22 Demon Slayer: Floating Comment

Witnessing a family's tragic separation didn't linger long in Haruto's mind.

Life and death were constants in the battle against demons. For a Demon Slayer, excessive empathy only hindered their path to mastery.

Haruto arrived at Mount Muyun, the site mentioned in his mission. The morning sun still hung low in the sky.

Mount Muyun was breathtaking—its steep slopes blanketed with layered peaks and clouds of vines. A prime spot for watching sunrises.

Yet, at the mountain's base, a warning sign had been erected: Dangerous Beasts. No Entry.

Haruto couldn't tell if the sign was placed by local authorities or by others aware of the hidden threats.

Ignoring it, he stepped over the barrier and was immediately greeted by a peculiar sight—a field of withered plants.

The vegetation looked as though it had succumbed to disease. Its surfaces were marred with spots, lifeless and brittle. When Haruto's wooden sandals touched the dried leaves, they crumbled into fine powder.

He stared at the plants beneath his feet, deep in thought.

"The scent of a demon..."

The faint rustling of his sandals punctuated his journey as he sprinted through the forest. Before sundown, Haruto had scouted the mountain's perimeter and found multiple patches of similarly withered vegetation.

Interwoven with the decaying plants was another unmistakable smell—human blood.

This solidified Haruto's suspicion: a demon capable of manipulating plants was at work here. Unlike demons that relied purely on claws and fangs, one wielding a Blood Demon Art was far more formidable.

As night approached, Haruto found refuge in a shrine dedicated to the Inari deity.

The shrine seemed well-maintained, with fresh incense offerings, suggesting that the demon's presence was recent.

Haruto removed his mask and nodded respectfully at the shrine's deity statue but skipped the elaborate rituals.

He didn't believe in gods—or at least not in the ones of this world.

When Muzan Kibutsuji first emerged, no god had intervened. When innocent lives were lost, no divine retribution came.

Instead, all the suffering seemed to fall solely on the Ubuyashiki family, cursed to endure lifetimes of illness and early deaths.

"What a laughable notion of gods."

The shrine was devoid of priests, though traces of wisteria lingered in the air, suggesting they'd only recently evacuated.

Haruto settled on a straw mat, pulling out provisions from his pack to replenish his strength.

The night sky stretched clear and vast, studded with stars that seemed to fill him with boundless energy.

He plunged his Nichirin blade into the ground, clasped his hands before his chest, and began forming a seal.

"Breath of the Stars, Third Form: Twin Suns."

The technique, inspired by ancient Taoist rituals, sought communion with the stars, channeling their energy to ward off evil and heal wounds.

Haruto's consciousness expanded, as though leaping into the heavens. Every blade of grass and tree branch came into sharp focus, even the mantis perched on a nearby stem.

His awareness surged outward like a tide—and then he found it.

Amid a patch of freshly withered plants, a dark figure loomed over a fallen traveler. The demon was hunched over, gorging itself on the man's chest.

Haruto gripped his blade tightly and dashed toward the scene.

"Ah, someone's here." The demon spoke lazily, its voice dripping with indifference.

Turning slowly, the demon wiped its bloodstained hands on the white robes of its victim. The man had been a priest—likely the one who had lit the wisteria incense.

Haruto's gaze climbed to the demon's face, and his breath hitched.

It had short black hair and a trio of intersecting scars that looked like shuriken cuts. Its ears were pointed and unnaturally long, adorned with gold earrings that swayed faintly.

But what shook Haruto most was its eyes—one of them bore the kanji "Lower Three."

A Lower Rank demon of the Twelve Demon Moons.

Haruto's chest tightened, his breath catching in his lungs.

"A Twelve Demon Moons... here?"

"A Demon Slayer, I see." The demon tilted its head, sniffing the air exaggeratedly. "Can you smell it?"

Haruto stayed silent, not indulging the demon's taunts.

The demon continued stretching its limbs leisurely, an odd sight that left Haruto puzzled.

The realization struck him when he caught sight of the scrolling text in his peripheral vision—comments from unseen spectators.

"That priest must have been rare blood!"
"Right? If it weren't for the rare blood slowing the demon down, Haruto would already be dead meat."

Rare blood—a phenomenon in the world of Demon Slayers, where individuals with such blood could sustain a demon far longer than ordinary humans. For demons, it was a delicacy, akin to consuming a hundred ordinary lives.

The consumption of rare blood temporarily dulled a demon's reflexes and movements, inducing a state akin to drunkenness.

Realizing this, Haruto's grip on his blade tightened.

If the demon was allowed to fully digest the rare blood, its power would surge exponentially, leading to countless more deaths.

"This is the moment."

Haruto's gaze hardened as he stared down the demon.

For now—while the demon was at its weakest—this was the perfect time to strike.