Seeing that the aura emanating from his opponent was no weaker than his own, Kokushibo temporarily abandoned the idea of attacking.
The kidney Scribe had kicked apart earlier had already regenerated, but the wound Yoriichi had left him still refused to heal.
Sun Breathing was simply too devastating against demons. Even as Upper Rank One, he found it difficult to endure.
Facing a Sun Breathing swordsman no weaker than himself while carrying such severe injuries, he risked perishing.
Besides, he had no desire to fight right now.
With that in mind, Kokushibo turned and prepared to leave.
"Wait." Before Kokushibo could take more than a few steps, Scribe called out to him.
"Today, I came here at my master's request as a witness to history. But the next time we meet, I will be a Demon Slayer, and I will cut you down."
After hearing this, Kokushibo said nothing. He merely took another step and left the wasteland.
After Kokushibo was gone, Scribe bent down and wrapped Yoriichi's body in his clothes.
Though Yoriichi had never mentioned such matters, Scribe intended to build him a grave.
He had already chosen the location.
After buying some food and water in town, Scribe carried Yoriichi's body away.
After walking for an unknown length of time, he finally arrived at the forest from his memories.
Compared to more than seventy years ago, the forest had become even more lush and vibrant.
Clear streams flowed through it, while verdant leaves hung high from the branches.
Every so often, faint sounds could be heard—the cries of animals.
If this were to be one's final resting place, it would be a perfect choice.
Walking through the forest, Scribe headed deeper inside.
At last, he stopped in an open clearing.
Not far ahead stood a wooden house that had mostly rotted away.
It was clear that people had once lived here, but time had ultimately reduced it to this state.
And Scribe's destination lay behind that wooden house.
Two gravestones stood there.
The gravestones were covered in dust. Clearly, no one had come here in a long time.
Yet the words carved upon them could still faintly be made out.
Yoriichi's Wife, Yoriichi's Child.
This was once the place where Yoriichi had lived with his wife.
And back then, Scribe had been picked up by Yoriichi here as well.
In those days, when he was still young, he had watched with his own eyes as the gravestones were erected.
From then on, his magnificent and turbulent life had begun.
Setting down the pack on his back, Scribe went to the stream and fetched some water.
He dampened a cloth and carefully wiped the two gravestones clean.
Afterward, Scribe found a suitable stone.
The Nichirin Blade left its sheath. The hard granite was sliced apart as easily as cheese.
After cutting the stone to a suitable size, Scribe used a tall tree to make a coffin.
Once the coffin was finished, he placed Yoriichi's body inside.
There was not the slightest trace of pain on Yoriichi's face. There was only the same calmness as though it were yesterday.
Upon closer inspection, there perhaps remained a faint trace of sorrow and loneliness.
Pressing his palms together, Scribe bowed to Yoriichi.
Then, he slowly closed the coffin lid and lowered it into the large pit he had dug beforehand.
Handful by handful, Scribe filled the pit with his bare hands.
In the end, the granite gravestone was erected above it.
Holding the Nichirin Blade, Scribe carved several large words into it.
Tomb of My Master, Tsugikuni Yoriichi.
Though there were only a few words, Scribe imbued them with the energy unique to Sun Breathing.
It was not much, but it was enough to make evil demons feel revulsion in their hearts, ensuring they would not come here to cause trouble.
After finishing everything, Scribe took a few steps back and sat before the three gravestones.
"Master's wife, and my younger martial brother whom I never met, I have brought Master Yoriichi back to you."
"May your family live happily and peacefully in the other world."
A gentle breeze passed by, rustling the leaves.
The river flowed, striking the pebbles with crisp splashing sounds.
It was as though Yoriichi and the others' spirits in heaven were responding to Scribe.
After a long while, Scribe rose to his feet and walked out of the forest.
Now, he was alone.
But his own story was far from over.
He had no idea that, in the next place, he would encounter a long-lost old acquaintance.
The Demon Who Stole Corpses, Reunion with Tamayo
After leaving the forest, Scribe came to a nearby town to rest.
He entered a small restaurant, ordered some food, and began to eat.
Not long after he started eating, a burly man suddenly walked in from outside.
After receiving the owner's permission, the man stood in the middle of the hall and shouted loudly.
"Everyone, pardon the interruption. Please hear me out. I am from Faye Village. Strange thefts have recently occurred in our village, and I hope you can help us resolve them."
Yet after he finished speaking, not a single person present was willing to pay him any attention.
In this era, people died at every moment. It was already difficult enough to take care of oneself, let alone worry about others.
Originally, Scribe had not taken such matters to heart.
But then, a few words reached his ears.
From the idle chatter at nearby tables, Scribe heard some rumors about the strange happenings in Faye Village.
Some said they had once seen a figure running through the wasteland while carrying a cow leg.
Others said their maternal aunt's eldest cousin's third uncle had encountered a beautiful woman in the fields near that village.
Others claimed that they had seen patterns unlike anything they had ever seen in the night sky.
No one's account was exactly the same. Dozens of rumors intertwined, making the truth impossible to discern.
But Scribe found several key points within them.
A beautiful woman, food, strange patterns.
According to his deduction, that woman was most likely a demon.
He simply did not know why she did not eat living people and instead did this sort of thing.
Stealing corpses?
A possibility surfaced in his mind, and Scribe found it hard to believe.
It couldn't possibly be such a coincidence, could it?
Muttering to himself, he stood and walked over to the burly man.
Seeing that someone was interested, the dark-skinned man's face filled with delight, and he poured out the entire story of the strange events to Scribe.
It was mostly similar to what Scribe had heard before. Several people had discovered that their dead animals had been stolen away.
Whenever they tried to give chase, they would always feel a wave of drowsiness sweep through their minds before passing out.
A few days later, the bones of the stolen animals had been found in the nearby wasteland.
After telling Scribe everything, the burly man hurriedly asked whether he was willing to help them.
As Scribe considered it, the system's voice suddenly sounded in his mind.
Ding. The villagers have made a request of you. Accept?
"Accept."
After accepting, Scribe also received the specific details of the mission.
Mission: Go to Faye Village and uncover the true identity of the corpse-stealing demon.
Upon receiving this message, Scribe narrowed his eyes slightly.
This mission was somewhat different from the previous ones. It did not explicitly state that he needed to kill the demon.
The feeling in his heart grew stronger. After paying his bill, he set out for the village.
It took less than half a day for Scribe to arrive at the village the burly man had mentioned.
From a villager, he learned the approximate location where the strange events had occurred.
It was in the wasteland northwest of the village, near a graveyard.
As the distance steadily shortened, Scribe felt the temperature around him drop by several degrees.
There also seemed to be a unique scent in the air.
Though the scent was faint, its distinctive fragrance remained firmly etched in Scribe's memory.
In his memories, there seemed to be only one demon who used fragrance as an ability.
But to guard against another possibility, Scribe still made preparations.
If she displayed any hostility toward him, he would sever her head in an instant.
Before long, he arrived at the wasteland beside the graveyard.
The first thing he saw was animal skeletons scattered everywhere across the ground.
Skulls, leg bones, rib bones, forearm bones.
It seemed the situation was even more serious than the burly man had described.
After a brief inspection, Scribe discovered some clues on one of the bones.
Though faint, he could still make out several bite marks.
He picked up a lump of mud and pressed it onto the bone.
In this way, Scribe made a relatively simple mold of the teeth marks.
From the mold, he obtained a great deal of useful information.
First, the bite marks were relatively small, making it highly likely they belonged to a woman.
Second, among those bite marks were four particularly deep impressions.
Ordinary people might have been puzzled upon seeing this, perhaps even suspecting that they had made a mistake.
But to Scribe, it was something all too familiar.
Without a doubt, these were demon bite marks.
Before you continue