“As expected of the strongest Breathing Style…
it’s certainly got a learning curve.”
Shiro lay flat on his back, gasping for air like a man who had just been pulled from the water.
Even with his superior physical fitness and foundation in swordsmanship, it had taken him nearly a week of grueling effort to barely grasp the rhythm of the Hinokami Kagura.
Excluding rare outliers like Mitsuri Kanroji or Shiro himself–whose physical constitutions far exceeded the norm–most humans were no match for demons in terms of raw biology.
Demons possessed a recovery rate humans couldn’t dream of, and the stronger ones could even awaken unique Blood Demon Arts.
Breathing Styles were the equalizer.
By drastically enhancing human physical capabilities, they formed the foundation for humanity’s resistance against the night.
The pinnacle of these styles was Sun Breathing.
Its forms alone could inflict a burning pain on demons akin to being scorched by the sun, effectively slowing their regeneration.
However, because it was so overwhelmingly powerful, only the descendants of the Kamado family had managed to preserve it after the death of its creator, Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
Kokushibo and Muzan had seen to it that almost everyone else who knew of its existence was slaughtered.
Shiro was only able to learn it because he possessed power that fell outside the standard specifications of this world.
Others, unable to endure its intensity, had derived the five basic branches: Water, Flame, Thunder, Stone, and Wind.
As he practiced, Shiro could feel his already strong body becoming visibly more robust.
Even his spiritual power, which had been somewhat lacking, began to grow alongside his physical strength.
“It’s the peak technique of this world; it’s only natural for it to provide such a massive boost,” Shiro muttered, letting his Zanpakutō dissipate into spirit particles.
Breathing was just the foundation.
Even Sun Breathing, if performed with an ordinary blade, couldn’t truly kill a demon.
To end them permanently, one needed their ultimate nemesis: the Sun.
Even the Progenitor of Demons, Muzan Kibutsuji, would turn to ash instantly if exposed to sunlight.
Since humans couldn’t manufacture a miniature sun, the Demon Slayer Corps gathered “Scarlet Crimson Iron Sand” and “Scarlet Crimson Ore” from sunlight–drenched mountains to forge Nichirin Swords.
But for the Kamado family, who had been charcoal burners for generations, obtaining such a blade was impossible.
*I wonder if a Zanpakutō has the power to kill a demon.*
A Zanpakutō targeted the soul.
Whether a demon’s body would crumble into dust or simply become a mindless corpse if its soul was extinguished remained to be seen.
Without an experiment, Shiro couldn’t be sure.
“Thanks for the hard work, Shiro.”
After finishing his practice, Shiro had chopped the wood Tanjiro would need for tomorrow’s charcoal before heading back to the hut.
Nezuko, wearing her pink kimono with her hair tied back, handed him a cup of steaming warm water.
“Thanks, Nezuko.”
As the oldest child besides Tanjiro, nearly a third of the household chores fell on her shoulders.
In her spare time, she looked after their younger siblings and always put others first, despite her own clothes being covered in patches.
Shiro took the cup with one hand and reached out to pat her head with the other, his eyes filled with a trace of heartache.
“You shouldn’t pat your big sister’s head,” Nezuko teased, feigning annoyance as she grabbed his hand and moved it away.
She immediately turned to grab a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow.
In winter, if you didn’t dry off after sweating, catching a cold was almost a certainty.
But when she returned with the towel, Shiro was already gone.
“Honestly…
Shiro’s disappeared again.” Nezuko puffed out her cheeks like a cute little hamster.
Ever since Shiro mastered Sun Breathing, he had become increasingly mysterious, vanishing at a moment’s notice.
The Back Mountain.
Shiro was leaping through the forest.
Upon closer inspection, it was clear he wasn’t using the trees for leverage; his feet remained steady in mid–air, performing a feat similar to flight.
He was using *Shunpo* to tread on the air itself.
Below him, three wild wolves were sprinting in a desperate attempt to escape.
These were to be the Kamado family’s groceries for the coming days.
Shiro’s high–intensity training required a massive intake of protein; without meat, his progress would slow down significantly even with spiritual support.
The saying “Literature is for the poor, Martial Arts for the rich” applied even to Soul Reapers.
“Hooo–”
Seeing the wolves tiring and preparing to split up, Shiro took a massive breath.
A surge of oxygen flooded his bloodstream through the Breathing Style, and his muscles instantly entered an overdriven state.
In the next blink, Shiro appeared directly in front of the three wolves–a perfect execution of *Shunpo*, one of the four basic Soul Reaper combat arts.
*Sun Breathing, First Form: Dance.*
*Squelch!*
Three identical fountains of blood erupted simultaneously.
The wolves were decapitated mid–stride, their bodies skidding across the snow as their legs gave a few final, reflexive twitches.
Shiro let out a deep breath and picked up the carcasses.
The three pelts would sell well to the fat boss, further improving their quality of life.
Even though Nezuko had received a share of the money from the bear pelt, she remained incredibly thrifty, saving every yen for emergencies rather than buying herself new clothes.
“Whoa!
Shiro-niichan caught wolves!
So cool!
That’s the first time I’ve seen a real wolf!”
Shigeru, with his short buzz cut, was the first to spot Shiro returning with the haul.
He ran over excitedly, his small hand poking the coarse fur before quickly pulling back, delighted by the novelty.
Shiro’s presence had effectively pulled the Kamado family out of poverty.
Compared to the original timeline, they were far better off–well–fed and nutritionally balanced.
After storing the meat in the cellar, Shiro dusted off his hands.
These three pelts together would be worth nearly as much as the brown bear.
It was enough to buy new clothes and furniture for everyone.
Many of their bowls were chipped at the edges; it was time for an upgrade.
“We want to go too!”
Hanako and Shigeru clung to Shiro, speaking in unison.
Born and raised in the mountains, the number of times they had been to town could be counted on one hand.
It was one of the reasons Kie had so many children–living in isolation in the wilderness could drive a person mad with loneliness.
Having siblings kept the home lively.
As much as Shiro wanted to take them, this trip wasn’t just about selling pelts.
More importantly, he intended to drag out the demon hiding in the town.
Whether it was to eliminate a threat to his family or to extract a Blood Demon Art, he couldn’t let a demon continue its rampage so close to home.
“Sorry, Shigeru, Hanako.
Maybe next time,” Shiro said apologetically, extending two fingers to tap each of them on the forehead.
“You kids stop pestering him.
Shiro has serious business to attend to; don’t make things difficult for him,” Kie said, standing behind them.
Shiro was still a child himself in her eyes; taking two more children down the mountain was a safety risk.
Kidnappers and human traffickers were a reality in any era.
Shigeru and Hanako weren’t spoiled brats.
Though disappointed, they obediently said their goodbyes.
“Don’t be sad.
I’ll bring back new clothes for you when I return.”
“Long live Shiro-niichan!”
Kids are easy to please.
Shiro chuckled inwardly and began pushing his cart down the mountain alone.
Without Tanjiro slowing him down, his speed was blistering.
If he weren’t worried about being spotted, he could have used *Shunpo* to cover the distance in minutes.
It was a bit ironic–aside from healing, the skill Shiro had inherited most strongly from his Soul Reaper self was *Shunpo*.
His survival instincts were clearly maxed out.