Chapter 50: Leaving

"You…"

Ash-gray embers tinged with black and red scattered in the wind. Kawanishi absorbed only a negligible portion.

"These four Nichirin Blades… none are as good as the one I had before."

"So the quality of Demon Slayer swords varies too? Whatever."

"Too light. Black Fang still feels better in my hand..."

"Blade Prison: Molten Forge Flame."

He merged four globs of molten metal into Black Fang. Instantly, the blade's texture and weight improved.

"That's it. This is exactly the feel I wanted."

Satisfied, Kawanishi stored Black Fang back into his Blade Prison, then vanished into motion and caught up with the caravan.

"Hey, old man. No one got hurt, right?"

Inoshiku turned around, eyes still clouded with worry. "No, everyone's fine. But you saw that terrifying demon earlier..."

"Even those demon slayers couldn't win. If the pros can't handle them, what hope is there for the rest of us?"

Kawanishi smiled. "Come on, old man, cheer up. You were the one who said it—being alive is all that matters."

"Look at those kids. They're barely teenagers. Must be rookies in the Corps."

"I believe everyone grows with time. They will too. Someday they'll be slaying demons without hesitation."

Inoshiku thought of his late friend, and how paralyzed with fear he'd been that night. He managed a forced smile. "I hope so..."

After the incident, the caravan became quiet and somber. Everyone just wanted to reach their destination as fast as possible.

Many still naively believed they'd be safe once they reached a populated area.

The morning after was overcast, with no sunlight piercing through. Kawanishi didn't need to pretend to avoid the sun today.

By noon, they reached Mount Wanzhu, a mountain blanketed in tall, vibrant green bamboo that stretched toward the heavens—an awe-inspiring sight of unyielding life.

"This mountain's just before Titing Town. We'll be there soon."

Inoshiku pointed ahead as he spoke to Kawanishi.

The two had talked quite a bit during the journey, forming a faint connection. He was a kind-hearted man, Kawanishi thought.

Mount Wanzhu… Kawanishi knew it well. Long ago, Yano used to bring him here to play.

After a brief pause in thought, he jumped down from the cart and turned to Inoshiku.

"I think I'll go ahead on foot. I know this place well. The caravan's too slow."

"I… I miss home."

The roads were slippery from snow, so the carts couldn't go any faster. Now that he knew where he was, Kawanishi had no reason to stay with them.

Last night, he'd smeared some of his demon blood beneath the carts where sunlight wouldn't reach—enough to ward off most demons and give him peace of mind.

Demons rarely fought over prey when there was a large group.

Inoshiku didn't try to stop him. He understood what it meant to long for home.

"Alright then. Want to take some food? I'll get something ready for you."

"No need," Kawanishi said. "I'll cut through the mountain—it's quicker. I've got friends in town. I won't trouble you."

Inoshiku chuckled. "Alright. Until we meet again."

"Until we meet again..."

With that, Kawanishi stepped off the road and disappeared into Mount Wanzhu, heading toward a place he remembered.

…

That night, Ezumioka ran through the city in terror. Once brave and towering in stature, he now looked utterly broken.

He was certain—a demon was chasing him.

He'd just wrapped up a business deal. On his way home, the demon had appeared. His two bodyguards had died in an instant. He was the only one left running…

Normally lively and bustling with nightlife, the city tonight was eerily silent. No one responded to his cries for help.

All he could hear were his own footsteps and ragged breathing.

He stumbled, fell, and slid several meters along the pavement. Dizzy and dazed, he gasped for breath.

"Somebody, please! Help me—"

His mouth moved, but no sound came out.

His cries were swallowed by some unseen force.

Ezumioka struggled to his feet, frozen in place with fear.

And then, the world changed.

The streets, the houses—everything familiar—vanished in an instant. In their place: a barren landscape of darkness and twisted terrain.

Jagged black thorns sprouted from the ground, quickly overtaking his entire view.

"What the hell… is happening?"

No answer came.

Reality as he knew it had been shattered.

Suddenly, the thorns shifted, revealing a narrow path.

Ezumioka, surrounded and cornered, was gripped by fear. But the sight of the path sparked a flicker of hope.

Then that hope turned to dread.

The path was so narrow that walking it would mean being scraped and slashed by the thorns.

But something deep inside whispered to him—this was his only way out.

Driven by unseen forces, Ezumioka gritted his teeth and stepped into the thorny corridor.

Instantly, countless tiny cuts appeared on his arms and legs.

Small, but densely packed. Blood oozed slowly from every wound.

The pain was sharp—but worse was the maddening itch, like insects crawling under his skin.

He groaned in agony but kept moving.

And then—maybe just a hallucination—he heard a soft, musical laugh.

It was beautiful, almost angelic—but steeped in malice. The sound alone made his blood run cold.

"I'm hearing things… I have to get out of here."

But the further he walked, the narrower the path became.

Soon, the grotesque thorns were scraping his chest and cutting his face.

His blood touched the thorns—and was absorbed silently. Not a drop stained his clothes.

His whole body felt like it was being flayed alive.

But his mind was slipping. Even in such agony, he kept walking, feeding the thorns with his blood.

Minutes passed.

"Give up," he whispered. "It hurts too much. I can't go on."

Just as he was about to collapse in despair, he saw it—three steps ahead. Light.

"I'm almost there…"

He summoned all his strength, ignoring the pain. He took one step. Then another.

And then—he collapsed.

He had no more strength to give. His body gave out, and he fell onto the thorns.

"So close… just one more step…"

The thorns hissed.

Like black serpents, they writhed and wrapped around him.

Within seconds, Ezumioka was completely cocooned in a living net of brambles.

Moments later, the thorns receded, leaving behind a skinned, blood-drenched body trembling faintly on the ground—still alive.

And from the darkness came a bright, girlish, disturbingly joyful voice:

"It's almost ready… almost complete… Wonderful…"

(End of Chapter)