Muzan had spent over a thousand years searching for it himself without finding a thing. Even if Doma mobilized the two hundred or so unfortunate souls in the Eternal Paradise Cult to search together, it would serve as little more than psychological comfort.
Report after fruitless report only made Muzan angrier.
Originally, Muzan had been ready to give up and return to the way things had been for the past thousand years: searching slowly, without any hurry. He still had a long life ahead of him, after all.
But the deaths of Akaza and Hantengu nearly half a year ago had sent Muzan's barely subsiding emotions straight out of control again.
At that Upper Rank meeting, the aura radiating from Muzan had been like a volcano ready to erupt at any moment. Even Doma, the most "lively" of them, hadn't dared crack a joke.
Because he really could die.
Since then, Doma had never managed to return to the Eternal Paradise Cult to enjoy some friendly interaction with his adorable followers.
There was no helping it. In his fury, Muzan couldn't bear to see his subordinates idle for even a moment.
Under those circumstances, Muzan would scold Doma for merely standing still for a while, let alone going home to rest.
With a boss like that, Doma understood for the first time in his life-or rather, his demon life-exactly what "helplessness" felt like.
But what could Doma do? All he could do was slack off outside-no, wait, "do his utmost" to search everywhere.
It was "travel on company expenses," after all... No, wait, he didn't seem to get paid at all...
Doma: I'll try to cry very quietly.jpg
Shaking off those chaotic, useless thoughts, Doma stepped into the town.
Splat.
Just as he reached a street corner, he heard a