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

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

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.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

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?

 

[MorbiIIionaire]

Won't this mean that Tanjiro won't learn to cut properly now that his ghost senpai's aren't... well ghosts?

 

[SmallMediumAtLarge]

Won't this mean that Tanjiro won't learn to cut properly now that his ghost senpai's aren't... well ghosts?

Click to shrink...

Meh, he's still got Sabito. Besides, having the Hand Demon gone might mean he'll have non-ghost senpais to teach him, or a mentor that doesn't sabotage him due to considering himself a failure.

 

[TheDanny]

Won't this mean that Tanjiro won't learn to cut properly now that his ghost senpai's aren't... well ghosts?

Click to shrink...

Now he has actually alive former students to help him, instead of just relying on his advanced schizophrenia.

Murata took out the grounded wisteria from his pocket and threw it at the demon as he wearily ran towards them.

"That burns!"

Click to shrink...

Spoiler

The most average looking person she's ever seen saved her life.

Click to shrink...

Welp, glad she actually gets to grow up this time around.

Spoiler