In the town below.
Shiro knocked softly on a wooden door.
This was the home of a man killed by a demon just days ago; the dark cloud of grief still hung heavy over the family.
From inside, he could faintly hear the sound of a woman sobbing.
Shiro let out a sigh.
Without strength, one could only become a lamb for the slaughter.
“Is there something you need?”
A middle-aged woman with swollen, red eyes opened the door a crack, looking at Shiro with suspicion.
“Hello.
I apologize for the intrusion, but I wanted to ask about…”
Shiro paused, weaving a subtle hypnotic *Kidō* into his voice before continuing:
“…the true culprit who killed your husband.”
Under the influence of the *Kidō*, the woman’s mind blurred for a moment, though her eyes still shimmered with sadness and fear.
She pulled the door wide, inviting Shiro inside.
“Please, come in and speak.”
A few moments later, Shiro accepted a cup of freshly brewed green tea from the woman as he listened to her recount the events of a week prior.
“I saw that Boss Kitahara had received a high-quality pelt, but it was already reserved.
I…
I pestered Hiratsugu to take his hunting rifle into the forest to find a better bear,” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands.
“If he hadn’t stayed behind to block that monster for me, he wouldn’t have died.
In the end, the real killer is me.”
Her tears began to flow uncontrollably again.
Shiro scanned the room, noting the various fur products hanging on the walls.
He winced inwardly.
If only this woman had waited a few days until he sold his pelt to the fat boss, her husband might still be alive.
But regardless, the demon was the one at fault; without it, there would be no tragedy.
Finally, Shiro used a spell to make the woman drift into a deep sleep.
When she woke, this specific memory would be faded and forgotten.
He left the house feeling slightly lighter.
From her description, the demon’s appearance didn’t match any of the Twelve Kizuki from the original story.
Even so, he couldn’t afford to be careless.
If the creature possessed a spatial-type Blood Demon Art, it could still pose a significant threat.
Shiro’s presence in the town drew plenty of attention.
His striking white hair and handsome features made it impossible to blend in, and he had already gained a bit of local fame.
Occasionally, young girls would cast shy glances his way, but he feigned ignorance.
In this era, marriage ages were incredibly young–even the nineteen-year-old Love Hashira, Mitsuri Kanroji, was desperate to find a husband.
Having two beauties living in his own home, Shiro’s standards had unconsciously climbed quite high.
After finishing his business with the fat boss, he visited a tailor to order a full set of custom clothes for the Kamado family.
By the time everything was settled, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon.
The streets emptied almost instantly.
Fear of the recent disappearances had turned the town into a ghost village at night, as everyone huddled in their homes praying they weren’t next.
“How arrogant.
Even without me, the Demon Slayer Corps would have come for you eventually,” Shiro muttered, his eyes cold.
Lower Rank demons were usually more cautious.
This one acted as if it wanted the whole world to know it was there.
While the Corps relied on Kasugai Crows–which were far less efficient than modern phones–the sheer scale of the panic meant news would have reached them by now.
However, for the sake of his experiments, he would handle this one himself.
As for whether the demon would show up tonight, Shiro wasn’t worried.
According to the memories left in this body, when a demon had attacked his original parents, it had screamed frantically about “Marechi” blood.
If his parents were Marechi, there was a high probability he was too.
To a demon, Marechi blood was like dragon’s liver or phoenix marrow–it could boost their power more than eating dozens of normal humans combined.
If Shiro truly was Marechi, even a Lower Rank would fight to the death for a taste.
Around 1:00 AM, when humans were in their deepest sleep and demons were most active, Shiro didn’t hesitate.
He used his Zanpakutō to nick his palm.
Fresh blood dripped down, quickly freezing in the biting night air.
He squeezed out a few dozen more drops, forming a small puddle on the ground.
If this had been when he first arrived, he might have hesitated to hurt himself, but after the Soul Reaper’s training, this didn’t even qualify as a minor injury.
An aroma undetectable to humans caught the cold wind, wafting to every corner of the town.
At the far edge of the town.
“What a thick, rich scent…
the quality far exceeds any human I’ve ever eaten!”
A creature with a head as large as a basin and a distorted face looked up in shock.
It had been planning to pick off a small, isolated family–the kind of people whose disappearance wouldn’t be noticed for days, keeping the Demon Slayers off its trail.
But its instincts screamed that if it ate the source of this scent, its power would skyrocket.
It might even become one of the Twelve Kizuki.
Then, it wouldn’t have to fear any hunter.
“Eat him…
eat him…
eat him…”
A sickening cackle emerged from its split throat as its movements became frantic.
Back at the site, Shiro used *Kaidō* to heal the cut, leaving only a faint scar that would vanish shortly.
*Whoosh!*
The sound of breaking wind arrived.
Prepared, Shiro vanished instantly, reappearing ten meters back and easily dodging the lunge.
He turned to look at the “Ugly Demon.” Despite the widow’s description, Shiro felt his stomach churn.
The creature was humanoid, but its face looked like a “God of Chaos” created by a broken character-customization system.
Its features were misplaced, and its forehead bulged out further than a prehistoric hominid’s.
Dripping saliva and a mouth full of fangs added to the disgust.
Most horrifyingly, it wasn’t wearing a single stitch of clothing–a true assault on Shiro’s eyes.
He wondered if Muzan Kibutsuji was blind when he made this one.
Even the Twelve Kizuki would probably find this thing too eyesore-inducing to look at.
Aside from its grotesque appearance, the pressure it exerted was actually lower than that of the giant bear he had faced.
This was a psychological attack more than a physical one.
“Heh heh heh…
a Marechi!
No wonder you smell so tempting.
If I eat you, I’ll definitely become the new member of the Twelve Kizuki!”
Seeing Shiro vanish from its range, the Ugly Demon didn’t charge again immediately.
Instead, it began frantically stabbing its own temples with its fingers, sending blood spraying like a fountain.
It was as terrifying as it was insane.
*Sun Breathing, First Form: Dance.*
Shiro took a deep breath, his power surging as oxygen flooded his lungs.
His legs tensed, spiritual energy gathering beneath his feet.
He vanished from his spot and reappeared directly in front of the Ugly Demon.
His Zanpakutō swung down with lethal intent.
*Sizzle!*
The sound of burning wood filled the air as the blade was wreathed in the flames of a *Kidō* spell.
The fire-wrapped strike slammed squarely into the Ugly Demon.