Demon Slayer: Taking Care Of Tanjuro's Wife And Daughter

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Night stars were rare, their faint light barely piercing the velvet sky. The faint rustle of leaves and distant calls of nocturnal creatures filled the air. Under the moon's gaze, the towering figure of Himejima Gyomei approached, his prayer beads gently clicking with every step.

"Ryuji," he rumbled, his voice low yet resonant, "here are the Nichirin Blades you requested."

Ryuji turned to face the Stone Hashira, his sharp amber eyes reflecting the moonlight. Just days ago, he had asked Gyomei to locate a swordsmith willing to forge something unconventional. He hadn't expected it to arrive so soon.

"Thank you, Master Gyomei," Ryuji said, bowing slightly as he accepted the long, cloth-wrapped package.

Gyomei's lips curved into a small smile. "The swordsmith mentioned this blade was unlike anything he had forged before. He admired your unique request."

Ryuji nodded, unwrapping the cloth carefully. As the fabric fell away, the blade caught the moonlight, scattering it like water rippling under the stars.

The Nichirin Blade was stunning. The polished steel was over two feet long, its edge honed to deadly precision. Its hilt, wrapped in black and gold threads, was longer than usual, allowing a firm two-handed grip. Twin blood grooves ran the length of the blade, lending it both elegance and lethality.

"This is... magnificent," Ryuji murmured, running his fingers along the flat of the blade. The cold steel seemed to hum under his touch, as if eager for battle.

Gyomei nodded. "It was crafted to your specifications, resembling the Ming Dynasty's Xiuchun sword rather than the traditional katana. A blade meant for precision and strength."

Ryuji's lips twitched into a smile. "A good sword deserves a worthy sacrifice," he said, his voice tinged with anticipation.

Gyomei tilted his head slightly. "Fitting, then. The Hermits have reported signs of demon activity at a temple in the mountains ahead. Perhaps your blade's baptism lies there."

Ryuji's grin widened. "It seems fate agrees."

The two set off swiftly, their movements near silent as they glided through the forest. The trees thinned as they approached the mountain temple, its silhouette looming under the moonlight.

"This temple was once a place of worship," Gyomei explained, his voice a soft rumble. "A devastating fire took the lives of many monks and pilgrims. Since then, it has been abandoned... and demons have claimed it."

Ryuji nodded, his gaze fixed on the crumbling structure. Burned wood and scorched stone bore silent witness to the tragedy of years past.

Climbing to the temple's highest vantage point, Ryuji paused to take in the desolation below. With a sigh, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small flask of sake.

"Care for a sip, Master Gyomei?" he asked, holding it out.

The Stone Hashira shook his head, his expression calm. "Monks do not partake in alcohol."

Ryuji chuckled, taking a swig himself. "I always forget that." He shook his head and muttered, "Still not strong enough."

Gyomei arched a brow. "Your priorities are unusual."

"In life," Ryuji said with a grin, "you drink the strongest wine and face the fiercest challenges. Anything less is a waste."

Gyomei shook his head, though a hint of amusement softened his stern features.

"Even when hunting demons, one must exercise restraint and self-discipline," Himejima Gyomei said calmly, his prayer beads clicking softly with each movement of his hands. "If you drink too much and lose your clarity, it could be disastrous."

Ryuji, sitting atop a weathered stone, glanced at the monk and chuckled. "Master, I take it you've never had a drink before?"

Gyomei shook his head, his blind eyes facing the night sky. "Never. Alcohol dulls the senses, and a demon hunter must remain vigilant."

Ryuji smirked, taking another swig from his flask. "You're not wrong. Some people lose themselves after drinking. But for others, it sharpens their resolve." He turned the flask in his hand thoughtfully. "You might find that a little sake could ease the weight in your heart, Master."

"Even so," Gyomei replied firmly, "discipline is the foundation of strength."

Ryuji nodded, tossing the flask away. "True enough. Lesson learned." Rising to his feet, he gazed into the darkness ahead, his expression sharpening. "It seems the time for talk is over. I see them."

Gyomei tilted his head slightly, listening intently. His hands came together in prayer. "Indeed. The time has come to baptize your blade, Ryuji."

The two descended into the shadows of the ancient temple, the ruins whispering tales of forgotten worship and tragedy. The air was thick with silence, save for the distant hum of insects.

As they pressed deeper into the temple, heavy footsteps echoed through the halls. The ground trembled with each step, and a hulking figure emerged from the gloom.

A demon, towering and broad like a monstrous bear, stepped into the moonlight. Its gnarled claws dragged along the floor, leaving grooves in the stone. The demon sniffed the air and raised its head, saliva dripping from its fanged maw.

"Night has fallen," it growled, its voice a guttural rumble. "Time for the hunt."

Its yellow eyes gleamed with hunger, but its movements stilled when it spotted Gyomei. The massive monk stood motionless, his prayer beads clutched tightly in his hands.

"A Demon Slayer," the demon snarled, its lips curling into a wicked grin. "I'll enjoy tearing the flesh from your bones, monk."

Gyomei remained serene, his expression unreadable.

The demon crouched low, muscles coiling like a predator ready to pounce. But before it could act, a flash of silver sliced through the air.

Shing!

A single stroke of a Nichirin Blade illuminated the dark temple. The demon's head was severed cleanly, its body collapsing in a spray of blood.

From the shadows, Ryuji stepped forward, his blade dripping with crimson. The demon's decapitated head rolled to his feet, its eyes wide with shock.

"Y-you... coward," the demon hissed, its voice rasping as its vitality ebbed. "A sneak attack... you dishonorable worm!"

Ryuji smirked, his boot pressing down on the demon's head. "In a fight for survival, there's no such thing as dishonor."

With a final sneer, he kicked the head away, the demon's body disintegrating into ash.

As the temple fell silent once more, a faint chime echoed in Ryuji's ears—a sound only he could hear.

"Ding. Congratulations. You have slain a demon. Attribute points gained: 0.5."

Ryuji chuckled, sheathing his sword. "And here I thought you'd lecture me about fairness, Master," he teased, glancing at Gyomei.

The monk smiled faintly. "No method is too low when dealing with evil spirits."

Ryuji raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. "So, the righteous monk isn't above a little scheming after all?"

Gyomei clasped his hands together. "If it ensures the safety of others, then strategy is merely another form of justice."

Ryuji laughed, shaking his head. "Fair enough, Master. Fair enough."

Under the moonlight, the two continued their journey, leaving the crumbled ruins behind.

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