His pale palm bathed in sunlight, every line on his skin clearly illuminated.
Unlike the past, when he relied on the Blood Demon Art: Imitation Rashomon to stand in the sun, Shinichi could now fully feel the warm rays falling on his palm and face, bringing pure warmth and comfort.
How long had it been since he'd experienced this?
There was no burning pain, no threat of turning to ashes.
This further convinced Shinichi that the demon blood within him seemed to have truly vanished—or perhaps been temporarily sealed by some force.
Regardless of the reason, for now, Shinichi was thoroughly enjoying this sensation of basking in sunlight, or rather, the feeling of being human once more.
Not far from Shinichi, on an open patch of ground, a tattered but carefully mended uniform hung from a rope, swaying in the wind.
Though its original Demon Slayer Corps design was barely recognizable, every time Shinichi saw it, his heart involuntarily sank.
"Shinichi-nii!"
A voice as clear as a bell shattered the morning's tranquility, snapping Shinichi out of his silence.
Turning around, Shinichi saw Abe Tsukiyomi carrying a wooden basin with a few freshly washed clothes, walking back from the small stream behind the house.
The sunlight danced on her raven-black hair and her breathtakingly beautiful face.
Her pure eyes curved into crescents and her radiant smile seemed capable of dispelling all shadows.
"Tsukiyomi...-san," Shinichi stood up, slightly flustered.
Over the past few days, not knowing why the demon blood in him had vanished, his injuries had healed extremely slowly.
It was only thanks to the care of the elderly man and the young girl living in this nameless valley—relying on herbal medicine and tonics—that Shinichi had finally regained most of his mobility yesterday.
Thus, Shinichi felt deeply grateful toward the old man, Abe Nobumasa and the girl, Abe Tsukiyomi.
Moreover, there was something almost magical about Abe Tsukiyomi.
Her purity and kindness seemed to cleanse the soul, making Shinichi involuntarily set aside his heavy memories of slaughter and guilt whenever he faced her—before losing his sanity during the battle in the red-light district, Shinichi clearly remembered his claws piercing through the chests of one human police officer after another.
The terrified and despairing faces of those humans in their final moments were seared into Shinichi's mind like an inescapable nightmare.
Uncontrollable flashbacks often jolted him awake from bad dreams, making him question himself from the depths of his heart—was there any difference left between him and those demons?
"Shinichi-nii, you don't look too happy. Did Grandpa start rambling about those incomprehensible philosophies again?" Abe Tsukiyomi set the basin down near the clothesline, her movements light and fluid, harmonizing with the rhythm of nature.
Her slender brows arched slightly with playful mischief.
"Don't mind Grandpa, Shinichi-nii. He just loves spouting those confusing grand theories. Come help me hang the laundry instead! The sunlight is perfect today!"
Her tone was warm and familiar, as if Shinichi weren't a stranger of unknown origins but a long-time family member.
Faced with such an attitude, even in his low spirits, Shinichi couldn't find a reason to refuse.
Watching the girl's bright smile, he sighed almost imperceptibly before stepping forward to help her hang the clothes.
However, as he clumsily unfolded the damp garments and haphazardly draped them over the bamboo pole, his movements were awkward and sluggish—even a little comically strange.
But this couldn't be blamed on Shinichi.
After all, such chores were utterly foreign to the Forest Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps.
During his years of begging as a child, he'd barely owned enough clothes to worry about washing them.
Later, after joining the Corps, the Kakushi's logistical support had been so efficient that Shinichi never needed to lift a finger.
And after becoming a Hashira? It was even less of a concern—because in the Butterfly Mansion, a certain gentle and lively girl had always taken care of everything for him.
The fleeting image of that lavender-haired figure crossed his mind, making his already clumsy hands fumble even more carelessly with the laundry.
Seeing Shinichi hanging the freshly washed clothes in such a messy manner, Abe Tsukiyomi didn't get annoyed.
Instead, she pressed her lips together in amusement before patiently teaching him how to shake out the clothes to avoid wrinkles and how to tie the knots properly so the fabric could dry smoothly.
That childlike tone was starting to make Shinichi's expression falter.
"Shinichi-nii, your hands... they used to hold a sword, didn't they?" Tsukiyomi suddenly asked softly, her eyes gazing clearly at Shinichi's hands as he tied a knot.
Shinichi paused mid-motion and turned his head in surprise.
"How... how could you tell?"
Unlike the thick calluses formed from years of sword grip among other Demon Slayers, Shinichi's palms remained pale and slender due to his demonic constitution.
By appearance alone, one might believe they were pianist's hands rather than a swordsman's.
Looking at the astonished Shinichi, Tsukiyomi continued with barely detectable sympathy.
"It must have been very hard, wasn't it? Grandpa says swords are weapons of violence, and those who wield them carry heavy hearts. But..." She hesitated, picking up the last piece of clothing and carefully smoothing it out.
"But Shinichi-nii eyes now seem much calmer than when you first woke up that day. Like... the little stream behind our house when the wind stops ruffling its surface—gradually settling until it can reflect the blue sky and white clouds again."
"This..." Shinichi was at a loss for words.
What was this? Was he being comforted by a little girl?
Or had he fallen so low that even a young girl could see through him?
"Thank you, Tsukiyomi-san and Abe-san as well. I'm deeply grateful for your care during this time. But now I must bid you farewell, for there are still very important matters awaiting me."
"Eh? Shinichi-nii, you're leaving already? But Grandpa said your body hasn't fully recovered yet."
By the thatched hut's entrance, Abe Nobumasa quietly observed the scene, his clay pipe in hand.
His deep eyes flickered between his granddaughter and Shinichi, revealing an inscrutable complexity.
'A thousand-year fate, every sip and peck—is it not all heaven's will? Brother, our choices ultimately lead to the same destination.'
.....
The afternoon sun shone brightly yet not harshly, its gentle rays filtering through the lush valley foliage to spill across the simple thatched hut.
Shinichi sat on a smooth bluestone behind the house, eyes closed, breathing deeply and slowly.
The crisp air carried the fresh mingled scents of earth, plants, and nature itself.
With each inhalation, it felt as though countless tiny, vibrant particles flooded his lungs, washing away the weariness and wounds buried deep in his soul.
Without the enhancement of demon blood, Shinichi found his understanding of Forest Breathing had paradoxically deepened.
He could perceive more now—not just the life force flowing through the air.
The babbling brook, the rustling leaves in the wind, the faint chirping of insects in the grass...
These sounds converged in Shinichi's heart, painting a vibrant tapestry of life.
This sense of resonance with all things transported Shinichi into a peculiar state.
At this moment, Forest Breathing no longer seemed merely a powerful swordsmanship technique for slaying demons, but rather a medium for communicating with life itself.
Indeed, Shinichi's mastery of the Breathing Technique was undergoing a subtle, imperceptible transformation—evolving toward something more refined, more fundamental.
"It's quite marvelous, isn't it?"
The hunched figure of Abe Nobumasa had somehow appeared by the stream, sitting on another rock not far from Shinichi, holding an unlit pipe.
"Only by stripping away external influences can one truly see the essence of power. Like this stream—only when calm and undisturbed can it clearly reflect all things."
Shinichi opened his eyes and looked at the old man.
"Abe-san, are you... guiding me?"
Abe Nobumasa smiled faintly, taking a puff from his unlit pipe and exhaling nonexistent smoke.
"Guiding? Hardly. I simply thought that someone who survived such violent backlash and has begun earnestly listening to the voice of life is worth a second glance. Your path, after all, is yours to walk."
Shh!
Abe's words sent a sudden chill through Shinichi's heart!
He had long suspected this old man was no ordinary figure—his demon blood wouldn't have vanished without reason.
Abe's words confirmed it—everything was just as Shinichi had surmised.
-----------------------------
Read 40 chapters ahead and support me on patreon.
patreon (.)com/Newbietranslator