Three days after his demonstration, Sasuke received a sword.
A real one.
Forged from a Nichirin ore mined under sunlight for decades. Its hilt was black, simple, and cold to the touch. When he first gripped it, the blade shimmered briefly—then turned a deep moonlit violet, dark as a starless night.
It felt right.
It felt like home.
The next morning, he was summoned for his first field assignment.
He was given two partners.
The first was a newly-ranked Demon Slayer named Renjiro—barely older than 16, hair like a burning torch, temper to match. His Breathing Style was Flame Breathing, Fifth Form specialization, though it lacked refinement.
The second was a silent veteran called Daiki. He wore an eyepatch, a scar over his throat, and used Wind Breathing. He never smiled.
"Your mission," the crow cawed as it landed nearby, "is to investigate disappearances in the abandoned village of Hozuki. Four disappearances in two nights. Suspected Upper Rank activity. Proceed with caution."
Renjiro's eyes lit up. "Finally! A real mission!"
Daiki grunted. "This isn't a game."
Sasuke said nothing. He adjusted his sword and followed.
Hozuki Village was soaked in fog.
Once bustling, it now lay in ruins—homes hollow, windows broken, the earth cracked from beneath. It was as if the ground itself had rejected the place.
Renjiro searched a barn. Daiki checked the perimeter.
Sasuke stood still.
The fog rolled unnaturally. His breathing slowed.
There's something watching us.
Then came the sound.
Drip… drip… drip…
A trail of black liquid oozed down the side of a nearby shrine.
Sasuke stepped forward and touched it.
It hissed.
His fingers trembled slightly—not from fear, but recognition.
This… isn't blood. It's something worse.
They found the first body at nightfall.
Or rather—what was left of it.
It was pinned to the shrine's altar, bones twisted into the shape of a crescent moon. No skin. No blood. Just pale white and black ink slashes across the chest.
Renjiro gagged. "What kind of demon does this?"
"A cruel one," Daiki said. "Get ready. It's close."
They turned—and the fog moved.
No—it breathed.
A figure emerged. Floating, eyeless, with a mask shaped like a half-moon. Its arms were blades. Its mouth stretched too wide.
Upper Moon Six.
"Ahhh… how lucky. Three morsels in one place."
Renjiro charged, yelling Flame Breathing techniques.
The demon vanished.
Too fast.
Daiki moved to intercept—but was slashed across the chest in an instant.
Sasuke's eyes narrowed.
He stepped forward calmly, sword drawn, and whispered:
Shadow Moon Breathing: First Form – Phantom Slash.
The blade shimmered. The air split.
A phantom arc followed his swing—and grazed the demon's side.
The creature screeched. "Oh? That's new."
It lunged.
Sasuke sidestepped, parried, but barely kept pace. This one was fast—faster than any demon he'd faced so far. He could track it, but barely.
Renjiro rejoined the fight, flames trailing his blade, but was immediately thrown into a tree with a sickening crunch.
Daiki was on his knees, bleeding out.
Sasuke stood alone.
"Such a strange scent on you," the demon hissed. "You're not like the others. You're… angry."
Sasuke gritted his teeth.
Images of Itachi… Naruto… Konoha… the blood of war… rose in his mind.
He screamed—and suddenly, his veins glowed.
A mark burned across the left side of his face—jagged like shattered glass, glowing midnight violet.
The demon paused. "A Slayer Mark?"
Sasuke stepped forward.
His breath was calm—but his heartbeat raged like a thunderclap.
Shadow Moon Breathing: Fifth Form – Moonblind Cut.
He closed his eyes.
And attacked.
The demon screeched, blinded by an invisible arc of steel and rage. Its left arm was cleaved clean off.
"You bastard!" it roared.
Sasuke exhaled and opened his eyes.
Cold.
Focused.
"You're not even worth remembering."
He didn't kill it—yet.
It fled, injured, disappearing into the fog.
Renjiro groaned, crawling upright. "What… what was that? Your face…"
Daiki coughed blood. "A Slayer Mark. That fast… no training…"
Sasuke turned to the shrine, watching the ash from the fight drift into the sky.
He touched his face. The mark burned—but didn't fade.
And deep inside him, a whisper began:
You are no longer a shinobi. You are a blade beneath the moon.