"He saved us! So please... stop fighting already!"
A young girl’s scream pierced the tension between the demon and me.
That person? I wondered.
A demon saved people?
Impossible.
Why would a cunning demon—a creature that exists only to devour humans—ever save anyone?
Were demons not monstrosities that fed exclusively on human flesh?
The scent of blood lingering in the air was unmistakably human.
Indeed, it was.
But if this was a misjudgment—if that child was mistaken—everyone here could be in grave danger.
Still, a deeper, darker feeling stirred within me, shattering my composure.
It was a profound mistrust of children.
One cannot trust the words of a child.
They are innocent, yes, but they are weak and naive, and far too quick to lie.
They are bundles of impulse, capable of cruel deeds without a shred of remorse.
Even if you protected them with your very life, they might discard your kindness like garbage.
Moreover, I had failed to save their parents; surely they resented me.
This, too, might be a lie...
Then—
The child’s voice burst forth again, sounding desperate and frustrated.
"He was the one who cut down the monster that tried to kill us!"
Her once-steady tone trembled with tears.
"He isn’t the one who killed our parents...!"
Thud.
Something slumped to the ground, completely drained of strength.
"...So please, just... stop fighting... for my father... my mother..."
Her voice, choked with sobs, had become a plea.
I thought to myself,
That person is a monster... he killed them all...
Still, I could not bring myself to trust a child.
Whenever I stand before a child and hear their voice, memories rise like a recurring nightmare.
No matter how innocent they seem, their true nature always emerges at the final moment.
They run away, they avert their eyes, and they lie—always.
But—
If this is not a mistake, if what that child says is true,
and if the one who saved those children is truly the demon before my eyes,
then how am I any different?
Am I not the same as those who believed only a child's word and branded me a murderer?
Namu Amida Butsu.
I have to make a choice.
Do I trust the child's words,
or trust my own judgment?
The iron ball’s spin did not slow.
Even if this demon held no intent to kill me, even if he stood silent after the child's cry,
the fact remained that the being before me was a demon.
Then...
I must verify the truth,
to see if this is truly the case and if my judgment is a mistake.
To see if this individual—the one the Master spoke of—
@@@
"Gyomei, this is something I want only you to know."
Shortly after I was promoted, the Master called me aside.
He told me of the first swordsmen.
Those who wielded the Breath of Beginnings during the Sengoku period and brought Kibutsuji Muzan to the brink of destruction.
And he spoke of the Grandmaster of Total Concentration Breathing who passed the art to them.
They were the ones who established the lineage of Total Concentration Breathing within the Demon Slayer Corps.
That was the recorded history of the art.
But that was not what the Master intended to tell me.
"It is the story of the Grandmaster of Total Concentration Breathing, Tsukinokami."
Tsukinokami.
The founding master who first discovered the origin of Breathing and transmitted it to the first Breathers as Total Concentration Breathing.
Records state he died alongside the Hashira during the final battle with Kibutsuji Muzan, leaving his task unfinished.
Yet, whispers circulated within the Corps—more legend than rumor.
They said that this Grandmaster had continued to act as a demon slayer under the name Tsukinokami to this very day.
No one took it seriously; it was merely a fairy tale.
Until the Master said:
"He lives. He became a demon."
The Master spoke of these stories, though they were told differently throughout the Corps.
Among all the Hashira, none had ever turned into a demon.
They are pillars who would rather die than forsake their humanity.
So the notion that the very founding Grandmaster of the art had become a demon was unthinkable.
He would surely be among the Twelve Kizuki’s Upper Ranks, perhaps one of their elite,
or we might have to face him alongside Muzan himself.
Yet the Master shook his head.
"He is not our enemy. He does not feed on humans; he slays demons."
A demon who does not prey on humans.
Even hearing those words from the Master strained belief, for they defied every known law regarding demons.
"To be honest, I find that hard to believe."
At that moment, I fiddled with my prayer beads and, irreverently, voiced my doubt.
The Master looked at me, smiling.
"That is why, Gyomei, I am telling you alone."
He took my hand and continued.
"He bears crimson flame-shaped markings on his left forehead and right throat."
These were the signs that set him apart from other demons.
He does not devour men.
He uses Total Concentration Breathing.
And he bears those crimson flame marks on his left brow and right throat.
My resolve resurfaced.
Yes, I must confirm it.
The demon before me neither attacks humans, nor have I heard him using Total Concentration Breathing.
Was my dismissal of the child's words itself a mistake?
Was the crying child's claim the truth?
Was this warrior who fought me truly the Grandmaster of the art, Tsukinokami?
It tormented me that I, being blind, could not see his face.
Still, I could not ask a demon outright.
Namu Amida Butsu.
"Child."
Gently, I addressed the girl who had tried to stop our fight.
I could not bring myself to fully believe her words.
Yet she choked with tears as she defended the demon before us.
A child would never defend the one who killed her parents.
Just once.
Today, I chose to believe her.
"Um...?"
She responded with a tremble in her voice.
"Does the one before me have marks on his left brow and right throat?"
She answered again, her voice quivering:
"Yes. He has flame-shaped marks on his forehead... on his left brow..."
Flame-shaped marks.
I see.
The iron ball’s spin slowed to a halt with a low whirr.
Thank goodness... it seems I was mistaken.
@@@
The man relaxed his stance upon hearing that I recognized the marks.
I, too, sheathed my sword.
It would be madness to lower one’s blade before a demon.
Yet it seemed he had heard of me from someone.
I had been recorded as dead within the Corps, and my marks were never to be passed on—no one should have known.
Could the current Ubuyashiki family head have told him?
"Are you...?"
He clasped his hands in salute and faced me.
Tears streamed from his sightless eyes.
Why was this giant suddenly weeping?
The sensation was oddly surreal, like meeting someone of Anji’s stature in tears.
"Are you Tsukinokami?"
"...Yes?"
Tsukinokami—God of the Moon?
Me?
Who gave me such a ridiculous title?
Why have they made me into a god?
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