The sky hadn't lightened yet.
Darkness still clung to the edges of the rooftops, and a thin fog curled around the buildings like smoke. My breath came in short, cold bursts as I followed the swordsman through narrow back alleys. His steps were uneven. He limped badly, pressing a hand to his bleeding side.
I stayed close but didn't speak.
His partner was unconscious, slung over my shoulder like a sack of grain. The man's blood had soaked through my uniform. Still warm.
We turned a final corner and stopped in front of a house nearly swallowed by ivy. It looked abandoned, the windows shuttered, the wood old and weather-worn. But the swordsman raised his hand and knocked—three short taps, one long.
A pause.
Then the door creaked open.
An old woman stood in the frame, holding a lantern. Her back was slightly bent, her face worn by time, but her eyes were sharp and steady. She took one look at the injured man beside me, nodded, and stepped aside.
"Bring him in. Lay him on the mat, carefully."
Her voice was quiet but firm.
Inside, the house was warm. It smelled of dried herbs, incense, and something sharp—alcohol, maybe. Baskets of roots and flowers lined the walls. Glass jars filled with strange powders. A bundle of fresh mint hung by the window.
I lowered the unconscious man onto a futon. He groaned faintly, his face pale.
The old woman knelt beside him, already unwrapping his bloody haori. "You're lucky. A little deeper and that thing would've torn out your liver."
The other swordsman—Haruto, I would later learn—collapsed onto a stool, his hand shaking. "He shielded me," he said, quietly. "I didn't see it in time."
I stood near the doorway, unsure what to do. My sword still hung at my side, stained with soot and blood.
The woman worked fast. Cleaning wounds. Stitching flesh. Her hands never trembled.
Haruto watched her in silence, then turned his head toward me. "You didn't have to help," he said.
"I know," I said.
He gave a tired smile. "You would've been smart to run."
I didn't answer.
When the worst of the bleeding stopped and the unconscious swordsman began to breathe more steadily, the old woman stepped back.
"He'll live," she said, brushing off her hands. "But no fighting for at least a month."
Haruto let out a breath and leaned his head against the wall. "Thank you."
She waved him off. "Just don't bring another half-dead boy through my door again. I'm not as young as I used to be."
I sat down slowly, legs heavy, exhaustion finally catching up.
"I'm Ryo Tsukihara," I said quietly.
Haruto looked at me. He nodded. "Haruto Shiba. And that's Takeru."
I glanced at the man resting on the futon. He was older than us. Strong frame. Calloused hands. I could tell he'd been fighting for a long time.
"Who was that… thing?" I asked.
Haruto's face darkened. "It was a demon."
The word hung in the air like a blade.
I blinked. "A… demon?"
"Not like the stories you hear as a child," Haruto said. "They're real. They eat humans. Hide in the shadows. Ordinary people never see them and never live long enough to understand what happened."
My hands curled into fists. "My family. They were attacked in a farmhouse three nights ago. Torn apart. We were just passing through. I didn't know..."
He looked at me quietly.
"I was training outside," I continued. "They died while I wasn't there."
Haruto closed his eyes. "Then you've already met them."
I nodded slowly. "And I couldn't even wound it. My blade passed through like it was cutting smoke."
"Because it was," he said.
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a sheathed sword. He set it down between us. The scabbard was black, wrapped in dull cloth. The blade inside hummed faintly.
"This is a Nichirin blade," he said. "Forged from a special ore that has absorbed sunlight for generations. That's why it can kill demons."
I remembered the warmth I felt earlier when I used Takeru's blade.
"You said demons heal fast."
Haruto nodded. "Unless you cut off their heads with this, or burn them in sunlight, they won't die. Wounds seal almost instantly. Even fire barely slows them."
I stared at the sword.
"I need to learn to use one."
"You already did," he said. "Tonight. You held your ground. That thing was old. Smart. And fast."
"But not fast enough," I murmured.
Haruto gave a tired smile. "No. Not for you."
He stood, slowly, stretching out his bruised body.
"There's an organization. We're part of it. The Demon Slayer Corps. It's old, older than most cities. Secret. Unseen. We handle what the world cannot."
"Where do I join?" I asked.
He watched me carefully. "It's not easy. Training takes years. You'll bleed. You might die before ever killing a demon. And once you start… there's no going back."
I looked him in the eyes. "I have nothing to go back to."
He didn't argue.
From his coat, he pulled out a small piece of paper. A name. A location. A symbol of two crossing blades.
"Find this man," he said. "His name is Junjiro. He trains potential Slayers in the southern mountains. You'll have to make the journey alone."
I took the paper and held it tightly.
Then, after a moment's hesitation, I said, "That blade. The one I used tonight. May I... keep it?"
Haruto looked toward Takeru.
"That sword was his. But if he wakes up and agrees, it's yours. I doubt he'll say no. He saw the way you moved."
I nodded. "I'll ask him properly when he's well."
Haruto walked to the window and pushed it open. Cold morning wind swept into the room.
"Stay the night," he said. "You'll need the rest."
I couldn't sleep.
I sat on the roof of the house, legs crossed, arms resting on my knees. Below, the town was quiet. Only a few lanterns remained lit in the streets, and even the birds were silent.
I held the paper Haruto gave me and looked up at the stars.
Junjiro.
I didn't know him. I didn't know what he would teach me or how long it would take. But I knew I couldn't stop now.
There was something inside me—grief, yes. But something else.
Resolve.
The blade I had used tonight had answered my call. It had chosen me.
And I would honor that choice.
I whispered to the wind:
"I'll learn. No matter what it takes."
By dawn, I was packed.
Haruto waited in the alley beside the house. He handed me a small pouch—dried food, bandages, coins.
"I don't have much to offer," he said. "But this will help you get to the base of the mountains."
Takeru was still asleep inside, his chest rising and falling steadily.
I looked at the blade now strapped to my waist. The one I had used to kill the demon.
"Tell him thank you," I said.
Haruto nodded. "I will."
Then he gave me one last look. "Survive, Ryo. Most don't."
I gave a short bow. "I will."
Then I turned and walked toward the morning light.
Toward the mountains.
To Be Continued…