The Curtain Falls!

About fifteen minutes after the battle ended, the Demon Slayer Corps' logistics force, the Kakushi, arrived without a sound.

They emerged one after another from the shadows among the ruins, their matching black uniforms embroidered with subtle Wisteria patterns. Masks or cloth coverings of various designs concealed their faces, leaving only their calm, focused eyes visible.

There were a little over twenty people in the group. They made almost no unnecessary sound as they moved, like a well-trained colony of ants.

Their leader was a lean, sturdy middle-aged man whose mask was embroidered with a silver Wisteria pattern.

He immediately spotted Giyu Tomioka standing motionless amid the mist and dust, and Gyomei Himejima, drenched in blood yet standing firm as a mountain.

"Lord Water Hashira! Lord Gyomei!"

The man hurried forward, stopped five paces away, and bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touching his knees.

His voice was slightly muffled by his mask, but the excitement and reverence in it were unmistakable.

"I am Fujisawa Kōtarō, captain of the Kakushi's seventeenth squad. I have brought my men!"

"To see with our own eyes the battlefield where you two fought side by side... is truly an honor for us!"

Giyu gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.

Gyomei pressed his palms together and softly recited, "Namu Amida Butsu. Thank you all for your efforts."

Fujisawa raised his head, his eyes shining above his mask:

"Based on the information conveyed by the Kasugai Crow, we concluded that, aside from Lower Rank Five, all the other Lower Rank demons have perished."

"This is a victory rarely seen in hundreds of years! When Lord Ubuyashiki hears the news, he will surely—"

"Deal with the scene first," Giyu calmly interrupted his torrent of words.

"Yes, yes!" Fujisawa immediately composed himself, turned, and gave several hand signals.

The group silently divided into three teams.

The first team of five, carrying scrolls bearing official seals, headed toward the few intact homes on the outskirts of the village.

There were survivors there who had been disturbed by the battle but had not dared to show themselves. The team also needed to deal with any local law enforcement who might arrive later, using "plausible" excuses such as a plague, a landslide, or an attack by roving bandits to conceal the truth.

The second team of ten began clearing the battlefield.

From the cases and bags they carried, they took out their tools: specially made burial shrouds, disinfectant, cleaning equipment, and simple stretchers.

They worked swiftly and silently. As they gathered the bodies scattered among the ruins, each of them kept their head bowed, their movements as gentle as if they were tending to sleeping loved ones.

Disinfectant was poured over the bloodstained ground and washed along with clean water, in an attempt to dispel the sickeningly strong stench of blood.

The third team of five began examining the traces left on the battlefield, drawing rough maps, and collecting samples of demon ash... All of it would become important intelligence for the Demon Slayer Corps.

Giyu and Gyomei stood motionless to one side, like silent guardian gods, watching the Kakushi work in an orderly fashion.

The morning breeze swept up dust that had yet to settle and stirred the torn edges of Gyomei's clothes.

The wounds on his body, deep enough to expose bone, had now stopped bleeding. New tissue slowly moved and healed at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Holding Shinobu's hand, Kanae carefully emerged from behind a broken wall.

The sight before them rooted the two children to the spot.

Of their once-warm home, only half a crumbling wall and rubble scattered across the ground remained.

The cherry tree in the yard, from which they often picked petals, had been torn up by the roots and lay across the ruins. Its pink-and-white petals were mixed with dirt and blood, their original colors no longer distinguishable.

Farther away, all of Crimson Sakura Village lay shrouded in a ruined silence.

Nearly half the homes of its dozens of households had collapsed completely. The rest had shattered doors and windows and cracked walls.

The morning light fell not on the usual wisps of cooking smoke, but on smoke and dust that had yet to clear.

"Dad... Mom..."

Shinobu's voice was very soft, as soft as a feather about to break apart.

She let go of her sister's hand and stumbled deeper into the ruins, toward the two bodies the Kakushi had carefully covered with shrouds.

Kanae did not stop her, but followed.

She walked slowly, each step as though she were treading on the tip of a blade.

Shinobu knelt beside the shrouds and lifted a corner with a trembling little hand.

"Dad..."

She lifted the other shroud.

Her mother's face was relatively intact, with only a purplish bruise around her neck. Her expression was so peaceful that she seemed merely asleep.

"Mom..."

Shinobu murmured again, tears welling up without warning.

She fell over her mother's body, her small shoulders shaking violently, yet she could not make a sound.

Kanae knelt beside her little sister.

She bit her lip until it bled, trying to hold back her tears.

She was the older sister. She had to be strong.

But when her hand touched her mother's cold hand, that defense collapsed in an instant.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

Kanae buried her face in her mother's chest, and her stifled sobs finally turned into cries of grief.

The sisters' cries echoed among the ruins, mingling with the quiet sounds of the Kakushi at work to form the most heartbreaking movement of the dawn.

A young Kakushi member happened to pass by. He stopped at the sight and looked hesitantly toward Captain Fujisawa.

Fujisawa shook his head, signaling him not to disturb them.

He was all too familiar with scenes like this. Almost every attack site the Demon Slayer Corps dealt with was left with cries like these.

They could clean up the blood, bury the dead, and repair the houses, but they could never mend a heart that had been torn apart.

After crying for a while, Kanae suddenly raised her head. Through tear-blurred eyes, she looked at the ruins around her, then at the unfamiliar people in black in the distance, and finally at Giyu and Gyomei standing motionless in the morning light.

"Where... do we go from here?"

She asked softly, unsure whether she was asking Shinobu, herself, or this world that had suddenly become so unfamiliar and cruel.

Shinobu clutched her mother's clothes tightly, as though they were the only piece of driftwood keeping her afloat. She only shook her head, tears falling without end.

Giyu's ice-blue eyes rested quietly on the sisters, who were crying too hard to speak.

The morning light fell on his long eyelashes, casting faint shadows over his eyes.

His face was largely expressionless, but his grip on his sword tightened for a barely perceptible instant.

If only he had reached this area on patrol a little earlier.

If only he had been a little faster after receiving the Kasugai Crow's message.

If only he had not spent that extra hour in the town last night, investigating the deaths of livestock suspected to have been attacked by a demon.

Perhaps the two children could still have been nestled in their parents' arms, laughing and playing beneath the cherry tree, with a whole and warm home to call their own.

The thought pierced his heart like a fine needle, bringing a brief, sharp, dull ache.

But that was all.

Giyu slowly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the depths of his gaze had returned to the stillness of a deep pool.

In the thousand-year war against demons, "if" was the most useless word.

Life and death had always been the central theme of this struggle. People died every moment, and man-eating demons might lurk in every shadow.

"Someone who empathizes too readily cannot become an outstanding swordsman."

Master Urokodaki's voice rang out in his memory. Those were the words his master had spoken to him after he killed a man-eating demon for the first time and dreamed of the victims' twisted faces for three nights in a row.

"You must remember their faces, remember their suffering, and remember the cruelty of demons. Then turn all of it into the strength to wield your sword."

"But do not let sorrow hold you back, and do not let guilt cloud your judgment."

"Your life is not yours alone. It also belongs to those you may save in the future."

Besides, he was now a [Hashira].

A symbol of the Demon Slayer Corps' greatest fighting strength, a pillar that hundreds of members looked up to, someone who needed to tear open a breach where the darkness was deepest with the calmest judgment and the most decisive action.

Though he himself was only thirteen.