Inosuke's legs were swift. After watching Tanjiro leave from afar, he brought Sato back to the Eternal Paradise Faith.
...
Another night of wind and snow.
Inside the cult's rear hall, the atmosphere was eerie to the extreme.
Beside the throne sat a basket of pitch-black charcoal—placed there jarringly out of place.
The charcoal hadn't been lit, yet it carried the scent of marketplace smoke and sunlight.
To demons with keen senses, it was like tossing a block of stinky tofu into the room.
Sato knelt on the floor, not daring to lift his head.
Doma reclined on an ice couch, holding his folded fan over his nose and mouth, disdain written plainly in his eyes.
He glanced at the basket of charcoal, then at his son sitting cross-legged nearby, looking utterly justified.
"Inosuke, didn't Daddy teach you this?"
Doma sounded a little helpless.
"The Eternal Paradise Faith is a place of purity. You brought back something so filthy—
something that even reeks of lowly human sweat. Are you trying to stink up my palace?"
"Dad, that's a shallow take."
Inosuke casually grabbed a piece of charcoal and tossed it in his hand.
"How is this just charcoal?
This is human hearts I bought back with a gold koban."
He stood and pointed solemnly at the basket.
"That kid selling charcoal has a smell I really don't like.
Even trapped in desperation, freezing and starving, he's still stubborn like a weed.
"I gave him wealth that could change his fate because I wanted to see—
when he has money, what will he do?"
As he spoke, a sly grin spread across Inosuke's face, his little tiger teeth flashing.
"This basket of charcoal is my test sample.
"I'll keep it here to remind myself of that kid's existence.
In a few years, I'll go back and see—will that proud boy become a useless hedonist who only knows indulgence?"
Doma froze for a moment.
He stared at the child before him—only seven years old—speaking of manipulating human hearts with such grand righteousness.
The disgust in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by a gleam of delight.
"Oh my… Inosuke."
Doma sat upright, closed his fan, and lightly applauded.
"Giving hope to the desperate, then patiently waiting for that hope to rot—
this kind of vile amusement is exactly to my taste!
"As expected of the child I raised with my own hands!"
"Well then, even if the smell is unpleasant, since it's a tool for observing humans, we'll keep it."
He waved a hand for Sato to withdraw, then patted Inosuke's head in high spirits.
"It seems taking you to meet Lord Muzan back then was the right choice.
Your vision is no longer limited to mere killing."
Inosuke obediently rubbed against Doma's palm, using his Ice Spirit Physique to leech the cold from him.
Keep it, he thought.
This is the protagonist. If things ever really spiral out of control, at least I'll have a connection.
...
Days passed in relative calm.
Inosuke's life was extremely regular—training Ice Breathing hard in the back mountains during the day, then heading to the front hall at night to play the part of a god using Absolute Pitch.
And, incidentally, squeezing some money out of those wealthy, unscrupulous believers.
Until that night.
Inosuke had just finished his evening training and returned to his private courtyard with the serrated Nichirin Blade slung over his shoulder.
The moment he stepped through the gate, every inch of his skin tightened.
A sticky, icy aura permeated the air.
"Who's there?!"
Inosuke halted, his gaze locking onto the rooftop.
In the darkness, several crystalline threads—harder than steel—descended silently, aimed straight for his throat.
"Good reaction."
A boy's voice sounded.
On the ridge of the roof, a figure slowly rose.
Pale-skinned, with hair styled like spider legs—
One of the Twelve Kizuki, Lower Rank Five.
"By that great lord's command,"
Rui looked down at Inosuke, fingers twitching lightly,
"I'm here to see how that human with keen hearing has progressed.
"If you've become useless, I'll rip out your brain and ears."
Inosuke looked at the threads suspended in midair. Not only was he unafraid—he raised an eyebrow.
"Muzan, that coward, didn't dare come himself and sent a Spider-Man to probe me?"
He hoisted the blade onto his shoulder, tone dripping with arrogance.
"Hey, spider-head, do you know whose territory this is?
"Hanging curtains in my house—did you get my permission?"
He didn't give an inch. The Young Master of the Eternal Paradise Faith bowed to no one.
Rui's eyes turned cold.
"You insolent little brat!"
His fingers snapped tight.
Blood Demon Art: Cutting Thread Rotation!
The threads shrieked through the air, forming a suffocating net that descended upon Inosuke.
"Die."
Rui spat the word coldly.
For ordinary swordsmen, facing threads harder than steel meant their blade would shatter on contact—and then their bodies would be diced apart.
But Inosuke wasn't ordinary.
And neither was his blade.
"OPEN UP!"
Inosuke roared.
His enhanced lung capacity caused his chest to swell instantly.
Agility Enhancement triggered—he didn't retreat, but charged straight into the web of death.
The serrated Nichirin Blade swept out.
Total Concentration — Ice Breathing · Third Form: Avalanche Saw Fangs!
Screeech!
A teeth-grinding sound ripped through the night.
Rui's proud threads jammed into the uneven notches of Inosuke's blade.
"What?!"
Shock finally appeared on Rui's corpse-like face.
"This is your thread?"
Inosuke gripped the blade with both hands, twisting violently with his waist, tearing at the threads like a madman.
"Too hard! Too brittle! Not a shred of toughness!"
Crack! Crack! Crack!
With a series of sharp snaps, the deadly web was torn apart by brute force!
Rui's pupils shrank. Before he could react, a figure burst through the breach, landing right in front of him on the roof.
"Here—take your greeting gift!"
Inosuke sucked in a deep breath and, at point-blank range, activated his Absolute Pitch—
"GET LOST!!!"
BOOM!
The sound wave smashed into Rui's eardrums.
His mind went blank, his body locking up for an instant.
In that instant, Inosuke reversed his grip and slammed the thick spine of the blade across Rui's face.
SMACK!
The crisp sound echoed through the night.
Lower Rank Five flew like a rag doll, crashing into the snow-covered courtyard and leaving a deep crater.
"Tch. Thick skin."
Inosuke landed and shook his tingling wrist, looking down at Rui with open disdain.
Rui slowly crawled out of the snow pit, half his face swollen red.
As Muzan's favored child, when had he ever suffered such humiliation?
Slapped in the face—by a human child—with the back of a blade?
"I'll tear you to pieces!"
Demonic aura exploded from Rui as countless red threads surged from his fingers.
"Ah, now now—that won't do."
A light, airy voice cut into the battlefield.
Doma had appeared beneath the corridor at some point, golden fan swaying as he smiled.
"Rui-kun, this is my home.
"If you wreck my house—or break my son—I'd be very troubled."
Rui stiffened, glaring at Doma, then at Inosuke, who was sticking his tongue out at him.
"It was just a test,"
Rui ground out, retracting his threads.
"Since he has this level of strength, consider him approved."
With that, he turned to leave.
"Hey! Wait!"
Inosuke suddenly called out.
Rui turned back, eyes dark.
"What is it now?"
Inosuke rubbed his hands together and pointed at the broken, glittering threads on the ground.
"Uh, I gotta say, your threads are pretty good quality—nice and sturdy."
He spoke with absolute sincerity.
"You came to my place in the middle of the night and even damaged my roof tiles.
"So as compensation… how about leaving me a couple pounds of thread?
"The material seems great. I could knit a vest or some wrist guards—should be pretty practical."
Rui: "…"
Doma: "..."
Rui's mouth twitched violently.
In all his long existence, he'd seen fear, hatred—
but never someone who wanted to knit sweaters out of his Blood Demon Art.
"No!"
Rui snapped, his face black, vanishing into the night as an afterimage.
He swore he'd never come back to this cursed place again.
"Tch. Stingy."
Inosuke curled his lip, bent down, and picked up a few remaining broken strands, stuffing them into his clothes.
With a little processing, wrapping them around the serrated blade's handle—
it'd look good, grip better, and be anti-slip.
"Dad, look."
He waved his spoils at Doma.
Doma shook his head helplessly, the smile in his eyes deepening.
"Inosuke, your personality really is becoming more and more like mine."
"But…"
He looked up at the moon, completely shrouded by dark clouds.
"Since Lord Muzan has sent someone to test you, it means that moment is drawing near.
"Inosuke—has your blade been sharpened?"
Inosuke touched the notched blade at his waist. A cold glint flashed in his eyes.
"Don't worry, Dad.
"My blade won't disgrace you."