A Burden on the Heart!

Supporting Akamatsu Enjirō, Giyu followed the Kasugai Crow guiding them and finally reached the nearest Wisteria House.

It stood quietly at a bend in the mountain path, enveloped in a great cloud of pale purple mist.

The wisteria trees were in full bloom, their clusters of blossoms hanging like curtains and swaying gently in the evening breeze.

The house was a simple wooden building with white walls and dark roof tiles. A silver wisteria design adorned the center of the door, reflecting the light of the setting sun.

The courtyard walls, the veranda pillars—wherever the eye could see, there were marks or pictures of wisteria. They were simple, but everywhere.

Creak.

An elderly woman in plain, deep-purple clothing hurried out, accompanied by a young maid.

Her hair was completely white, and her face was thin, but her eyes were especially gentle and bright.

When she saw them all covered in blood and being helped along, her eyes immediately filled with compassion and respect.

"Quickly, please come inside."

Her voice was quiet, but clear and steady. She stepped aside to make way and instructed the servants beside her,

"Prepare the east wing, and bring plenty of hot water, clean cloths, and medicine for their wounds."

"Ajing, you're quick on your feet. Go to town and fetch both Dr. Matsuda and Mr. Yamamoto."

The servants moved promptly and respectfully, carrying the unconscious Akamatsu and the other severely injured person inside with great care.

Giyu refused help and steadied himself, but the dizziness from blood loss and the feeling of exhaustion left him a little unsteady on his feet.

The elderly woman's gaze fell on his young, pale face, then on the sword at his waist, clear and bright as water. She nodded slightly.

"My lord, please follow me. Your room is this way."

She led him there herself, treating him with impeccable respect.

The house was clean and peaceful. Several lanterns hung in the courtyard, and the faint scent of medicinal herbs and steaming rice drifted through the air.

In the room, the tatami mats were dry and fresh. A soft set of white cotton pajamas lay neatly folded on the bedding.

The two elderly doctors arrived quickly and carefully treated the wounds on Giyu's left arm and right side.

The salve brought a cool sting when it was applied, and the stitches were fine and close together.

Throughout the treatment, the elderly woman waited quietly in the corridor outside the door. Only after the doctors came out and gave her instructions in low voices did she personally bring him a freshly brewed bowl of medicine and a steaming bowl of rice porridge.

"Excuse me, my lord. Please have some medicine and porridge first, and warm yourself up."

The medicine was terribly bitter and the porridge bland, but after he swallowed them, warmth spread from his stomach and chased away the chill deep in his bones.

Outside, the wind rustled through the wisteria blossoms, as if offering gentle comfort.

Giyu sat quietly, listening to the peaceful sound. There was no fighting here, no bloodshed, no malice watching him in secret—only the peace of being silently protected.

With attentive care, his injuries healed rapidly.

Three days later, his external wounds had nearly healed, leaving only pink new flesh.

Akamatsu Enjirō and the others drifted in and out of consciousness, but their breathing had stabilized, and they had been moved to the quieter rear courtyard to recuperate.

The night was clear as if freshly washed, and a crescent moon hung in the sky, bathing the courtyard in cool light.

Giyu changed into the soft white pajamas and sat alone on the edge of the veranda.

The evening breeze brushed his cheeks, carrying the distinctive scent of wisteria, clean and slightly bitter with a hint of sweetness.

His body was relaxed, but his mind was not.

Ever since that day on Mount Fujikasane, when a cold mechanical notification had sounded in his head and he had gained what was called heaven-defying comprehension and a special physique, the world had looked different to him.

The intricate flow of a Breathing Style, the paths of force behind sword techniques... so many mysteries that had once taken repeated study and practice just to begin to grasp were now laid bare to him at a glance.

His body was also growing stronger and more agile at an unreasonable rate, and his wounds healed frighteningly fast.

The changes were too obvious to ignore, and... unsettling.

He remembered Mount Sagiri, the sweat his senior Sabito had shed day and night, and the tangible mark of endless practice in every move he made.

He remembered the value Urokodaki placed on "effort" and "passing on his teachings," visible in his eyes as he demonstrated sword forms.

He remembered Senior Akamatsu on Mount Huimu, poison attacking his heart and his strength exhausted, yet still resolved to burn his life away in one final strike.

...And the Mizunoto-ranked Corps members who had fallen and struggled.

With their own bodies of flesh and blood, they all fought against fear and their limits, carving out a path to greater strength one inch at a time.

Every deeper breath and every precise swing of the sword embodied blood, sweat, and resolve.

And what about him?

It was as if an invisible force had pushed him effortlessly across a chasm that took others a long, arduous journey to cross.

That "ease" was like an invisible wall, separating him from those who moved forward through genuine effort.

He held his sword and felt the ever-growing strength flowing through his body, yet every now and then, he felt a sense of distance.

"I'm... not like you."

He had once said those words to his teacher and senior, only to be misunderstood.

But it had been neither aloofness nor pride. It was a cold recognition of what he was, and a faint fear of "gaining without effort."

It was only right to use this power to slay demons.

But where had it come from?

Why had it chosen him in particular?

The question, like a shadow beyond the reach of moonlight, had settled in the depths of his heart.

He drew up his knees and rested his chin on them. Moonlight reflected in his ice-blue eyes, deep within which lay a confusion that would not melt away.

A faint rustle of fabric came from behind him.

Giyu did not turn around. His senses had already picked up those slow, familiar footsteps.

The elderly woman carried a small vermilion lacquered tray holding a rice ball wrapped in a fresh bamboo leaf and a cup of tea, and gently set it on the veranda beside him.

"The night air is chilly, my lord. Your injuries only recently healed, so you should still take care."

Her voice was gentle as she nudged the teacup toward him.

"I saw that the light in your room was out, but you were here watching the moon, so I thought you might be unable to sleep."

"There was still some rice keeping warm on the stove, so I made this while I was there. If you don't mind, my lord, please have a little something to fill your stomach."

"Thank you."

Giyu replied softly and picked up the rice ball.

The fresh scent of bamboo leaves greeted him. The rice was still warm, and when he bit into it, he found a simple filling of pickled plum and flakes of grilled salmon. The flavor was mild, but it gave him a plain, wholesome feeling of fullness.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were Giyu's quiet chewing and the night breeze stirring the flowers and leaves.

After a while, the elderly woman looked at the wisteria bathed in moonlight in the courtyard and slowly began to speak, as though talking to herself, or perhaps making conversation:

"My father planted these wisteria trees himself when he was young."

"That year, a demon attacked our village. My mother and younger brother couldn't get away... A Demon Slayer Corps swordsman happened to pass by, slew the demon, and saved my father and me."

"He was terribly wounded himself, and blood had soaked through half his sleeve, but he still said to me, frightened out of my wits as I was, 'Little girl, don't be afraid. Everything's all right now.'"

Her tone was calm, with little change in emotion, as though she were recounting an ordinary event from a very long time ago.

"Afterward, my father always said that the lives we'd been spared were a gift."

"That swordsman, and countless others like him, were risking their lives to protect ordinary people like us."

"We didn't have any great abilities, so we thought that at the very least, we could offer passing swordsmen, those who were injured or tired, a place where they could rest easy and have a hot meal."

"That was how this house began."

"Later, as more people learned about it, some families who had also been saved gave money to repair the house, while others brought rice, grain, and bedding. Little by little, this Wisteria House became what it is today."

Giyu stopped chewing and looked at the rice ball remaining in his hand.

"In all my years, I've seen every kind of swordsman."

"Some were immensely gifted, with frightening sword skills even at a young age. Others had ordinary talent, but through sheer tenacity and hundreds or thousands of times more sweat, they too wielded a remarkable sword."

"But whichever kind they were, when they drew their swords to protect others, they all looked the same to this old woman."

She sighed softly, though she also seemed to be smiling.

"In a world like this, with demons running rampant, anyone who can pick up a sword and slay them is remarkable."

Giyu silently finished the rest of the rice ball, eating slowly.

The sweet fragrance of the rice, the slight tartness of the pickled plum, and the savory saltiness of the salmon mingled together.

This time, he tasted more than just the flavors.

Amid those simple words and the warm rice ball, the ice in his heart cracked with a snap.

His confusion had not completely faded, but the road ahead seemed a little clearer.

Where his power came from might be important, but what mattered more was what he would use it to do.

"I... understand."

Giyu spoke softly, his voice carrying a little more steady strength than before.

"Thank you."

The elderly woman bowed slightly.

"You give me too much credit, my lord. We are the ones who should thank you, and all those like you."

She gathered up the tray and stood.

"It's late, my lord. Please get some rest."

She turned and left, her footsteps quiet as she disappeared around the corner of the corridor.

Giyu remained seated beneath the moonlight for a long time before rising and returning to his room.

The warmth of the rice ball and the fresh scent of bamboo leaves seemed to linger in his hand.