Demon Slayer: Great Swordmaster System at the Start, My Master Tsugikuni

After all, he had never mentioned the scene at that time to anyone outside; only his descendants knew this secret.

"Mr. Demon Slayer, is it really you?"

Two lines of tears slid down his rough cheeks. Youbisheng seemed to want to get off the chair.

But now, he was no longer what he used to be. His arm went limp, and his body tilted towards the ground.

With a slight push of his foot, the Scribe appeared beside him.

He reached out and supported Youbisheng, who was about to fall, and helped him back into the chair.

Youbisheng was about to say something, but at that moment, a loud shout was heard.

"Let go of my father!"

Looking in the direction of the sound, they saw Youbiando running over menacingly, holding a katana.

Behind him followed a group of samurai hired by the Youbi family.

Youbiando hadn't expected that his father, who should have been recuperating, would actually be basking in the sun.

Furthermore, he had just seen the young man in front of him holding his father, seemingly doing something bad.

At the thought of this, anger clouded his mind, and the desire to protect his father replaced all reason.

Just as Youbiando was about to rescue his father at all costs, Youbisheng suddenly roared.

"All of you, stop!"

Although Youbisheng's time was running out, his roar at this moment was surprisingly loud, completely unlike the voice of someone on the verge of death.

Gritting his teeth, Youbiando waved his hand, signaling his subordinates to stop.

Just as he was wondering if his father was being held hostage, Youbisheng continued.

"Everyone else, get lost. Du'er, you come here."

Without time to think further, Youbiando dismissed the samurai and stepped forward alone, sword in hand.

Pointing at his son, Youbisheng's voice grew louder.

"Put down your sword. Are you trying to attack our family's benefactor?"

Glancing at the Scribe, Youbiando dropped his sword and crouched beside his father.

If the other party had intended to harm his father, he would not have hesitated to shield him with his own body.

Seeing that Youbiando had calmed down, Youbisheng slumped back into the chair as if he had exhausted all his strength.

"Cough, cough."

Covering his mouth, Youbisheng coughed out a large mouthful of blood.

Youbiando, who was beside him, was about to say something but was silenced by his father's gaze.

"I'm sorry to have made you witness this, Mr. Demon Slayer."

With an apologetic expression, Youbisheng's voice became extremely hoarse.

Shaking his head, the Scribe said.

"It's no wonder. After all, my current appearance is indeed hard to believe."

Frankly, if a young man suddenly appeared and claimed to be a child from sixty years ago, most people would find it hard to accept.

"Du'er is a good child, just a bit impulsive."

"Please give me some time to explain things to him."

Nodding, the Scribe moved to the side, leaving space for the father and son.

Although he could easily hear their conversation, out of politeness, the Scribe did not deliberately eavesdrop.

After a while, Youbisheng seemed to have finished explaining.

At this moment, Youbiando's previously furious demeanor had undergone a complete transformation.

He rushed forward to the Scribe and, with a thump, knelt down.

Immediately, in front of his father, he kowtowed several times to the Scribe.

"I was blind before and did foolish things, almost making a grave mistake. I don't dare to ask for the benefactor's forgiveness, I only wish that Mr. Demon Slayer would not harm my father. All responsibility lies with me."

After speaking, Youbiando seemed to want to kowtow a few more times.

Reaching out, the Scribe stopped him.

"You were only thinking of your father. What's wrong with that?"

Suddenly looking up, Youbiando looked at the smiling Scribe, and tears streamed down his face uncontrollably.

"Thank you, Mr. Demon Slayer."

"Demon Slayer was a name I came up with on impulse. My real name is Scribe."

Helping Youbiando up, the Scribe said.

Now, may I speak with your father?

Taking a few steps back, Youbiando bowed and said respectfully.

I understand, Scribe. I'll wait here. You can call me anytime if you need me.

With that, he wisely left, giving the Scribe and Youbisheng complete privacy and time.

Picking up a chair and sitting beside Youbisheng, the Scribe began to speak.

You must have had a difficult time finding me all these years.

It was all worth it to see you again, Mr. Demon Slayer.

Youbisheng shook his head, his words devoid of any dissatisfaction.

I'm curious about your life over the years. Can you tell me about it?

It would be my honor.

For the next while, Youbisheng recounted his experiences of the past sixty years to the Scribe.

From the trivial anecdotes he overheard by the roadside to the plague that once engulfed a small town, he shared it all.

Youbiando grew more excited and happier as he spoke, while the Scribe sat there quietly, acting as a good listener.

When they spoke of happy things, they would laugh together.

When they spoke of sad things, they would also feel down.

They were like old friends who hadn't seen each other in years, sharing each other's joys and sorrows.

Time flew by, and before they knew it, evening had arrived.

After sharing the last story from his mind with the Scribe, a surprising flush of color appeared on Youbisheng's aged face.

Though it had only been a day, he had recalled sixty years of the past with the Scribe.

Mr. Scribe, are you still hunting demons and those evil demons?

As one of the survivors from that time, Youbisheng naturally knew of the demons' existence.

Yes, I promised someone that I would complete the task he left unfinished.

Is that so?

Nodding, Youbiando looked up at the vast night sky.

In his eyes, neither the crescent moon nor the surrounding stars could adequately describe the Scribe.

Only the sun, hanging high in the sky during the day, was the best description for him.

He, an ordinary person, was fortunate enough to meet this person who was like the scorching sun.

He felt his life was complete, having met the Scribe again in the final moments of his life.

Mr. Scribe, may you always be as magnificent as the sun.

After this simple sentence, the smile on Youbisheng's lips froze.

His eyes stared fixedly at the night sky, as if waiting for the light to arrive from behind the black curtain.

Feeling no regrets in life, Youbisheng passed away peacefully in his sleep.

Chapter 56: Shadows Stir, Blades Sharpened Against the Demon Slayer Corps

The Scribe reached out and gently closed his eyelids.

To me, Youbisheng might have just been a passerby in my life.

But to him, I was the turning point in his life, the sun that pulled him back from the shadow of death.

Mr. Scribe, thank you.

Appearing behind the Scribe, Youbiando's eyes were red, and he bowed solemnly to him.

He knew very well that his father's lifespan had long since come to an end.

The only reason he had managed to hold on until now was the faint hope of seeing Mr. Demon Slayer one last time.

Now that his wish had been granted, he passed away without any regrets.

Patting Youbiando's shoulder, the Scribe said.

He was a good father, a good town mayor, and a man without reproach.

Hearing the Scribe say this, Youbiando could no longer hold back his tears.

I'm leaving now. I don't know when I'll return here.

Regardless, the Youbi family will always wait for you and contribute their strength to you.

After listening to Youbiando, the Scribe suddenly clapped his hands.

You know, I actually do need your help with something.

Scratching his head, Youbiando felt that the Scribe's smile was a bit strange.

After leaving the Youbi residence, the Scribe had a large bag on his back.

He hadn't expected that all he wanted was some money for clothes, but Youbiando had directly given him several hundred kan.

He rushed to the store and, with the last bit of time available, the Scribe bought the clothes.

Holding the newly purchased clothes, he walked back to the inn.

Passing by the marketplace, he also bought a few small items like rouge for makeup.

Upon returning to the inn, the Scribe handed the clothes and trinkets he had bought to Tamayo.

"Did you encounter any trouble on the way? You're back so late."

"No, I just... went to see off a friend."

Although she didn't quite understand what the Scribe meant, Tamayo didn't ask further.

She was intelligent enough to know that if the Scribe wasn't telling her something, it was because he felt it wasn't necessary.

Taking the items the Scribe had bought, Tamayo went aside to change.

Before long, a beautiful and radiant woman emerged.

A large bun was styled at the back of her head, secured by a patterned hairpin.

Her lips were touched with a bit of rouge, and a faint dusting of powder was applied to the corners of her eyes.

She wore a pale pink kimono adorned with a few cherry blossoms, and a wide, pale blue obi was tied around her waist.

"You look quite pretty."

The Scribe praised her sincerely, a smile filling his face.

Her face flushed, and Tamayo nodded as if shy.

Just as the Scribe was about to say something more, Tamayo's expression suddenly turned pale.

Clutching her chest with one hand and grabbing her head with the other, she seemed to be enduring immense pressure.