The people of the Stronghold were so enthusiastic that the Demon Slayer Han Yu could not get away for a while.
They kept him there for three whole days before he finally managed to leave.
As he was leaving, he received a cartload of things, and they worried that he would not be able to carry it all.
The people of the Stronghold thoughtfully threw in two swift horses as well.
Han Yu did not know whether to laugh or cry. He tried every way to decline, but he still could not turn down their generosity.
In contrast, Li Ping'an stood beside him empty-handed.
Li Ping'an did not mind at all. After asking the people of the Stronghold how to make sour soup, he cheerfully bade everyone farewell.
Three more days passed.
There was scarcely any light around them, and only the faint outlines of the distant mountains were visible.
Thick white mist wound around the treetops, as though the entire world had been filled with fog.
When night fell, the fog grew thick and black.
It was like endless ink pouring down from the sky. Reaching out and grasping a handful brought a sensation of thick, clinging dampness.
The two men and two beasts traveled along the mountain path, their steps perfectly steady, with occasional conversation drifting out.
They seemed wholly unaffected by the fog.
"Why don't we rest here for a while? At this pace, we'll reach the Thatched Cottage in a few more days."
Han Yu sat down against a tree and took a drink of water.
"Did you always live at the Thatched Cottage before?" Li Ping'an asked casually.
"Yes, with my master."
"How many Demon Slayers are there altogether?"
"Uh..." Han Yu was momentarily at a loss for words. "There's... there's only my master and