Shoji left the village at noon and headed into the mountains.
Muzan had heard rumors about the town to the east she had mentioned; it was indeed much larger, more populous, and wealthier. At Shoji's pace, she should arrive in a couple of days, and there were several small trading posts along the eastern road, so Muzan wasn't worried about where she would spend the night.
Now that Shoji was gone, Muzan needed to get moving.
He checked in with Kokushibo and the other demons in his mind, but none of them had found any further trace of the Calamity Demon, as if it had been completely wiped out.
Yet Muzan knew this matter was far from over.
After organizing the journal he had kept over the past year, Muzan decided to leave this place.
As long as he kept a low profile, the Demon Slayer Corps would surely be unable to do anything to him. Besides... Muzan now needed to go scout out some more talented employees.
Closing the wooden door of the place where he had lived for a year, the impoverished village was left completely devoid of the Demon King's presence.
....
The Demon King traveled quickly, changing locations practically every single night.
Relying on his exceptional mimicry skills, Muzan could skillfully conceal his aura and mingle among human crowds to gather the information he wanted—though he rarely obtained anything useful.
As night fell, the town was still brightly lit.
Some people were just returning home to rest after a busy day's work, others were out having late-night snacks with their drinking buddies, and some were out specifically to spend money on "that sort of thing."
None of this caught Muzan's eye, however.
He wore a black kimono, the wide fabric wrapping around his pale skin, while the evening breeze slipped past his collar and fluttered the edge of his clothes. Muzan completely suppressed his demonic aura; aside from powerful Demon Slayer Corps members, no one could possibly discover his true identity.
The commotion in his ears gradually faded away, and before he knew it, Muzan had moved away from the main avenue and wandered into a sparsely populated area of the town.
He stood still, his eyes disguised with normal human pupils peering into the depths of a narrow alley.
There was the smell of blood in there.
Muzan's gaze darkened as he slowly walked toward the depths of the alley. In the alley, a ragged man was curled up in a corner, covered in wounds from which fresh blood continuously seeped.
Meanwhile, Muzan cast his gaze toward another group of people retreating from the alley. Well... it seemed his appearance had scared those thugs off.
"How pathetic..."
Muzan said softly, though there was not a trace of sympathy in his tone. He crouched down, gently lifting the man's chin with his hand to examine his face closely.
Hmm... I've never seen him before, and there's no powerful aura about him. Just an ordinary human.
"Are you still alive? Can you hear me?"
Muzan shook the man's shoulder, but heard only a ragged, painful gasp in response.
"....."
It seemed the man's condition was far from optimistic.
To be beaten to such a state by one of his own kind... how ironic.
Yet, just as Muzan was hesitating over whether to ask if the man wanted to become a demon, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from not far away. Muzan slowly raised his head to look in the direction of the noise and saw a youth wearing the uniform of the Demon Slayer Corps rapidly approaching, clutching a Nichirin Blade tightly, his face written with determination and resolve.
"Foul demon! Don't even think about eating people!" the youth shouted, accelerating his pace.
It seemed the youth had no idea that he was looking at Kibutsuji Muzan, the Progenitor of All Demons.
And furthermore, he had blindly jumped to the conclusion that Muzan was the culprit trying to murder this innocent man.
Muzan let out a cold snort; he didn't deign to take this youth seriously, nor did he wish to offer any lengthy explanations. The youth's approach had been detected by Muzan the very moment he stepped into the alley. With his strength, defeating an ordinary Demon Slayer Corps member would be as easy as turning over his hand.
However, Muzan didn't feel like doing that. Just as he was about to turn and leave, the youth had already closed the distance rapidly. The Nichirin Blade gleamed with a cold light as it slashed fiercely toward Muzan's neck.
Muzan sidestepped effortlessly, easily dodging the youth's attack. But instead of immediately counterattacking, he stood in place and spoke quietly:
"Does your Demon Slayer Corps always attack without asking questions?"
"I have nothing to discuss with man-eating demons like you!"
With a roar, the youth swung his blade at Muzan once more.
Muzan stopped holding back. With a flash of movement, he instantly appeared behind the youth, gently resting one hand on the young man's shoulder.
"I think you need to calm down."
Muzan said softly, applying slight pressure with his palm. The youth's body instantly froze, a flash of fear and shock crossing his eyes.
"So fast! This is a powerful demon!"
Thinking this, he prepared to spin around and slash at Muzan—
With a crisp *crack*!
Muzan caught the Nichirin Blade directly in his bare hand, yet the blade failed to cause him the slightest bit of injury!
This was the ability granted to Muzan by the "Sturdy Physique A+" he had once acquired.
The strength of his physical body had now reached a level where ordinary Nichirin Blades could not harm it. As long as the attacker was not using a Breathing Style or blessed with monstrous strength... a Nichirin Blade was no different from fragile paper in Muzan's eyes!
"You can't even use a Breathing Style... why on earth did someone like you join the Demon Slayer Corps?"
Muzan looked at the youth's expression of shock and spoke, his tone devoid of mockery or disdain, carrying instead a genuine sense of inquiry and thirst for knowledge.
*Snap!*
With a flex of Muzan's strength, the Nichirin Blade snapped directly in two!
"What?!"
The Demon Slayer Corps member was dumbfounded, staring blankly at the two broken halves of his sword.
This... this demon is too strong!!
Is he the Demon King? He has to be the Demon King, right?!
Only then did a bone-chilling coldness creep up the young slayer's spine.
"Now then..."
Muzan fixed his plum-red slitted eyes on the youth before him, asking every word clearly:
"Can we have a proper conversation now?"
The youth swallowed hard, his eyes filled with terror and unease. Under Muzan's gaze, which seemed capable of seeing through everything, he managed to squeeze out a sentence: "I... I just want to protect people and wipe out vile demons like you!!"
Muzan gave a slight shake of his head, a trace of imperceptible sarcasm in his voice:
"Protect humans? Wipe out vile demons? Heh... What a shame, you're far too weak."
"You don't even know a Breathing Style, yet you charge blindly to your death? How can someone like you talk about protecting your kind?"
He relentlessly mocked the youth. Watching the young man's trembling body, Muzan added with a mischievous streak:
"Why don't you become a demon?"
"No! Never!"
Before Muzan's voice had even faded, the youth rejected the offer. He could sense that the demon before him was somehow different, yet his hatred toward him remained unchanged. In his world, vile demons were synonymous with evil and deserved to be ruthlessly eradicated. And he himself would never, under any circumstances, become a demon!
His sword was broken? Then he would use the broken blade!
Where on earth did he get such courage, when he was merely a swordsman who couldn't even use a Breathing Style?
Muzan found it utterly laughable as he watched the youth raise the broken blade to hack at his neck.
He didn't even bother to dodge, simply letting the youth strike his neck with the shattered sword—
With a *clang*, the broken blade hit Muzan's neck as if it had struck a sheet of iron, unable to sink in by even a fraction of a millimeter no matter how much force was applied.
"How is this possible?!"
The youth's eyes widened in disbelief, but the very next second, he was grabbed by the neck, hoisted forcibly into the air, and slammed against the wall by Muzan.
The pressure and suffocating grip on his windpipe rushed into his head, while his legs thrashed weakly like a fish flopping on a cutting board, vainly struggling to free himself.
Looking at the Demon Slayer swordsman he had hoisted up, Muzan felt not a shred of hatred—even though he was the Demon King, the ultimate enemy of mankind.