Chapter 71 – The Twelve Kizuki
Yushiro retreated to Tamayo's side, glaring at Yukishiro with undisguised anger. His lips curled back as if he still wanted to spit curses, but Tamayo's gentle hand on his sleeve kept him silent.
Yukishiro kept his Nichirin blade angled, wary eyes fixed on the pair before him. Tamayo's smile was calm and soft, but in the end… a demon was still a demon.
Tamayo handed the vial of collected blood to Yushiro, who carefully tucked it away as though handling something sacred.
Then she looked back at the two slayers.
"Are you from the Demon Slayer Corps?" she asked, voice mild, almost conversational. Of course she already knew the answer. Still, after the earlier clash, some words were needed to break the suffocating silence.
Mitsune turned her head slightly, stealing a glance at Yukishiro. His face betrayed nothing, his eyes like cold steel fixed on the demons. Seeing that he did not speak, she held her tongue as well.
When neither responded, Tamayo didn't falter. She simply inclined her head with a serene smile. "In that case, we will not disturb you further."
With a graceful nod, she turned as if to leave.
"Wait." Yukishiro's voice cut through the hall, sharp as the edge of his blade.
Tamayo paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "Yes, sir? Is there something you wish of us? Or…" her tone didn't change, yet the question carried weight, "…do you mean to fulfill your duty as a Demon Slayer and cut us down?"
The question was heavy, but the way she spoke it sounded almost light.
Yukishiro blinked once, his expression unreadable. "I have a few questions."
Before Tamayo could answer, Yushiro snapped, his voice dripping with contempt. "Questions? After the stunt you pulled, you think you deserve answers? You rude bastard. Master Tamayo, we shouldn't waste our time with this lunatic. Let's leave before he—"
"Yushiro." Tamayo's gentle reprimand cut him short. "You mustn't slander this gentleman. Consider the situation—when you moved to draw blood, he may have mistaken your actions as an attack on the girl. His response was only natural."
Mitsune's heart leapt, her face warming despite herself. She dared to steal another glance at Yukishiro. "So… he didn't abandon me. He only misunderstood. He still… cares." Her lips pressed together as she quickly looked away, afraid he might notice her trembling.
Yukishiro, on the other hand, was biting back the urge to correct Tamayo. No. You're wrong. I wasn't protecting her—I wanted leverage, a way to even the odds. Nothing more. But saying so aloud would only complicate things.
Better to let the misunderstanding pass.
After Tamayo's words, Yushiro shot Yukishiro one last venomous glare but grudgingly fell silent.
Tamayo smoothed the tension with her voice once more. "If you have questions, let us not discuss them half-dressed in the steam of a bathhouse. There's time tonight. Let's move into the hall and speak properly."
Only then did Mitsune realize, with a jolt of horror, that she was still in nothing more than her wet bellyband and trunks. She flushed scarlet, hugging her chest and crouching low to hide herself.
Yukishiro, shirtless as ever, showed no hint of concern.
They left the bathing hall in silence, Mitsune trailing behind in embarrassment, until each had dressed. At last, they gathered in the rest area, the lamps casting warm light across wooden floors.
Tamayo spoke first. "My name is Tamayo. This is Yushiro."
Her soft gaze rested on the pair. "May I ask your names?"
Mitsune rose slightly and bowed. "Kanroji Mitsune. And… this is Yukishiro." She folded her hands, contrite. "Miss Tamayo, Mr. Yushiro—I deeply apologize for earlier. We mistook your intentions."
"You need not apologize," Tamayo assured her.
"You do need to apologize," Yushiro muttered, still glaring daggers at Yukishiro.
Yukishiro met the glare head-on, silent, unblinking.
Their standoff stretched like a taut string until Tamayo interjected.
"Enough, Yushiro. You forget—under different circumstances, he might have struck you down. Be grateful he showed restraint."
Yushiro clenched his jaw, ready to argue, but the stern look Tamayo shot him silenced him instantly.
Tamayo's attention turned back to Yukishiro. "What questions do you wish to ask?"
Yukishiro's hand tightened into a fist on his knee. For a long moment he said nothing, as if the words themselves were too heavy.
At last, with effort, he spoke.
"I want to ask you about two people." His voice caught slightly. He couldn't bring himself to call them demons. Not his sister. Never her. "One is called Imiya Kishi. The other… is Banshiyo."
Mitsune's breath hitched. Banshiyo? She had never heard the name before, but something in the way he said it—strained, trembling—made her heart tighten.
They shared the same surname. Could this Banshiyo… be his sister?
Her chest grew tight. Did she become a demon? The thought alone chilled her blood. She shook her head fiercely.
"No… no, that can't be. But… his face…" She dared another glance at him. His pale expression, that mix of fear and pain—it seemed to confirm her fears.
Tamayo's brow furrowed delicately. "Why do you ask about them? What is your relation?"
Yukishiro's nails dug into his palm. He forced the words out like dragging blades across stone. "A few months ago, I was still living deep in the snowy mountains. One day… Imiya Kishi returned. He slaughtered the entire village." His jaw tightened, voice trembling with restrained fury. "My sister… offered herself in exchange for my life. At that time, I didn't even know what a demon was. But later, when I joined the Demon Slayer Corps… I knew. Imiya Kishi was no human. He was a demon. Just like you."
Mitsune's eyes widened. The puzzle pieces fell into place all at once. His scars. His coldness. His relentless pursuit of strength. They were the remnants of that single night of blood.
He doesn't smile because the pain never left him. Every breath he takes costs him everything he has left.
Tamayo's expression turned sorrowful. Another tragedy born of Muzan's cruelty. Another life carved hollow by the Demon King's endless hunger.
"I am sorry," she said softly, shaking her head. "I have not heard of those names. And we are not alike to them."
Yukishiro's shoulders sagged slightly, though his eyes remained hard. "Not alike, perhaps. But demons nonetheless."
Tamayo folded her hands in her lap. "Then you must know the name Kibutsuji Muzan."
"The Demon King," Yukishiro murmured, voice filled with quiet venom. "The source of all evil. The ancestor of every demon."
Tamayo nodded. "Yes. I was once bound to him. One of his servants."
Both Yukishiro and Mitsune stiffened at her words.
"Do not be alarmed." Tamayo's smile was sad. "Four hundred years ago, Muzan was gravely wounded by a great swordsman. In that moment of weakness, I broke free of his control and escaped. Since then I have hidden, wandering, seeking always a way to end him. That is why I gather demon blood now—to find a medicine, something that might inhibit their regenerative power. One day, it may be enough to kill him."
Yukishiro and Mitsune exchanged stunned glances. Four hundred years. To think the woman before them had lived so long, bearing such a burden.
Tamayo's gaze hardened. "Muzan has spent centuries seeking the Blue Spider Lily. And to serve his cause, he created twelve demons of exceptional power—his Twelve Kizuki. If Imiya Kishi became one of them, then you will not find him by his human name. To them, abandoning it is part of their rebirth. He will have taken a new name… as one of Muzan's chosen."
The words struck Yukishiro like ice. His sister's sacrifice, his unanswered questions—they all pointed now to the Twelve Kizuki.
And that meant his path was clear.
...
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