During the Meiji era, tales spoke of evil demons that ate people after sundown.
There was also the Demon Slayer Corps, made up of Demon Slayers who killed evil demons and protected humanity.
Wearing a blindfold and earplugs, Haruto lay on a Kakushi member's back, swaying in the darkness.
As a child who had grown up in the Swordsmith Village, this was his first time leaving.
The Swordsmith Village was a vital support division of the Demon Slayer Corps, dedicated to forging Nichirin Blades for its swordsmen.
To prevent its routes from being exposed and the village from coming under demon attack, anyone entering or leaving had to be carried by members of another support division of the Demon Slayer Corps, the Kakushi.
Although Haruto had lived in the Swordsmith Village since childhood, he was not officially a swordsmith, so his eyes and ears had still been covered when he left.
What a strange feeling...
He was passed from one Kakushi member to another like a piece of cargo.
The entire journey was a complicated affair, with frequent changes of carriers, each responsible for only one stretch of the route.
Whenever he was handed over, Haruto took two rice balls his Master had made out of his back basket and offered them to the Kakushi member who had just carried him.
"Thanks for your hard work! Enjoy!"
He had no idea what expression they wore or what they said.
But the rice balls were taken from his hands every time, so surely they had sincerely accepted his thanks.
"Why is he so heavy...?"
The last Kakushi member trudged down the path, panting as she followed the Kasugai Crow's directions.
"He doesn't even look that muscular. This is harder than carrying Mr. Himejima..."
At last, they reached their destination. The Kakushi member set him down beside the road and removed Haruto’s blindfold and earplugs.
After so long without light, the pupils of his mist-blue eyes contracted, then slowly focused on the Kakushi member's face.
The Kakushi member, clearly a girl beneath her face covering, froze at the sight of Haruto's face, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.
"Mr. Takanashi, you'll have to make the rest of the journey on your own."
Seeing her face covered in sweat, Haruto sheepishly took out another two pieces of Hand-Pressed Sushi:
"Thanks for your hard work! Enjoy!"
"...Mr. Takanashi, did you bring that many rice balls with you? You've handed out quite a few along the way, haven't you? Will you have enough left to get you to Mount Fujikasane?"
"Oh, don't you worry!"
Haruto cheerfully patted his back basket. "Master made me 200 rice balls before I left!"
"200 rice balls... o_O"
For some reason, the girl's expression beneath her face covering turned resentful.
"Huh, but how did you know my last name was Takanashi?"
Haruto scratched the back of his head. "I don't think I ever introduced myself."
"Kakushi members share stories when we have some downtime."
The girl replied, "Everyone knows there's a demon-slaying swordsman in the Swordsmith Village who was trained by a swordsmith and is heading to Mount Fujikasane for the selection.
"But why would a child from the Swordsmith Village choose to become a demon-slaying swordsman?"
"Maybe because I never had any talent for swordsmithing, and I eat a lot... Master had to find something else for me to do so I wouldn't turn into a big fat pig."
Haruto flexed his arm muscles. "I might look skinny, but I'm actually pretty muscular!"
...Well, somehow, the girl hadn't looked too happy when she said goodbye, and she kept holding her lower back.
Looks like the Kakushi have a tough job, too.
Haruto perked up and hitched the basket higher on his shoulders.
Fourteen years. Fourteen years since he had transmigrated, and today he had finally left the tiny confines of the Swordsmith Village to embark on a new life of his own.
In his third year after transmigrating, Haruto had learned from everyone's conversations that he had arrived in the world of Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba.
But in his previous life, he had only heard about the anime from his anime-obsessed roommate and had never watched it, so he was unfamiliar with this world's plot.
Even the main characters...
Could someone tell me who my roommate meant by Big Bro, Third Bro, the scumbag boss, the Head Hashira, the Sleep Hashira, and Shinobu my wife?
For a moment, he couldn't tell whether his roommate had been watching a mainstream action anime or SpongeBob SquarePants.
His Master had always warned him that it was dangerous outside the village, that evil demons roamed the human world, picking out people to devour.
The various Demon Slayer Corps members with powerful auras who came and went from the village also proved that the world outside was no paradise.
But for Haruto, who had transmigrated here, if he spent his entire life in a village under other people's protection, blankly watching his Master swing a hammer and forge swords...
What would be the point of living?
So, at eleven, he had given up the swordsmithing he could never get the hang of and begun learning swordsmanship from his Master, Godogawa.
Godogawa was not a cultivator dedicated to training the next generation of swordsmen, so all he taught Haruto were the basic Breathing Style and swordsmanship he himself knew.
After two and a half years of trial and error, along with seeking advice from Mr. Shinjuro Rengoku during his infrequent visits to the Swordsmith Village, Haruto had mastered Flame Breathing and its first five forms.
"Flame Breathing doesn't seem right for you," the Flame Hashira, Shinjuro Rengoku, had once said, stroking his chin. "You don't have a blazing will burning in your heart."
Haruto understood what he meant. He really couldn't approach everything with the same passion as Mr. Rengoku.
Yet when he held a sword, he could indeed perform the forms of Flame Breathing.
They were just rather weak.
Master Godogawa often doubted whether he could pass the test to become a demon-slaying swordsman-surviving seven days on Mount Fujikasane, where demons were confined.
He always felt that, with Haruto's amateur skills, never mind surviving seven days, he might shit his pants on the very first day.
Yes, he really did mean... shit his pants.
"If you realize you really aren't up to it... go back to where the wisteria grows and withdraw."
"I'm an independent demon-slaying swordsman with two and a half years of training, you know! Have a little faith in me, okay? (╯‵□′)╯︵┴─┴!"
Although his Master was deeply worried, Haruto's mind was made up.
I'm a transmigrator, for crying out loud. Surely I can at least pass the selection test... right?
Hmm, all that thinking has made me hungry.
Haruto found some shade beneath a tree and sat down, placing his basket in front of him. He took out his water flask and began stuffing Hand-Pressed Sushi into his mouth.
If transmigrating had changed anything about his body, it was definitely that his appetite had grown enormously, and he got hungry very quickly.
His record was 300 pieces of Hand-Pressed Sushi in a single meal, enough to turn Godogawa’s face green.
His body rapidly absorbed and digested the huge quantities of food, converting them into nutrients that nourished his muscles and bones and helped him recover his stamina and energy more quickly.
It's still over a day's walk to Mount Fujikasane, so I'll just have fifty for now.
Before he ate the last piece of sushi in his basket, he reached Mount Fujikasane.
This place belonged to the Ubuyashiki Family, who had led the Demon Slayer Corps for generations.
Demon-slaying swordsmen captured weaker demons and imprisoned them here to train newcomers.
As soon as Haruto entered, wisteria filled his view.
Haruto climbed the steps and spotted many youths standing among the wisteria and torii gates.
They all wore long swords at their waists and were dressed in different outfits, casting cold glances at anyone who came up.
Haruto looked around, trying hard to recall what the protagonist of Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba looked like.
He could only vaguely remember that his name was Tanjiro and that he wore a black-and-green checkered haori on the cover.
He surveyed his surroundings but saw no one in black-and-green checks. Instead, he spotted two odd boys standing in a corner with their arms folded, wearing fox masks.
Neither looked very old. The one on the left had medium-length, salmon-pink hair and wore a haori patterned in yellow, orange, and green;
The other had black hair and wore a dark red haori.
What strange people.
Wouldn't wearing masks while killing demons block their vision?
Just then, something suddenly flashed before Haruto's eyes.
A line of simplified Chinese characters in a Song typeface on a white background swept across his vision.
[Senior brother, my destined husband.]
*?*
Haruto raised a hand and rubbed his eyes, wondering whether running for so long had made him hallucinate.
Unlike the Japanese he saw every day, with its mixture of kanji, hiragana, and katakana, this line was unmistakably written in proper Chinese.
What the heck?
Did the world glitch?
Did a scrolling comment get stuck in my eyes?
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