"Understood."
Ryosuke gently stroked the hummingbird's head.
Within the Demon Slayer Corps, ranks were divided from highest to lowest as: Kinoe, Kinoto, Hinoe, Hinoto, Tsuchinoe, Tsuchinoto, Kanoe, Kanoto, Mizunoe, Mizunoto.
Mizunoto was the very bottom—the rank given to newly inducted swordsmen.
Above Kinoe stood the Hashira.
For an ordinary person, becoming a Hashira required at least five years—
either by slaying fifty demons, or killing one of the Twelve Kizuki.
With less than a year of lifespan remaining, Ryosuke didn't hesitate. He went straight inside.
He changed into his Corps uniform and haori, packed lightly, and stepped out again.
Jigoro, Shota, and Rika came to see him off.
Rika reached into her robes and pulled out a small amulet sewn from indigo cloth.
The stitches were clumsy and uneven, forming a crooked character: "An"—peace.
Without giving him a chance to refuse, she stuffed it into Ryosuke's hand, her face flushed red.
"Big Brother Ryosuke, take this. I made it myself. Grandpa said it'll keep you safe."
Ryosuke smiled and rubbed her head gently.
"Thank you, Rika."
Shota clicked his tongue, feeling deeply unbalanced.
Ryosuke ignored him. After bidding Jigoro farewell, he turned to leave.
Shota couldn't help shouting after him.
Pointing at the sword on Ryosuke's waist, his voice carried that uniquely awkward teenage edge.
"You… going alone… that weird sword of yours—will it really be okay?"
The moment the words left his mouth, even he felt how harsh they sounded.
But pride and competitiveness forced him to keep going.
"Don't go dying out there! Don't embarrass Grandpa!"
Thunk!
Jigoro's cane came down hard on Shota's head.
"You brat! Watch your mouth!"
Shota clutched his head and stumbled back.
Jigoro looked at Ryosuke, his tone softening.
"Come back safely."
Ryosuke bowed deeply, then turned and left.
"Big Brother Ryosuke! Be careful!" Rika shouted.
Ryosuke didn't turn back. He raised his right hand and waved.
The hummingbird flew through the night sky, guiding his path.
After traveling for half a day, Ryosuke's failing liver began to protest again—dull pain gnawing at his strength.
"Damn it… this useless body…"
He clenched his teeth, leaning against a tree as he caught his breath.
The hummingbird landed on his shoulder, chirping softly.
"I'm fine. Not dead yet."
Ryosuke wiped his sweat, then called out in his mind, "Hey, system. Get out here."
[Ding-dong~ Dear host, how may I assist you~]
"Cut the nonsense," Ryosuke said, drawing a deep breath.
"The truth—how many years of lifespan to fix my liver completely?"
[Not much at all~ Just ten years~]
"Ten years?!"
Ryosuke's voice shot up. "Say that again, you bastard?!"
[Yes~ dear host. Ten years of lifespan will fully cure your condition and grant you a brand-new, healthy, vibrant liver~]
"Ten years… heh… ten years!"
A surge of rage shot straight to Ryosuke's head. His lungs felt like they were about to explode.
"I nearly killed myself pushing past my limits, burned everything I had, and barely managed to kill a Hand Demon just to earn one year—and you open your mouth and ask for ten?! I still need lifespan to level skills!"
"What do you take me for—some beast of burden?! You think demons just grow in fields like leeks, ready to harvest whenever I want?!"
[Host, please don't get upset~ High investment leads to high returns~]
[Think about it—once your body is healthy, you'll unleash Thunder Breathing's full potential, slay stronger demons, and earn lifespan in abundance~]
The system coaxed smoothly.
"Go to hell! Ten years my ass! I've only got one year left—one!"
Veins bulged at Ryosuke's temples.
"At this rate, I'd have to kill ten Hand Demon–level monsters!"
"Damn it… I'm definitely the most miserable system-holder among all transmigrators!"
"Other people get beginner gift packs, lotteries, daily sign-ins—"
"And me? Terminal illness from the start, forced to burn my lifespan, absurd medical fees, and you keep giggling like an idiot! I'll giggle your ancestor!"
[Host, please remain calm. Emotional agitation accelerates lifespan consumption~]
The system kindly reminded him.
"Get lost!!!"
Ryosuke cursed aloud and broke into a sprint.
There was no choice. Skill upgrades had to wait—fixing his liver came first.
After running through the night, the eastern horizon finally paled.
Hinodeyama.
Ryosuke exhaled deeply, planning to scout the mountain first—
Then his steps halted in front of a temple.
A powerful stench of blood hit his nose.
Ryosuke's pupils shrank. His heart sank.
Fragments of memory surfaced—Hinodeyama Temple.
The origin of the man who would one day stand like a mountain, fighting demons barehanded—the strongest Hashira.
Gyomei Himejima.
This was where his tragedy began.
Ryosuke rushed inside.
Dim morning light barely illuminated a scene straight out of hell.
Torn prayer banners. Scattered toys. Overturned food boxes—silent witnesses to the night's horror.
Blood pooled across the floor. Seven or eight children lay in mangled pieces.
A massive man knelt at the center, drenched in blood, repeatedly smashing his fists down in mechanical motion.
The demon beneath him had already been reduced to pulp. Its body crumbled into ash under the sunlight.
Yet the blind monk continued, as if incapable of feeling pain.
Not far behind him, a small girl curled up, trembling violently.
Once the demon vanished completely, Gyomei groped toward the girl's direction, trying to confirm her safety—seeking proof, comfort, anything.
"Government officials! Everyone else step aside!"
Almost simultaneously, a squad of officers stormed in.
The leader swept his gaze across the scene, then locked onto Gyomei, drenched in blood.
"What happened here?"
The girl spoke at once. "H-him! He's the monster—he killed everyone!"
Who else could she be referring to?
The officer's expression twisted into disgust as he looked at Gyomei.
"So it's you."
"Arrest this murderous madman!"
Several officers grabbed Gyomei's shoulders.
He didn't resist. His face was numb and hollow.
The accusation stabbed into his heart like an ice spike.
Color drained from his face. His massive body swayed.
Gyomei opened his mouth to explain—
But the girl's quiet sobbing froze him in place. Not a word came out.
"Not him!!"
Ryosuke stepped forward, voice urgent.
"Wait—he's not the murderer! The killer was a demon! The demon that just turned to ash! The man you're arresting protected them! The 'monster' the girl mentioned was the demon!"
The officer shoved Ryosuke aside, sneering as his gaze swept over Ryosuke's face and sword.
"Where'd this brat crawl out from, spouting nonsense?! Demons? Where are these demons? A protector would look like this? A protector would let all these kids die?!"
He pointed at the corpses—and the still-crying girl.
"Evidence is clear. Interfere again and we'll arrest you too!"
Ryosuke's blood surged violently. A savage killing intent nearly swallowed his reason.
Demon Slayer Corps rules were absolute—no drawing blades on civilians, no harming humans.
Just as Ryosuke reached his limit, a quiet voice sounded.
"Young man…"
Gyomei forced a faint smile and nodded toward him.
"Do not stain your hands with sin for my sake."
Ryosuke's chest heaved. His teeth ground together in helpless fury.
He could only watch as Gyomei was dragged away in chains, stumbling forward.
That towering body was hunched now—filled with unspeakable grievance and despair.
Just as Gyomei Himejima was about to be pulled beyond the temple gate, Ryosuke roared with everything he had.
"Monk! Lift your head!"
"You were never a murderer!!"
"You were protecting them! You were fighting for humanity!!!"
Gyomei's massive body trembled violently.
He turned with difficulty. His bloodied, scarred face softened into a relieved smile.
He could not see—but he heard.
A voice that pierced the darkness and injustice.
Gyomei pressed his palms together and bowed slightly toward Ryosuke, performing a monk's salute.
"Thank you… young man."