A year passed in the blink of an eye.
Since crossing over into this era, Muzan's perception of time had dulled significantly. Often, what felt to him like a brief rest would swallow up an entire afternoon.
The days went by quickly and peacefully. Over the past year, this impoverished village remained unchanged, and no members of the Demon Slayer Corps had come wandering through. It seemed those women had truly kept Muzan's whereabouts a secret—a remarkably sensible choice on their part.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
It was a knock at the door.
Without turning his head, Muzan said, "Come in."
With a soft squeak, the wooden door pushed open to reveal a familiar face: Shoji.
Muzan harbored no particular affection for this young woman, though he had seen her many times over the past year. At first, keeping a wide berth, Shoji had been too terrified to speak much with him. Gradually, however, she realized this man bore her no malice at all, and even occasionally engaged in simple trades with her.
For instance, Muzan would hunt game and hand it over to Shoji, in exchange for which she would bring him paper, pencils, and similar items.
Or sometimes, when he had time to kill, Muzan would ask Shoji to bring him books, even if they were old, weathered volumes that no one else bothered to read.
Over time, Shoji lost her fear of Muzan. She also noticed that ever since he came to live near their village, the wild beasts that used to roam the nights had grown much scarcer, and the livestock that had previously been stolen and devoured every few days now remained safely intact to multiply.
Though Muzan never said a word, Shoji knew he was the one responsible.
Compared to man-eating demons... Shoji now viewed Muzan more like a guardian deity.
"My Lord, these are some old books from my neighbor's place. I'm not sure if they'll suit your tastes."
Shoji clutched a stack of books of varying thickness to her chest as she spoke.
"Mhm, come over here."
Muzan continued writing and sketching at his desk.
Shoji quietly shut the door behind her, then neatly stacked the old, dog-eared books on the corner of Muzan's desk. To be honest, because their village was so poor, hardly anyone knew how to read. These ragged old books had just been acquired by chance, and lacking any education, most villagers simply used such things for firewood. If not for Muzan's request, Shoji probably never would have touched these items in her entire life.
As she paused for a moment, her eyes drifted to the scattered objects on Muzan's desk:
They were the blank sheets of paper she had given him earlier, now strewn haphazardly across the wooden surface. Some pages lay piled together, while others had been crumpled into balls and tossed carelessly onto the floor. With his slender, pale fingers and prominent knuckles, Muzan held a pencil and wrote something down. Shoji couldn't read the words, but judging by Muzan's wildly flowing, calligraphic handwriting... she figured Lord Muzan must be working on something terribly important.
Yet, in truth...
Muzan was merely keeping a diary.
*(Damn it... what was the word for that idiom again?)*
*(Oh, right, I remember.)*
*(Good thing I'm not getting senile yet.)*
Pausing for a moment, Muzan resumed writing on the blank paper.
He genuinely had nothing better to do. Right now, his primary goal was to hide from that monster Yoriichi Tsugikuni, which meant he certainly couldn't run around drawing attention to himself. Thus, Muzan frequently wrote in his diary and read books to pass the time. It was fortunate that he had a human like Shoji to trade with; otherwise, Muzan really had no idea how he would endure the decades until Yoriichi died of old age.
"........"
Muzan's writing hand paused once more.
He noticed the young woman beside him staring unblinkingly at his diary. Though she couldn't read a word, being watched like that was inevitably a bit grating.
Setting down his pencil, Muzan finally raised his gaze to meet Shoji's face.
"Ah... I'm sorry, Lord Muzan!"
Only then did Shoji realize how discourteous her staring had been. She hurriedly backed away, bowing and apologizing profusely. Seeing her slightly dazed expression actually improved Muzan's mood a little; he waved a hand, dismissing her lapse in manners.
"Shoji, how have things been in the village lately?"
Muzan began tidying the scattered sheets of paper across his desk as he spoke.
"Ah, reporting to my Lord: since the village hasn't been attacked by beasts, the livestock has grown steadily, and everything is heading in a good direction."
Even though Muzan had never explicitly asked Shoji to treat him as her superior, there was nothing he could do when the girl insisted on interacting with him in this manner.
What could he say? As long as she wasn't trying to kill him, he didn't care.
"Mhm... is that so?"
Tapping the stack of paper to square the edges, Muzan shifted his gaze to the old books Shoji had just brought—
The volumes had been carefully wiped down; dust and debris were entirely gone. If one didn't look closely, it was hard to tell these were once unwanted, discarded books. Muzan wasn't particularly interested in books from this era anyway. After all, this was the Sengoku period, a time when flames of war raged across the land and various factions plotted against one another in secret. The mere fact that someone had managed to write a book made it a rarity; he wasn't going to fuss over the contents. All in all, as long as there was something to read, it would suffice.
"Shoji, do you want to learn to read?"
Muzan asked out of the blue.
"Eh?"
Shoji blinked, stunned.
"Since I have nothing better to do, I can teach you a bit."
Such was Muzan's reply.
"....Yes, yes! My Lord, I want to learn to read!"
After only a momentary hesitation, Shoji nodded in agreement. She was not about to let this hard-won opportunity for education slip away. In the past, she might have hesitated, but spending the last year with Muzan had made her realize the immense value of knowledge. She had once heard people say that if you crossed the mountains and kept heading east, you would find a much larger town. There, as long as you were literate, you could earn money and secure a chance at survival.
Shoji no longer wished to remain in this impoverished mountain village.
Her grandparents, who had raised her, were growing increasingly frail and would soon depart for heaven. Once she buried them, she would have no remaining ties holding her to this village. Shoji didn't want to linger in this tiny backwater; she wanted to go to a bigger place. Whether for survival or safety, she wanted to forge her own path forward.
As for her former peers...?
Some had left, while others had long since lost touch. Shoji felt no particular attachment to them now. All she wanted was to study diligently under this Lord before her, and then step out into the world to carve out a new path for her life.
"Come find me tomorrow morning."
"Understood, my Lord!"
*****
The sky darkened as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Nightfall meant little to Muzan. Demons could see clearly in the dark and no longer feared the sun's rays; night was simply their home turf.
The orange candlelight flickered gently, casting a halo of pale golden light across Muzan's face.
His rose-red eyes stared blankly at the flame before he reached out and pinched out the only source of light in the gloom—
*Swish—*
The sound of fabric brushing against the floor.
"Lord Muzan."
A low, steady voice echoed from the doorway.
It was Kokushibo.
"Rise, Kokushibo. Between you and me, there is no need for such rigid hierarchies."
Sitting with one leg crossed over the other, Muzan gazed at the silhouette kneeling half-prostrate against the backlight of the doorway.
*(Oh my, Brother-in-law, it's been a whole year—you finally came to find me.)*
Muzan was blooming with joy on the inside.
Kokushibo hesitated for a moment, torn between the impulse to refuse Muzan's command and the deeply ingrained upbringing that compelled him to remain on his knees.
Meeting Muzan's gaze, Kokushibo chose to stay put before continuing in a low voice:
"Lord Muzan, obeying your command, I have eliminated the twenty-seven demons who slipped out of control. Along the way, I secured a few promising new recruits for you. They were not coerced; rather, they sought power after suffering misfortune, or became demons of their own free will."
Kokushibo's six eyes held no superfluous emotion, nor did he feel that executing these tasks entitled him to any reward.
Resting his chin in his hand, Muzan looked at Kokushibo and gave a slight nod of approval.
For some time now, he had occasionally felt new threads linking into his mind. Those fresh sources of blood could be read for memories or snuffed out with a single thought.
Kokushibo's efficiency was quite impressive; he truly was an exemplary employee.
"Lord Muzan, your subordinate has one more matter to report..."
"Oh? What is it?"
Pausing for a beat, Kokushibo stated each word clearly:
"The Demon Slayer Corps has begun large-scale movements, and their search radius has expanded several times over."
"Does your subordinate need to kill those intrusive demon slayers?"