The scene was a perfect canvas of misdirection.
From his vantage point high in the twisted branches of an ancient pine, Hitoku watched with his central eye, its yellow pupil narrowed to a slit.
Below, the two Demon Slayers moved through the carnage he had meticulously arranged. The burnt-out husks of the wagons still smoldered faintly, a pyre for the worthless wisteria cargo. Around them, arranged not as they fell but as a storyteller would place them, were the desiccated corpses of the guards and drivers. Gutsu's massive, dissolving body was the centerpiece, its terrible wounds and the clear evidence of its feeding telling a simple, brutal story.
A territorial demon ambushed a convoy, fed gluttonously, and killed by a roaming demon slayer, his plan whispered
The slayers—a seasoned Tsuchinoe and a younger Kanoe—were buying it. He could see it in their posture, hear it in their low, analytical voices. They spoke of a "local demon," of "territorial disputes", piecing together the false narrative he had painted with blood and ash. A smile touched his bandaged lips.
Of course, they would not bind it for long. In the demon slayer corps, everything was organised. Even a roaming demon slayer would have to report his achievement if he killed a demon in the wild. There were not many crow breathing style users too. If anything, they might mistake it for Genji's achievement, and give him a few more days to flee the region.
His Path of the Perceiving Eye traced their movements, predicting their steps as they measured Gutsu's footprints, examined the brutal kills. They were competent, but they were reading the story he had written for them.
Good. Let them report a closed case. A demon dead, a convoy lost. No need to look for a cunning, blade-wielding cyclop.
His eye flickered, its analytic pressure shifting focus. There was another pattern here, one the slayers had missed. A slight shimmer in the dappled moonlight against a mossy rock. It wasn't a slayer. The scent was all wrong.
'Ah. A spectator'
He remained perfectly still, his breathing halted. Let the slayers finish their work. Let them leave.
They melted into the forest, their presence fading. Silence, deeper than before, reclaimed the pass.
Hitoku waited another ten minutes, then dropped from the pine with the soft rustle of his bandages. He landed silently, his central eye immediately locking onto the mossy rock.
"You may stop pretending to be part of the scenery", he stated, his voice flat, "They are gone."
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the rock moved. Scales the exact color and texture of lichen-covered stone shifted, unfolded, and a figure peeled itself from the ground. It was smaller than a man. Its skin was covered in overlapping, chameleonic scales, and its face was elongated, with slitted yellow eyes and a wide mouth.
A long, whip-like tail coiled nervously behind it. It radiated a sense of profound, skittering weakness.
[Scale – Lv. 19 Demon (Mizunoe Equivalent)]
"A-Apologies, great one", the demon hissed, its voice a dry whisper.
It did not meet Hitoku's central gaze, its eyes darting to the ground, to the ashes, anywhere but directly at him.
"I did not mean to intrude on your... your hunt."
Hitoku said nothing, his eye absorbing every detail. The demon's Blood Art was obvious: supreme camouflage, perhaps tied to emotional control or stillness. Its physical stats were abysmal. Its vitality? Laughable.
But its potential... it had watched the slayers for an hour without being detected. It had watched him without triggering his awareness until his Eye actively searched for anomalies.
"You watched the whole thing," Hitoku said. It wasn't a question.
"I... I did. From before the humans came. I saw you arrange the feast. I saw you fight Gutsu. Wielding demon slayer breathing techniques...", Scale's voice held a tremor, not just of fear, but of awe, "This is the first time I see a demon like you"
"And what do you want, little lizard?" Hitoku's tone was dismissive, but his mind was racing.
A weak, utterly non-threatening subordinate. One that could hide, could scout, could be an extra set of eyes. Though the convoy turned to be void from treasures, the wisteria flowers were still a valuable loot. Against other demons, for one, but also for trading with humans.
The drivers had also given a piece of important information. They spoke of a corps outpost in Kakunodate, in the east. To continue growing in peace, he just needed to go to the west.
Now, there might be a third loot from this ambush.
Scale.
Scale flinched at the name but pressed on, desperation cutting through its fear. It prostrated itself, forehead touching the charred earth.
"I want to serve! Please! The forests are full of brutes like Gutsu, and the slayers grow more numerous. Alone, I will be food or ash. But you... you are strong. I can listen. I can go places unseen. All I ask is protection from you"
Hitoku was silent for a long moment, the only sound the crackle of dying embers. A group attracted attention. Muzan might notice a gathering. Hashira might investigate patterns. But a group also provided buffers, resources, and deniability. A lone, powerful demon was a target. A master with unseen agents was a phantom
"Stand," Hitoku commanded.
Scale scrambled to its feet, trembling.
"Your first task," Hitoku said, turning his gaze eastward. "The humans spoke of a slayer outpost in Kakunodate. You will go there, not to fight, but to watch. Learn its size, its patrol patterns, the strength of the slayers who come and go. Do not be seen. Do not be sensed. Return to me in seven nights at the ruined shrine north of the abandoned river ford. Do you understand?"
"I understand perfectly, master!", Scale bobbed its head, "I will be a shadow!"
"Go. Now"
He had gained a powerful ally.
There was a possibility that he would run away. But the fact that he remained after seeing his strength proved that he was curious.
Learning patterns of a slayer outpost...Their numbers, their strength...It could be useful in many ways. He would avoid them. And once he grew strong enough. He would challenge them.