demon sadistically slithered towards him. His back faced the opponent but Murata could feel its smile.

"You caused me too much grief tonight," the demon's tone turned calm, as if holding itself back. "I can't believe one of you brats decided to-"

First of all, never monologue in front of a downed foe.

Murata threw a burning vial straight at the demon, causing its entire face to catch aflame.

The demon screamed, its roar shaking the earth. Next, the tree that Murata sloppily jumped from fell on the demon, causing it to be trapped momentarily.

Water Breathing, Sixth Form: Whirlpool

Murata leapt towards the demon as his sword violently sliced and diced its neck off.

Watching it turn to dust, Murata collapsed to the ground, trying to keep his breathing measured.

His attitude soured quickly. Not only did he have to immediately use his questionable vials of alcohol, but he sustained more injuries than anticipated.

The former meant that he had to find another way of acquiring alcohol without spending his money. This was impossible mostly because he didn't have any, and he would not resort to stealing.

The latter meant he needed to find a wisteria house so that he could rest peacefully, without charge. Again, because of his lack of money.

"South! South!" Nobunaga cried out.

–

Nobunaga was at the very minimum considerate, since the directions led him towards a wisteria house.

He rested for two weeks before setting off again.

He also received pay. His first ever as a demon slayer.

It was enough for a traveling swordsman and quite generous considering his age.

On the other hand, he was a child soldier fighting demons that could obliterate a town of normal people. In other words, it was honestly not enough for the type of work he was doing.

But most didn't join for fame or riches, and the Ubuyashiki family only had so much, even as rich and influential as they were.

It was certainly enough for alcohol, which he couldn't help but try a little.

"It tastes like shit," he cried. Some things remained the same, no matter the time or place.

-

Two years passed since joining the Demon Slayer Corps.

Murata was, at the very least, grateful that he has survived to this point.

A flow of boring, yet achievable missions saw to his small victory.

Though, he desperately needed someone more experienced to teach him. Water Breathing was approachable because it was adaptable, but the best spurts of growth occurred under the supervision of a superior.

Murata noticed how little his forms have changed or improved in the last year. This was dangerous not only because it would make him complacent, but because he was still not strong enough.

One could only practice by themselves for so long before stagnating.

In addition, he wasn't a fast burner.

He was at the Kanato rank. If Murata remembered correctly, he was a Kanoe during the Rui situation, which was the immediate rank above. However, neither were even close to Hashira or Tsuguko status.

There were exceptions to the rule, but Murata certainly was not one of them. In the Demon Slayer Corps, rank determined your pay, the difficulty of missions, and the number of people you might have to work with.

"East!"

Stirring out of his musings, Murata approached a road leading to a village by the sea.

As he ranked up, he was shifted to missions in the Kansai region. It was located just west of Chubu, and it boasted Osaka.

Murata reached the village, noting its sparse, quiet atmosphere.

It unnerved him. He remembered the streets of his own village being full of people and bustling with activity.

The nearby inn proved to be useless. The owner, seeing Murata's uniform, turned stern.

"No, I have not seen anything. Stay out!" The woman shut the door on his face.

Likewise, whenever he would try to introduce himself or ask for hospitality, the people turned suspicious, fearful, or angry.

As a result, not only was he homeless for the night, but he had no leads on where the demon could be.

The next day, as he watched the ocean waves flow, a girl came up to him.

Seeing her outfit, and the small mask hanging at her waist, Murata was pleasantly surprised. But not before giving a small glare at his crow for not informing him of a joint mission.

"Makomo?"

She nodded, surprised at his memory.

"I hope the best in our mission."

The two regrouped at the entrance of the village, ready to set out in the investigation. Since Makomo was the higher ranking member, Murata followed her lead.

He did advise her of his terrible encounters with some of the people, so they traveled to the houses Murata had not visited yet.

Very little changed in the attitude of the villagers, except for one family.

A grieving mother and father grimly explained the situation.

"It started happening weeks ago," the man said. "First, it was Takahashi's boy who disappeared, then Minamoto's girl next."

The wife nodded. "But, two days ago, our son went missing. He's a great boy. Works hard, always lets us know whenever he leaves, especially now. He wouldn't disappear like this."

Drinking his tea, the man continued. "We saw three people with uniforms like yours. Said something about demons, but they never returned."

Makomo slowly nodded, absorbing the information. "How long ago did they come? Do you know where they're at now?"

Finishing his drink, the man answered. "I'd say about a few days ago. And no, haven't seen them since. Some of us think your group is involved. I told them that's foolish. Why come now if that was the case?"

Thanking the couple for their hospitality, Makomo and Murata left.

"Before you came, I explored around and found several caves by the coast. Do you think a demon would hide there?" Murata asked.

Makomo shrugged. "There's also the nearby forest. For a demon, there's plenty of safety during the day."

Murata sent his crow to scout the forests.

The land, shaped like a crescent moon, housed cliffs on both sides while the village sat between them. The ocean waves pushed back and forth, shaping the land around it.

"The cliffs," Makomo said, "you said you found the caves at the bottom of them?"

Murata nodded as they walked toward the caves.

Naturally formed, but it still made a good place to hide if you were a demon.

The sun rose slowly, illuminating the entrances. Beyond that, it was impossibly dark. Murata blinked a few times to wonder if it was an illusion.

Entering the cave, Makomo's crow carried a bright lamp to fight the dark.

Murata held another lamp in his hand just in case. Even so, he felt incredibly cramped despite the cave's vastness.

It was a strange feeling. He could visually see how large the cave was. Makomo's crow had no problem flying up, down, and around. Looking more carefully, Murata could see the structure of the walls and ceiling. The cave itself was forcefully expanded, like it was mined or drilled. Squinting, Murata noticed scratch marks at several locations.

Makomo spoke quietly, scaring Murata.

"You see them as well, right?"

He nodded. "The demon must have done this."

She did not confirm or deny. She took something out of her clothes and sprinkled it on the ground at specific intervals. "Let's keep moving."

Deeper in the cave, they found a dead boy's body. His eyes remained frozen in agony, his limbs were bent in all the wrong ways, and there laid a dead crow next to him.

Makomo frowned. "This is one of ours. But the blood's dry."

Murata found another body. A younger boy who was still alive!

His pulse was weak, and his wrists were bleeding blood. He went to bandage them as quickly as possible, but Makomo's warning cut him short.

"Above you!"

Murata ducked, feeling the displaced air above him. A second later and his head would've been torn off.

Makomo moved close to Murata as they both unsheathed their swords. The demon softly landed in front of them.

When the demon opened his eyes, Murata's chest tightened.

Lower Moon Six

A demon moon. It was the weakest of them all, but these were Muzan's strongest demons.

Can we do this?

Shaking his head, Murata tried clearing his mind.

It didn't matter. As demon slayers, this was their entire purpose.

The demon gazed at them, then scoffed.

Neither of them looked like any of the hashira his other compatriots encountered, so they had to be low-ranking fodder.

Makomo charged straight ahead, her blade grazing flesh. The demon dodged, but his neck suffered a small cut.

Bringing his hand to his neck, the demon did not rage or turn feral. He merely grinned.

"Get the boy out of here!" Makomo ordered as she and the demon exchanged blows.

Murata, without question, swiftly bandaged the bleeding boy and carried him on his back, sprinting to safety.

But the darkness of the cave, even with the lamp, was penetrating. It was difficult to tell if he was moving deeper in the cave or getting closer to the exit.

Murata was not ignorant. Such an unnatural atmosphere meant one thing:

This demon must possess a blood demon art.

-

Nobunaga was Murata's crow.

She was honestly disappointed when she first saw him. His unremarkable stature and presence lacked something crucial. It meant he was probably going to die soon.

That line of thinking made her sad more than anything else. A good crow should strive to help their owner, but a crow could not fight a demon.

There was only so much they could do, and so Nobunaga worked on pushing Murata with endless orders, making sure he received the necessary experience to survive.

If one were to remain a demon slayer, then experience was by far the single most vital benchmark to surviving.

Leaving the forest, Nobunaga flew towards the coast. Nothing important was hiding in the woods and she wanted to report that as quickly as possible.

Then, she saw another crow diving towards her.

"Reinforcements! Reinforcements!" Makomo's crow cried.

Slapping the younger bird with her wing, she commanded him to explain the situation.

With its endless worrying, she allowed him to continue his journey.

Meanwhile, Nobunaga flew straight towards the cave.

-

Seeing as how the lantern become weaker and weaker against the dark despite losing none of its strength, Murata could only come to one conclusion:

The demon's ability allowed him to darken an area and muffle light.

Such an ability would be devastating if it could be used out in the day. Seeing as how the demon made its lair in a cold, barely-lit place, perhaps it wasn't that potent.

Even so, forcing others to fight in its own battlefield was an undeniable advantage. Especially in the dark, where it was nearly impossible to see.

The battle clashed away from him, allowing Murata to slap the boy awake. He stirred slowly, about to scream before Murata muffled the boy's mouth.

"Do you feel this?" Murata gave a piece of wisteria to the boy.

"...yes."

"Stay low to the ground, and keep straight. We left behind small patches of wisteria. Follow it and get out. And if you hear a crow, follow its voice."

The boy, without further explanation, began crawling as swiftly as possible.

Murata regained his bearing and ran towards the source of the battle.

"Behind you!"

Rolling away, Murata felt the sensation of sharp claws ripping his skin.

Makomo, breathing heavily, pulled Murata up, and they were back to back, keeping their guard up.

Water Breathing, Fourth Form: Striking Tide

The demon, sensing the attack, dodged the barrage of slashes and retreated in the shadow.

"His ability. He spreads darkness and hides in it, waiting to attack," Makomo said. "Don't waste your energy, just be ready to defend."

Nodding, Murata kept a steady stance. Covering each other's backs, the demon could not easily overwhelm them. On the other hand, neither Murata or Makomo could get a killing blow on the demon.

Unfortunately for them, the lack of light made it impossible to leave. Even if they prepared to run away, there was no telling which direction they'd go.

"To your left!" Makomo yelled.

The demon shifted position. Instead of Murata, he pounced towards Makomo.

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

Makomo successfully cut the demon's arm off, but it simply retreated into the dark again.

The cycle continued, both of them garnering more wounds as the demon slowly, yet patiently pressured them.

The longer the battle continued, the worse their chances became.

"I have an idea," Murata proposed. Makomo frowned, but didn't object to it.

Murata suddenly rushed wildly, one hand inside his bag while the other gripped his sword.

The demon chased after him, eager for blood. The moment he extended his arm towards Murata's ribs, the world exploded with bright lights.

Murata threw the bag of fireworks away, swinging his sword to cut the demon's leg off.

Screaming in anger, the demon kicked Murata away with its other leg. His vision flashed and he felt a crack in his left side.

Water Breathing, Second Form: Water Wheel

Makomo leapt through the air and cut the demon's neck off. After the exhausting movement, she stumbled to the ground, her sword keeping her stable.

Murata tried to keep his breathing even, but his broken rib made even shallow breaths painful. He could see the shadows gradually retreat as the demon disappeared.

It was still dark, but no longer was it suffocating.

Shifting himself to open his medical supplies, he gasped in pain again.

He passed out as reinforcements arrived.

Murata stirred in his sleep. He turned, he twisted, and he groaned like an old man.

Slowly, he looked around. His bedding was sprawled chaotically around the room. The sun made him squint his eyes and his body weighed like stone. Remembering the events of the previous day, he shot up. The sudden movement made him wince in pain.

"Please be careful," an old lady poured him a cup of tea and began rolling new bandages. Out of self-dignity, he insisted on bandaging himself as he drank the warm tea.

Taking in a deep breath, he thanked the gods above for surviving his first demon moon encounter. But his performance and lack of ability against a stronger opponent left him unsatisfied.

Making his way to the garden, he saw Makomo. When she noticed him, she greeted him cheerfully.

"You were out for three days," she told him, "the kakushi wanted to take you to the Butterfly Estate, but the wisteria house was closer."

Murata grunted. He still felt horrible after all that rest.

"It's going to take several weeks for the rest of your wounds to heal," Makomo said.

He understood. That being said, he abandoned self-dignity and planted his face on the ground.

"Please teach me!"

Makomo, flustered by the sudden change in demeanor, laughed and accepted.

-

It goes without saying that just because one had a good teacher, it did not mean that student would be any more capable of instructing.

"No, no," Makomo slapped him on the back hard. It caused the scars on his back to tremble.

Makomo breathed in deeply, then exhaled out. She continued this pattern for several cycles before opening her eyes again.

"You need to breathe from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. Do not breathe unconsciously. Breathe purposefully, like you would die otherwise."

"I don't really understand what you mean," Murata complained. They sat right outside the room, watching the sky and its stars. Since his injuries prevented any intense physical training, she decided Murata should focus on his breathing technique.

After assessing him, she came to a horrifying realization. This boy somehow managed with the bare minimum and it was only due to his physique and unorthodox thinking that he was still alive.

Shaking her head, she explained again. "It's not enough to concentrate your breathing only during battle, or only when using a breathing form. Everyday, every moment, you should be breathing like you're fighting to exhaustion. Even when you eat and sleep."

Murata nodded, absorbing her words. It wasn't that he didn't conceptually understand it. It was a matter of making it happen.

He couldn't. He didn't have the tools or a mentor to keep him accountable. When he slept, he slept. If he forced himself to wake up every time his breathing was off, he would die from sleep deprivation.

"How about this," Makomo interrupted his thoughts, "I, along with two of the kakushi resting here, will beat you if at any point during your sleep, you lose focus on the proper breathing."

Murata shivered. He realized this plan would have him become a living zombie.

"How about we take it nice and slow?" After all, he was no prodigy.

Makomo's smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Ah, but we don't have time for such luxuries. Don't worry though, I learned in a similar manner. We'll have you stronger in no time!"

Murata would much rather fight Lower Moon Six again than face Makomo.

-

"Ack!"

"Sorry, sir. She instructed us to do this," a kakushi member smacked him with a stick.

Murata howled in pain again.

Makomo looked away in guilt, but hardened her face and whacked him. "If you start breathing properly, we won't have to hit you."

Murata wanted to run away. He really did, but there was no chance of escape.

He braced himself, physically and mentally.

-

The routine continued, and while Murata wasn't perfect, he was slowly able to claw back some sleep.

As a result of his improved breathing proficiency, his wounds started healing faster. In the morning, he refocused his attention on running. Not only did it help his physical conditioning, Makomo also recommended increasing the pace to further hone his breath.

Their training sessions eventually ended when Makomo received her new blade. The swordsmith, satisfied with his craft, happily left as several kakushi accompanied him.

Murata's blade was still fine, though he had to buy a new whetstone to sharpen it.

Bowing to Makomo, Murata expressed his sincere gratitude.

"It was also a learning experience for me," she admitted. "Giyu and Sabito would always run away when I visited, so I never got the chance to act as the elder disciple."

Murata understood the reason why. If he ever met them, violence was the only answer.

She pulled out a piece of paper. "If you see them, don't be afraid to become friends! I'm especially worried about Giyu."

She gave him a drawing of the two boys. Luckily, Murata was already aware of their appearance. Otherwise, he would probably be offended by the drawing.

How could this help him distinguish either of them? Giyu looked like a tree ornament while Sabito resembled a peach sapling.

Makomo did claim to draw as a hobby, but it was definitely not her talent.

Murata pocketed the paper while thanking her.

She smiled, waving goodbye as she continued her next mission.

-

After the owner of the wisteria house proclaimed him to be fully recovered, Murata set out on his own journey.

Since the defeat of Lower Moon Six, Murata was reassigned to Chubu. Instead of being stationed mostly in the north, he remained in the southern half of the region.

"East!"

Nobunaga circled around, keeping an eye out.

Sometimes, Murata wondered about the nature of fate. Considering his circumstances, it wasn't a strange thing at all.

It was merely speculation on his part that certain situations were influenced by a guiding hand. A divine or unnatural blessing, if you will. Though, considering the Ubuyashiki family, it was probably not that far-fetched.

Other times, Murata felt abandoned by all the good in the world.

Currently, he was stuck feeling abandoned. When he woke up and continued walking along a neglected path, Murata saw someone he would prefer never to meet in person.

Shinazugawa Sanemi looked like an insane weapons collector. At first glance, Murata noticed two hatchets, an axe, two staves, and a sword.

He was laughing as the sun rose. A demon hung weakly from a rope, shrieking in pain as the sun purified him.

Considering his less than efficient methods, this meant Sanemi was not a demon slayer yet.

When the demon disappeared, they locked eyes with each other.

Sanemi grunted, not caring the least about how he looked. To an ordinary person, it would look like he just killed a man in broad daylight.

Upon seeing Murata's outfit, Sanemi glared at him. "Are you kidding me? Who do you even think you are?"

"I'm a demon slayer," Murata said, holding back his tone.

He did not expect Sanemi to burst out laughing. Murata's hand twitched as the scarred boy held his sides in laughter.

"You call yourself a demon slayer?" Sanemi snorted. "I bet you can hardly hold that sword!"

Nobunaga cried out in anger, pecking him.

"East! East!"

Murata decided then and there that encountering this boy was a mistake. He would only be tormented at this rate.

Turning to leave, his arm was gripped tightly.

Slightly terrified, Murata craned his head towards Sanemi.

"Take me with you. Prove to me you're one of them, and I'll believe you."

Internally groaning, Murata looked towards the cloudless sky.

-

The demon swore as it crumbled.

"Curse you! Curse your ancestors! Curse your cow–!"

Breathing deeply, Murata sheathed his blade and sat next to a tree. Nearby, Sanemi clicked his tongue in begrudging acknowledgment.

"Send me to your trainer."

"I can't."

"You afraid of me becoming better?"

Murata held back a swear. "It's because he's dead."

"Then teach me."

"I can't."

"What's with you!?" Sanemi complained.

"I'm not qualified to do so."

"Doesn't matter, it's my choice."

Murata gazed at his sheathe for answers that didn't exist. He could only brace for the inevitable conflict.

–

"Whatever the hell you said didn't make any sense," Sanemi said.

Swinging his sword, Sanemi practiced the first form of water breathing.

Combined with Murata's minimal teaching experience and Sanemi's lack of compatibility with water breathing, it was no wonder he was barely making progress.

The fact that progress was even being made at all surprised Murata.

Since Sanemi already had a strong physical foundation, they moved on to breathing and sword techniques.

For someone like Sanemi, who wouldn't stay still for the world, it was easier to train both at the same time,. So, Murata had Sanemi swing and breathe in tandem.

While Sanemi understood the concept of the breath, he had a mental conflict with water breathing.

His physique and personality clashed with it in all the wrong ways. Murata knew Sanemi needed wind breathing, but he didn't know anyone that used it.

"There are different types of breathing, but just being used to the sensation is a good start. I can already tell water breathing isn't for you," Murata explained.

"Hah? So why the hell are you making me do this in the first place?"

"Because you forced me. And I never claimed to be a good teacher."

Sanemi was not happy with this at all.

Yes, the unexceptional boy killed that demon way faster than he could, but his technique was still off. Sanemi didn't need to be a swordsman to perceive things like that.

"I'm thinking this doesn't suit you either," Sanemi said.

Murata froze and stopped his breathing exercises. Was it becoming noticeable enough that even the inexperienced Sanemi sensed it?

A hot flash of rage consumed him.

How did such people exist that he looked so useless in comparison? Makomo had the makings of a hashira in only two years and Sanemi, as green as he was, gained immediate insights on Murata's weaknesses.

It's people like this that made Murata question the fairness of the world.

Why did they have the inherent strength to protect so many? What about them was so special? What did they have that he lacked?

Before his thoughts overwhelmed him, Murata slapped himself.

It surprised Sanemi, who had just sat down to take a break.

Murata quickly wrote a letter, nearly crushing his brush in the process. Attaching it to Nobunaga, she flew in haste.

He had no reasonable ideas, so he let fate decide.

The Ubuyashiki family was a strange one.

By virtue of being born, their lives were automatically cut short. Instead of reaching old age, they would burn out and die before thirty.

Once Muzan became a demon and began defiling the natural order, a curse came upon the family. The children were born sickly, bearing a mark that would spread throughout their body as they aged.

The punishment was clear. If Muzan, the shame of their family, continued living, then they would continue suffering.

The current leader of the Demon Slayer Corps was Ubuyashiki Kagaya.

Despite his frail body, he possessed a strength few had. Not only did he faithfully carry the burdens of a leader, his calm demeanor and compassionate nature made him a beloved person.

To carry hate towards the man was impossible.

Kagaya even had another talent that his family rarely boasted. His unmatched foresight was a blessing, yet it often felt burdensome.

In his long family line, he was far from the only one with such an ability. But his talent in it was among the best.

However, it wasn't always like that. About three years ago, the Demon Slayer Corps nearly lost its leader, and very few were aware of it.

Soon after turning 14, Kagaya fell into a small coma. At the time, only his wife, Amane, and the newly promoted Stone Hashira, Gyomei, were taking care of him, making sure to keep the organization running behind the scenes.

It was especially stressful for Amane since she had to also take care of their children. All five of them.

When a month passed by and Kagaya awoke, his eyes possessed a tranquil gleam. It was as if he saw something that set his mind at peace.

When asked about the abrupt change, Kagaya would smile.

"Something changed. So much so, not even buddha or the gods could comprehend it."

However, the gift of foresight was still difficult to discern, even for Kagaya. He compared it most often to dreams. Some dreams made so much sense. They could be understood and easy to follow. On the other hand, some dreams left people confused, irritable, and foggy.

Knowing what to act on and what to avoid was its own journey.

Amane was eternally grateful for his recovery, but it accelerated his cursed mark faster than anticipated. But she would remain at his side, working tirelessly.

On a clear, cloudless day, a crow arrived at the Ubuyashiki estate. This on its own wasn't strange. Kagaya would personally assign demon slayers to specific missions, and have a small, permanently attached group of kakushi help write the missives and attach them to the crows, if necessary. Otherwise, he would have the crows relay verbal instructions.

This crow had a letter addressed to no one in particular, yet she decided to deliver it to him. Taking it, Kagaya began reading it, noting the sloppy handwriting and its demanding orders.

Then he laughed. A quiet, amused, and delightful laugh that helped ease some of the tension in his heart.

Amane, hearing the laugh of her husband, immediately made her way to his side.

Immediately, he understood the person behind this letter. After all, the writings and ramblings of a person tell a lot about who they were, even if they didn't talk about themselves.

All of a sudden, several of his premonitions and vague visions started to become transparent. Before, it felt like wading through a dark tunnel, trying to discern where to go.

Now, a light illuminated it, helping him see the path forward. The tunnel stretched endlessly, but he could see clearer than ever.

He whispered to himself, his soft voice further catching Amane's attention.

"Kagaya?"

Turning to his wife, Kagaya smiled at her. "I believe I found a reason behind my unexpected illness. Why the answer appeared now when it was so close to me before, I don't know. But I want to hold on to this opportunity, and help it along, if at all possible."

Amane, for her part, nodded and left Kagaya to his own devices.

Picking up a brush, he personally began writing a letter. He attached it to Nobunaga, her wings flapping as she flew away.

Shift the gears of change, Murata. Maybe this way, more of his children would survive.

-

Ubuyashiki Amane was a priestess from a long line of religious leaders.

She was also the wife of Kagaya. It meant that when he said something, it was best to leave it at that. She may not get the answer today, tomorrow, or even a season from now, but the answer will eventually make sense.

It was the kind of man he was. Not purposefully mysterious, but he just saw the world differently. Some people may see it as aloof or naive, but she appreciated his perspective and wisdom even at such a young age.

She was also a leader of the Demon Slayer Corps. Most people will never see her again after Final Selection, but the role she committed to herself had large implications for the organization.

It was one thing for someone like Kagaya to possess knowledge that would benefit the organization and family, but another to implement said knowledge. Amane made sure of the latter.

Working on her own, she poured through the records of their nearly millennia long history.

Finally arriving at the Sengoku period, the so-called "Golden Age" of the Demon Slayer Corps, she began her research.

While the original breath and its creator were lost, maybe his descendants were still alive.

-
A week later, Kagaya organized the promotion of a new hashira.

It was wonderful news. No one died and one more would join the ranks. He'd be so bold as to claim that in the near future, the strength of the demon slayers would be equal to those during the Sengoku period.

"Ishikawa Makomo, there's no need to stand on ceremony. You are the Water Hashira, and it is my honor to have you as such," Kagaya said.

Despite his small request, she, alongside the other hashira, remained as respectful and courteous as possible. It went beyond simple obedience to a leader. The hashira, who acted as pillars of the organization, would die for him.

It warmed his heart as much as it concerned him. But if they felt the need to act in such a manner, he would not force them to do otherwise.

Seeing the group of demon slayers together, Kagaya felt light. Each step, not matter how small, was building up to Muzan's downfall.

As a generally agreeable person, Murata had very few grievances with people. After all, demons were the only enemies he bore true hatred for.

Though he could make an exception for Sanemi. Even though they were around the same age, with Murata even being born earlier in the year, Sanemi's brash and often unrepentant bluntness was grating on the nerves.

"Are you just slow, or stupid?" Sanemi gestured towards Murata's glass vials. "If I put my blood in those, I'd look like a damn lunatic!"

Not like you weren't already one, what with all your weapons and scars.

"Besides, when I'm the one bleeding, the demons go on a frenzy towards me, which is exactly what I want."

"Yes, well, do you have to make a new scar every time you fight that way?" Murata asked.

Sanemi looked away, ignoring the question.

They traveled to the nearby town, gathering supplies and staying at the nearby inn. Since Sanemi had no future in water breathing, Murata decided to jump straight to the training that Makomo helped him through.

Maintaining the proper breathing, even during sleep, didn't require a specific breathing art. Just having the natural ability to use breathing forms was enough to start right away.

The only reason why more students didn't begin with this training was because their physical bodies couldn't keep up. If one was too unprepared, then death was actually a possibility.

Sanemi had fought demons without the help of the Demon Slayer Corps. His strong nature already made him more formidable than some newly trained demon slayers.

Whether that spoke to the vastly inconsistent training between the slayers or Sanemi's own prodigious abilities, Murata couldn't tell.

Sanemi, after receiving instructions from Murata, went to sleep. Breathing was simple. He would not be caught off guard.

-

"You'll pay for this!" Sanemi grunted as Murata whacked him with a stick.

"You lose sleep at first, but you'll learn in no time," Murata said.

It was a good way to ease some of his tension. It wasn't that Murata liked torturing Sanemi, but this was probably the only time he would have the opportunity to do so. Once Sanemi actually became a demon slayer, he would rise through the ranks and quickly outpace him.

He had no doubt in his mind about that.

Was it short-sighted and petty? Of course it was. But it did not matter to Murata, because the satisfaction it gave him was better than food.

Murata also worked on his technique. It didn't do well to slack off, after all. A teacher should serve as an example. Even if the teacher was absolutely not qualified to teach.

-

Some time later, Nobunaga found both of them. Murata was surprised how quickly she returned. Taking the missive from her leg, he let the crow guide them.

After reading the letter, Murata felt a huge sense of relief. He would soon be rid of Sanemi and could continue his own missions.

Frankly, he was shocked that his unprofessional plea worked. It would be like if an employee demanded the owner of the company for a raise, and the owner actually went through with said demand.

But he was losing his temper. Honestly, Murata would rather face an Upper Moon than be in Sanemi's presence for any longer.

They met up with the demon slayer who was assigned to find them.

Seeing the jagged scars on the slayer's left cheek, Murata had no doubt who it was.

"My only mission so far without having to kill a demon, but there's a first time for everything!" Kumeno Masachika said.

Sanemi looked at Murata with a sour expression.

Breaking through the silence, Murata introduced himself, with Sanemi doing the same.

After getting each other's names, they sat around a makeshift campfire.

With his hand on his chin, Masachika nodded. "I see. So, you're saying he," Masachika pointed at Sanemi, "is a clear fit for wind breathing?"

Murata affirmed.

"Don't I get a say in this?" Sanemi muttered before being shushed by Murata.

"Hmm, I want to confirm my own doubts first," Masachika said.

Wind Breathing, First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter

The nearby tree was utterly eviscerated, its fall scaring the birds out of the forest.

"What do you think? Do you understand it?" Masachika looked back at them.

Sanemi scoffed, but prepared his stance regardless. Gripping his sword, he took in a deep breath.

Wind Breathing, First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter

The forest rumbled from the force of Sanemi's swing. Sanemi stumbled and fell on the ground.

"Amazing," Murata sarcastically praised, "it's like he was born for this."

"That was incredible. It was sloppy, but I've never seen such natural affinity!" Masachika sincerely complimented. "There's no doubt, I'll definitely show you the way to my teacher."

Standing up, Sanemi stopped to stare at his hands. He'd get stronger in no time!

Murata suddenly felt a chill in his spine.

-

Masachika's teacher lived in the Kanto region. Since they were already at southeastern Chubu, the journey didn't take very long.

His teacher was, unsurprisingly, old. However, despite Murata's imagination, this man retained all of his limbs. It was a good thing. It meant he likely retired due to age.

Taira Kenji was shorter than all three of them, yet his ferocity remained unmatched. Murata was disturbed how well it clashed with Sanemi's own presence.

In another life, maybe they fought side by side as compatriots.

Sitting at a long table, the estate's maid prepared tea for the demon slayers.

Taira took one glance at Sanemi and grinned. "I can already tell. The way you sit, the way you hold yourself. Wind breathing is perfect for you."

Sanemi stared hard at the old man. He didn't smile, but it was a close thing.

After finishing a meal cooked by the only maid, Sanemi and Taira moved to the garden for an initial evaluation.

Meanwhile, Masachika and Murata shared demon slaying stories with each other.

"A Tsuchinoto, huh?" Masachika said.

Murata nodded. "How about you?"

"I joined about three years ago but I'm a Kinoto now. A few more missions and I could very well be a hashira, haha!" Masachika lightly said. "Though, I don't seem to have your luck. Meeting a demon moon as a Kanato, and surviving? I'd lose that bet."

Murata, despite the slight insult, laughed. This boy was like a cheerful dog. Murata couldn't help but smile whenever he was in the company of Masachika.

"Aren't you staying the night?" Masachika asked.

Murata shook his head. "I really shouldn't. I'm about to head out for my next mission." He waited for his crow to relay directions, but she stood silently, staring at him.

Cursed bird! Couldn't she take a hint?

Masachika laughed. "My teacher won't mind. Just stay the night and then you can leave in the morning."

It would be rude to decline, so Murata prepared the bedding and slept.

-

When Murata woke up, he saw Sanemi twisting and turning in his sleep, which only irritated his newly-formed bruises. Getting up for the day, Murata sat outside, admiring the sky.

A wooden sword collided with his head, forcing him to taste the dirt. Even now, the ground served to remind him of his place in the world.

"Get up!" Taira yelled. "Show me your best!"

Murata grasped the sword with both hands and observed Masachika's teacher.

Charging forward, he clashed swords with Taira. They whirled around each other, the destruction spreading around the garden. The dirt turned uneven, the dandelions flew away, and the fence started showing cracks.

When Taira's footing found bumpy ground, Murata darted towards his blind spot. Taira immediately prepared a counterattack.

Wind Breathing, Ninth Form: Idaten Typhoon

Taira jumped into the air, unleashing a swing towards Murata.

Water Breathing, Sixth Form: Whirlpool

Murata twisted up in the air, meeting the attack head on.

They exchanged several more barrages against one another.

Eventually, Taira motioned Murata to stop. They rested shortly before walking back inside to eat breakfast. Sanemi and Masachika joined them at the table.

"Well," Taira said while looking Murata up and down. "I've met worse water breathers. That being said, can I take a look at your blade?"

Without a reason to object, Murata handed his nichirin sword to Taira.

Unsheathing it, he observed the color and pattern. The specks were larger than before and what was once very light blue was closer to teal.

"This isn't a typical water breather blade. Something's wrong with you," Taira said.

Murata stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. Sanemi held in his amusement, while Masachika ignored the conversation, simply eating his food.

Coughing to end the awkward silence, Taira spoke up again. "That's all I have. If you want, you can watch us practice our forms."

Seeing as how Nobunaga had nothing to report to him, Murata decided he had little to lose. At the very least, Sanemi's attention was being grabbed by Taira and Masachika.

How bad could it be?

-

It turned out that watching quickly turned into practice. And horrifyingly, Murata wasn't half bad at wind breathing. The only downside wasn't the art itself, but merely the fact that he had to spar with Sanemi.

Sanemi picked up wind breathing like a fish to water.

"It works and yet it doesn't," Taira noted, observing Murata.

After nearly three weeks, Murata was able to perform the first two forms.

"Do you think Sanemi is ready to take Final Selection?" Masachika asked.

Taira shook his head. "I'd give it a couple more months before I feel confident. Not that he couldn't pass, but I don't like to leave things to chance."

Before long, the crows returned with news, which meant Masachika and Murata had to attend to their respective missions.

"Keep practicing on your own. You'll find your own answer soon enough," Taira told Murata.

Murata automatically nodded, looking as if he was still processing something important.

Masachika clapped Murata on the back. "I'll see you again one day! When that time comes, I hope for the best."

Going their respective ways, Murata left the Kansai region while Masachika headed north towards Tohoku.

While reading and watching Demon Slayer, I initially thought to myself:

How difficult could it be to keep this timeline within canon?

Turns out, it's a bit confusing. For example, we know that Sanemi and Giyu are the same age. They're both 21, and furthermore, Giyu was actually born earlier in the year than Sanemi was. Or maybe Sanemi was born the year prior, which would make him a few months older. Either way, they're about the same age.

We also know that Giyu became hashira before Sanemi did. In Sanemi's promotion, we see Gyomei, Tengen, Kanae, and Giyu as already established hashira.

I think it's safe to say that Giyu joined the corps before Sanemi did. Sanemi joined later, but likely progressed a bit faster due to his experience fighting demons before joining, and his battle against Lower Moon One, in which he was the only survivor. Basically, an automatic promotion.

Why do I mention this?

Mainly because I had no damn clue where to put Makomo. Was she before Sabito and Giyu, or after them?

The only reason I put her before them is because I think it would be strange for Giyu to do nothing if he was the senior student. Like, he didn't visit his teacher in that time? On the other hand, it would make sense considering Giyu's guilt, so he would retreat into himself further and only complete his missions.

Considering his amicable relationship with Urokodaki, I would find it hard to believe he didn't keep in contact with Urokodaki. By extension, I would find it reasonable for Urokodaki to mention he took in another student. If he didn't, then Makomo was likely a student prior to Giyu and Sabito.

Anyway, back to ages. Murata's age is not specified. We know that in canon, he was in the same Final Selection as Giyu. Murata is at the very minimum older than Tanjiro and company.

In this fic, I have Murata the same age as Giyu and Sanemi.

So, a rundown (this contains spoilers for future chapters):

When Murata trains with his teacher Sato, I pinned him at around 12. He spends a year training, and takes Final Selection at 13. This would have him taking Final Selection earlier than Giyu, and is the reason why Makomo is there.

Makomo in this fic is about the same age. She's around 13 when she takes Final Selection. I can't imagine her older than that, and honestly, she looks like a kid in the anime. Whether her family was poor or rich, we don't know. Maybe she just didn't eat enough.

By chapter 3, Murata goes through a two year time skip between his first mission and the Lower Moon Six encounter. This guy ain't Tanjiro, so he isn't blitzing through the ranks in a year or finding Demon Moons like they're Pokemon. Murata will fight some, but it's not supposed to be a common occurrence.

In the original story, all the events between Final Selection and Infinity Castle took place in just over a year or so (it really highlights Tanjiro's growth).

So, Makomo and Murata fight Lower Moon Six at age 15. Makomo becomes a hashira shortly after.

In chapter 5, Murata meets Sanemi for the first time. So, Sanemi is about 15 or so. We don't know how old Sanemi was when he killed his mother, but the oldest I would put is about 13. So, Sanemi's been very lucky and killing demons for about a year and a half to two years all by himself.

From chapters 6 to 8, between training, normal missions, and his journey into the Eternal Paradise cult, Murata turns 16.

I'll update this as the fic gets longer, but this is a tentative timeline, and subject to change.

It doesn't help that the original manga is kinda unclear as well. As an example, consider the hashira's age by the time of Tanjiro's trial:

Gyomei is the oldest by far, probably around 27. We know that at 18, almost 19, he was going to be executed before being saved by Kagaya. I believe here Gyomei mentions Kagaya being 4 years younger than him. So by extention, Kagaya is about 23.

Next is Tengen. He's the same age as Kagaya, and we see in Tengen's flashback that Kagaya's scar didn't extend very far into his face. I also think it's safe to say Tengen was a hashira before Giyu, though in Tengen's flashback, we see all three of his wives. I have no clue when he gets each wife.

Giyu is likely next. We know that he joined early and he's about 21. And it was already mentioned earlier that he was hashira before Sanemi.

Sanemi is 21 and the next one to be a hashira among the canon lineup.

Obanai is actually the same age as Giyu and Sanemi. He's older than Sanemi but younger than Giyu. We don't know when he became a hashira though, but it would have to be after Rengoku and before Mitsuri.

Next oldest is Rengoku, who's 20. We know he was hashira after Sanemi, because Sanemi was the one who expressed doubt in Rengoku's ability to pick up the title after his father. It was only after fighting Lower Moon Two that Rengoku promoted.

Mitsuri is 19 and likely the last one to be promoted as hashira. We know that she trained under Rengoku. Honestly, with more experience, she could have become even more dangerous.

Shinobu is 18 and become a hashira at 16. I believe she ranked up right around the time Giyu spared Nezuko, and he was 19 at that point. I haven't read the Tomioka Gaiden, so maybe she was hashira for longer than that.

Last is Muichirou at 14. He became a hashira in two months. He's a speedrunner for sure.

Anyway, for this fic, we got Murata, Makomo, Sanemi, Giyu, and Sabito in the same ballpark, agewise. I mentally consider them to be their generation's version of the Tanjiro squad. Currently heavy with water breathers, which is subject to change.

As a Tsuchinoto, Murata was right in the middle of the demon slayer hierarchy.

Like any hierarchy, the higher one goes, the less people there were. For example, the current hashira consisted of only five individuals.

As someone ranked in the middle, Murata had the widest range of missions. After all, a hashira wouldn't be assigned to kill any random demon, but at the same time, a Mizunoto who just joined wouldn't be assigned to investigate the sighting of a demon moon. At least, they shouldn't be.

That being said, the Demon Slayer Corps had a severe lack of personnel. Not a surprise as most people would not sacrifice their life to do such a thing. Additionally, the organization, in its one thousand year history, never conscripted people.

The middle ranks were perfect to clean up fodder or to fight stronger demons too weak for a hashira to deal with.

As a result, some missions would take less than a night, involving an insignificant demon. It was still important to kill them, but in the grand scheme of things, a hashira could kill dozens or hundreds of them.

On the other hand, some assignments could take weeks. Demons varied wildly, and the methods and tactics they used to hide from demon slayers ranged from pitifully sad to nearly impossible.

Encountering an Upper Moon was one of those nearly impossible things. Meeting one meant certain death. It was why such little information could be found about them. They were really good at killing demon slayers.

After several months of routine missions, Nobunaga delivered a letter about an investigation of a potential Lower Moon sighting.

Since the location was in the Chugoku region and Murata was already there, it would take a couple days to reach the specific town in question. Stopping at the nearby village, he gathered his supplies and made the trek.

-

On his way, he met with a kakushi, who relayed him some basic facts of the mission.

The kakushi were a support entity. They occasionally carried out reconnaissance missions alongside demon slayers, mostly for situational awareness. However, they did not engage with demons themselves because they weren't trained for it. They also cooked, cleaned, guard wisteria houses, protect information, write reports, performed medical aid, and several other things.

Without them, the average demon slayer would've walked in circles before fighting their first demon. They were very important.

"There have been reports of missing demon slayers within this area of the Chugoku region," the kakushi showed Murata a map, pointing specifically at the north.

"The crows have also been killed, indicating that the demon is aware of their role and is trying to mask its existence. We spoke with one of the merchants that travel in and out of the area, and we recorded the conversation," the kakushi handed a piece of paper to Murata.

He stared at it for a few minutes before he finished reading it.

The kakushi cleared her throat, summarizing the conversation. "He said the people were kind and helpful. They hold a devotion to their unnamed leader in the mountain. But beyond that, he noticed nothing out of the ordinary."

Murata stood petrified as he showed the kakushi the engraving on his rank.

Looking at the engraving, she nodded and continued. "As it stands, we only need more information. Do not engage the demon if you believe the chances of surviving are low. Also, do not hesitate to call for reinforcements if you do fight."

"Do I start now, or is there anything else I need to know?"

The kakushi, after thinking for a few moments, answered. "You can start at the end of next week. For now, we can have you in one of the wisteria houses to prepare."

Murata sighed.

-

Murata trained, practicing his sword and breathing forms. He was nearly at the cusp of enlightenment. He had the makings of a new breathing art.

Too bad this current mission might have him dead.

It was too early to despair, yet he could not help but think of the worst case scenario.

A leader in the mountain, surrounded by people that act kind?

Furthermore, reports of missing demon slayers?

Murata had a good idea of the situation, except he couldn't report anything if he hadn't actually done anything. Besides, he could also be wrong.

He prepared his pack, masquerading as a simple traveler. He would not wear his demon slayer uniform in a place like that. His sword remained sheathed and he had the kakushi modify it to appear more like a walking stick.

After mentally and physically equipping himself, he left the wisteria house and made his way towards the town.

-

"Welcome! You look tired. Do you need a place to stay?" A girl approached Murata, trying to tug him towards the inn.

Murata let himself be led and rented a room. Eating downstairs, he absorbed the atmosphere.

The people ate, they drank, and they laughed. They shared stories, gossip, and plans. Nothing that was remotely useful or damning.

Murata went to sleep early. He managed to rest well, but the ache in his body did not leave. The physical manifestations of his anxiety plagued him.

He walked without a plan, allowing his feet to drag him from street to street. Turning a corner, he saw one man standing on a crate, passionately preaching.

People walked by, either busy for the day or sharply avoiding him.

"Eternal paradise awaits for us all! One just has to let go of all the suffering in the world and be absorbed by the enlightenment of our great teacher," he said.

His gaze landed on Murata.

"Young man!" He called out. Murata pretended to play as the confused bystander, and watched as the man closed in on him.

"Do you understand happiness? The idea of freeing yourself from the grief of this world?"

Murata shook his head.

"Feel free to join us. Everyday, more and more followers trek towards the mountain to receive the blessings of our leader. He works tirelessly, happily speaking with each and every person. Man, woman, child. Young or old. Rich or poor. None of these things matter. Only the essence of your heart is his desire!"

"The 'essence of my heart?'" Murata questioned.

The young man laughed, explaining himself. "Yes, your heart. He sees many things, including those who sincerely wish to understand and receive enlightenment. They are the worthy ones. Listen to our wise teacher, and not only can you achieve bliss, but you can become better than you are now."

There was a certain madness in the young man's eyes. He unquestionably believed every word he said, and shared nothing but excitement for it.

It was disturbing to witness and it only served to drive a certain conclusion. But Murata needed more information.

"You said everyday, he speaks with those who seek him?"

The young man nodded happily like a dog. "I can even lead the way now."

"I'd like to meet him," Murata said slowly.

The young man grabbed Murata's hand, eagerly beginning the journey to the mountain.

-

It did take time, but the journey was shorter than Murata expected. He did have to wrangle his hand away from the young worshipper.

He wanted to wash his hand. It felt stained with lunacy.

As they made their way up, Murata gaped at the temple. It was beautifully crafted, appearing old and new at the same time. The property was large, housing several tall buildings and a courtyard capable of housing hundreds of people.

It was truly stunning to look at. It felt like a painting made to life.

Murata perceived the area as a work of art, but it lacked a soul. He did not feel warm or welcomed. It was the opposite. Despite his praise, it was cold and comfortless.

Only a demon would live here and preach about paradise.

Looking ahead, it seemed Murata was not the only person gathered.

The young man smiled. "He's about to come out. There's a lot of new people today," he whispered.

Everyone was gathered in the courtyard, their attention caught by the slowly opening gates.

Two people walked out, preparing a seat.

Then, a tall, pale man stepped out, waving his fans and taking his seat.

Murata gazed at the eyes of the man. The eyes were made up of a fusion of colors, creating a rainbow. They appeared to hold a divine quality.

The eyes had no inscription written on them. It didn't mean much, because the stronger demon moons could hide their rank.

The man made eye contact with Murata, stopping for a moment before turning his gaze elsewhere in the crowd.

He suddenly laughed. It was light, yet effortlessly carried itself across the courtyard.

At first, the people looked around each other. Seeing nothing happen, some of them began to laugh as well. More and more people laughed, until everyone began laughing together.

Murata joined in only to blend with the crowd.

As the noise died down, he spoke.

"What a wonderful night. My name is not important, but if you wish to know, I am Douma. I am the leader of Eternal Paradise," Douma said.

He took out his fans again and waved them around. Small particles of ice circulated from them, making Douma appear ethereal. The people remained awed by his movements.

"The world is full of suffering. That is what the great monks and buddhas say. What can we do with such wisdom?"

The people muttered amongst one another.

"My answer is paradise. Let go of suffering, let go of the hardships of life, and be enlightened with eternal paradise. That is the foundation of my teachings. I am here to burden all sorrows and absorb all adversities as the leader of Eternal Paradise. Tonight, I merely told you what I am here to do. Tomorrow, I will tell you what you have to do."

Leaving the crowd behind, Douma retreated into the temple.

Murata was one of the first people to leave, his entire body trembling.

Even when Douma was not fighting, even when he remained calm and still, his demonic presence was unmistakable.

It took Murata significant effort to not run away in fear.

Making his way towards the inn and into his room, he collapsed on the floor.