The tension in the forest clearing lingered long after the last breath of battle had faded.
The Slayer sat unmoving, cloaked in wolf hide, blood crusting the edges of his thorned armor. His presence was gravity — heavy, suffocating. The air around him seemed darker, even as daylight crept through the trees.
The Corps members approached slowly.
"Sir… are you a demon slayer?" one asked.
Silence.
Another tried, more cautiously, "You saved lives. We thank you. But we need to know who you are… what you are."
Still, the Slayer did not move, his gaze scanning the forest edge, calculating. Watching.
The eldest among them finally spoke with firmness, "There's a trial going on at the headquarters. The Hashiras are judging a case. If you want answers, or if you're seeking purpose… come with us."
His head turned slowly toward them.
A flicker of awareness. No words.
Then, he stood.
The ground shivered beneath the weight of his boots.
Without a sound, he began walking.
The journey to the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters was uneventful, yet unnerving. None dared walk beside him. The wolf-hide cape moved with each thunderous step, the Shield Saw resting on his back, stained and silent. Even the birds in the trees seemed to fall mute in his presence.
As they neared the headquarters gates, the Corps members whispered hurriedly:
"The trial… it's for Tanjiro Kamado. His sister, Nezuko—she's a demon. He's protecting her. The Hashiras are... divided."
"Some want to kill her. Others think she can be spared."
"It's… tense. No one is allowed to interfere. Not even us."
The Slayer said nothing, his towering frame casting long shadows against the white stone walls of the estate.
They led him through a side route, climbing toward a hill overlooking the central courtyard — the site of the trial.
From their vantage, the scene below unfolded like a brutal dance of tradition and fury.
The Hashira stood in a circle — pillars of raw presence.
Tanjiro was on his knees, arms outstretched in front of his sister's box, shouting:
"She hasn't hurt anyone! She fights it every day!"
A slap rang out as Sanemi Shinazugawa dragged a blade across his arm and let the blood drip in front of Nezuko's face.
"She's a demon. No demon can resist human blood," he growled.
Nezuko trembled within the box… but didn't move.
The Corps members beside the Slayer whispered names: "That's Tomioka Giyu — the Water Hashira. He's the one who spared Nezuko originally."
"That one is Rengoku. The Flame Hashira. He seems uncertain."
"And Shinazugawa… he's not going to bend."
The Slayer watched in silence, the wind fluttering his cape, eyes locked onto the scene below.
Not on Tanjiro.
Not on the others.
But on Nezuko.
A demon resisting her nature.
It was foreign to him.
Demons were things to destroy. There was no hesitation in his world. No trials. No chances.
And yet, here she was.
Struggling.
Fighting.
Choosing.
He said nothing.
But he watched.