"Seventh Form – Obscuring Clouds."
Muichiro once again unleashed his original sword technique.
What he had said earlier was true. The entirety of Mist Breathing was a Breathing Style that already existed within the Demon Slayer Corps—except for this final form. This move was sothing Muichiro created himself.
It was with this very technique that he had slain the Lower Rank Two of the Twelve Kizuki.
Muichiro didn't like recalling the details. He couldn't rember the demon's appearance, nor the exact process of the battle.
All he knew was this: if even his strongest technique couldn't defeat Takeo, then this ti… he would truly lose.
A complete, undeniable loss.
The first ti Muichiro used Oboro (Obscuring Clouds), his execution had been rough and unrefined. Even the second ti—monts ago—his technique had still contained minor flaws.
But now, as he activated it for the third ti, Oboro had been nearly perfected. During their brief exchanges, Muichiro had also picked up on subtle inconsistencies in Takeo's swordplay.
Perhaps it was because the first five forms of Wolf Breathing and the sixth were developed from different foundations. As a result, whenever Takeo shifted between them, there was a slight stiffness—a montary gap in the fluidity of his transitions.
It was the kind of flaw imperceptible to ordinary swordsn—but glaringly obvious to a Hashira.
And that was precisely what Muichiro was aiming for.
His ethereal figure flickered in and out of the mist. With perfect precision, Muichiro's blade slipped into the narrow gap between Takeo's moves.
His sword, like an extension of the mist itself—weightless, formless, yet deadly—pierced straight toward Takeo's heart.
Success.
The subtle feedback transmitted from the tip of the blade told Muichiro with certainty—his strike had connected.
But… it was only superficial!
Muichiro wanted to follow through with the thrust. With that level of precision and force, if this had been a real Nichirin sword rather than a wooden blade, it would've pierced straight through Takeo's heart—the match would've been decided instantly.
But he couldn't do it.
Not only was he unable to press the attack further, but he also had to imdiately shift into defense to avoid the counterstrike already coming his way!
A wave of invisible pressure—like compressed air—burst out from Takeo's sword, surging toward Muichiro with terrifying speed.
Several razor-thin blades of wind materialized in the air, slicing toward Muichiro's feet!
Had he hesitated for even a fraction of a second longer, he would have been struck head-on by those air blades!
What is this...? Muichiro thought quickly. Wind...? No... not quite. Air pressure...?
But there was no ti to figure it out.
Takeo's swords were already upon him—wind and fire swirling together, crashing down like a storm.
Wolf Breathing, Fifth Form – Eightfold Fang!
Twin blades swept in unison, delivering eight consecutive strikes—all in the span of a heartbeat!
Muichiro managed to deflect five of them with desperate precision, but the remaining three struck true—hitting cleanly against his vitals!
Chest, liver, and the side of the neck.
"…"
"…"
The fierce clash finally ca to an end. The lingering mist dissipated. The wind and flas faded. Takeo and Muichiro reappeared in the center of the field.
"It seems the winner has been decided," Shinobu Kocho said softly as she observed the scene before her.
Muichiro's wooden blade was pressed against Takeo's chest—right over his heart. anwhile, Takeo's blade was resting against the side of Muichiro's neck.
At first glance, it appeared to be a draw.
But as the breeze swept through, a sharp crack echoed across the field—the wooden sword in Muichiro's hand splintered into pieces, fragnts falling helplessly to the ground.
Only one of Takeo's twin blades had broken—the other, the one resting against Muichiro's neck, remained perfectly intact.
"I won," Takeo said calmly.
Unlike their previous match, this was a clear victory.
No tricks. No flukes. A direct, head-to-head fight where he had completely overpowered Muichiro with his own strength—and erged as the final victor.
Muichiro said nothing. He simply lowered his gaze, staring at the broken hilt left in his palm. Then, in a soft murmur, half to himself, he muttered:
"Oh.. Looks like… the weapon matters too."
With that, he tossed aside the broken hilt and turned, silently walking away without another word.
Takeo glanced at the broken sword in his hand, tossed it aside, and walked toward the exit.
There would be mbers of the Kakushi to handle the cleanup. He didn't need to concern himself with such trivial matters. Now that he had finished sparring with Muichiro and settled that lingering thought in his heart, it was ti to set out again—to hunt demons.
The Hashira who had been silently watching earlier had dispersed at so point, leaving only Kyojuro, Giyuu, and Shinobu Kocho behind.
Kyojuro nodded at Takeo, his usual bright smile on his face, before turning to leave.
Shinobu Kocho also looked ready to depart, but for so reason, she glanced at Giyuu a few extra tis—as though wondering why he hadn't left yet.
Takeo ignored it. He had no intention of figuring out whatever was going through Giyuu Tomioka's mind.
He was just about to leave when Tomioka stepped forward, blocking his path.
"…What is it?" Takeo asked, frowning slightly in confusion.
Tomioka stared at him for a mont, then said bluntly, "Do you have any personal belongings?"
Takeo blinked, surprised. "My… personal belongings? What for?"
If Takeo were a girl, he might've suspected this man had so peculiar hobby.
Tomioka fell silent again. After a long pause, he finally explained in his usual stiff tone, "…Tanjiro has a keen sense of sll."
"…I see."
Although Giyuu spoke rather concisely, Takeo still understood what he ant from the flow of the conversation.
He likely wanted Tanjiro to confirm Takeo's identity.
Takeo didn't refuse. After thinking for a mont, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a tattered scarf.
It was the sa scarf he'd been wearing when he first crawled out of the grave.
Stained with blood and badly damaged, Takeo had simply cleaned it up and tucked it away, no longer wearing it around his neck. Now, this was the perfect item to hand over—sothing Giyuu could use to help Tanjiro confirm his identity.
Giyuu silently accepted the scarf without saying a word. When he didn't follow up with anything else, Takeo asked again, slightly impatient: "Anything else?"
Giyuu stared at Takeo for a few more seconds, as though contemplating sothing. Then, as if unable to hold it back any longer, he blurted out:
"…It's not Water Breathing. What a sha."
With that, he turned and walked away.
Takeo stood there, utterly bewildered.
…
Far away, on Mount Sagiri, where Urokodaki Sakonji lived in seclusion, Tanjiro Kamado was diligently practicing the sword forms passed down to him by Urokodaki.
By now, he had been training on this mountain for nearly four months.
During these four months, aside from rigorous physical training every day, Tanjiro fully dedicated himself to learning the basic swordsmanship taught by Urokodaki.
Tanjiro possessed natural talent, but his foundations were weak. For the past four months, Urokodaki had focused entirely on building that foundation.
Improving physical fitness, navigating traps set all over the mountain to develop reflexes, honing reaction speed, teaching fundantal sword techniques—all to prepare Tanjiro to eventually learn a Breathing Technique.
Right now, Tanjiro was practicing the most fundantal sword drills.
The thod was simple.
Swing the sword. Swing it continuously. Every strike had to hit the exact sa spot with precision.
Only by achieving that level of consistency could it be said that he had mastered the fundantals of swordsmanship.
Tanjiro worked tirelessly. No matter how harsh Urokodaki's training was, no matter how exhausting the daily physical demands beca, even if he collapsed from fatigue mid-practice, he never once thought of giving up.
He couldn't afford to stop.
Nezuko was still asleep, and he was desperate to beco a mber of the Demon Slayer Corps as soon as possible—to track down Muzan Kibutsuji, the one responsible for the massacre of the Kamado family.
And at the sa ti, to find a way to turn Nezuko back into a human.
"Turn her back into a human"—these words alone made it clear that Nezuko Kamado was no longer human.
On that tragic day, Tanjiro survived only because he'd gone down the mountain to sell charcoal. He had stayed overnight at Grandpa Saburo's house.
By the ti he returned, his entire family—except for Nezuko—had been slaughtered by a demon. And though Nezuko survived, she had been transford into a demon herself.
Later, Tanjiro t Giyu Tomioka, and through Tomioka's recomndation, he found Sakonji Urokodaki and beca his disciple.
Since then, he had been living and training here.
"Five hundred and one… five hundred and two… five hundred and three…!"
Tanjiro gritted his teeth, swinging his sword repeatedly. Sweat poured down his face, his hands trembled uncontrollably, and every muscle in his body scread in protest.
But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
Wait for , Nezuko. I'll beco a real swordsman. I'll find a way to turn you back into a human.
Clinging to this belief, Tanjiro swung his sword tirelessly.
Urokodaki Sakonji stood silently behind him. According to his usual habit, whenever Tanjiro finished a round of sword swings, Urokodaki would assign additional training depending on his physical condition.
But today… sothing was different.
"All right," Urokodaki said calmly when Tanjiro finally lowered his sword. "That's enough for today."
Tanjiro froze in place, stunned. He turned his head toward Urokodaki in disbelief. "Huh? That's… it? We're not doing more training?"
"No training today," Urokodaki Sakonji said simply. Then he waved at Tanjiro, motioning for him to follow him inside.
Tanjiro blinked in confusion but obeyed. For so reason, his heart suddenly began beating faster, as if sothing important was about to happen.
He followed Urokodaki nervously into the house.
Glancing toward Nezuko, who was still sound asleep in the corner, Tanjiro sat down beside her quietly and asked, "Mr. Urokodaki… is there sothing you need to tell ?"
"Mm." Urokodaki nodded.
His face was hidden beneath his tengu mask, but Tanjiro could clearly sense the shift in atmosphere—the air was heavy, filled with sothing serious… sothing solemn.
Mr. Urokodaki… seems tense. Why?
Just as Tanjiro began wondering, Urokodaki finally spoke:
"Today, the Kakushi delivered a letter… and a scarf."
"A scarf?" Tanjiro repeated, puzzled.
"Yes… this is the scarf."
Urokodaki spoke as he pulled out a folded scarf and placed it gently in front of Tanjiro.
"…"
It was a black and green plaid scarf—the sa pattern and colors as the haori Tanjiro always wore. The mont the faint scent lingering on the fabric reached his nose, Tanjiro's eyes widened.
There was no mistake.
This was the Kamado family's scarf—the very one his younger brother, Takeo, used to wear.
"W-Why… why do you have this…?"
Tears welled up in Tanjiro's eyes.
His expression wasn't particularly sad, but the tears wouldn't stop. They stread down his face as if sothing inside him had broken free.
He clutched the scarf tightly, trembling, then raised his gaze toward Urokodaki, his lips trembling as he waited for an explanation.
Without a word, Urokodaki took out a folded letter and set it down in front of Tanjiro.
"It seems Giyuu wasn't mistaken after all," Urokodaki muttered softly.
Then, he straightened and said seriously, "I had thought… it was just soone with the sa surna. That's why I never ntioned it to you before. But now… now, it's all but certain."
His voice grew firm.
"Tanjiro. Your younger brother… Takeo Kamado… he's still alive."
"!"
The mont Urokodaki finished speaking, Tanjiro's tears burst forth uncontrollably. It was as if a dam had broken inside him. The tears stread down, falling like rain onto the scarf in his hands.
_________
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