“For those who have already manifested the mark, it’s too late. Those on whom it appears, without exception, will invariably …”
The clear yet ephemeral voice passed through him without meaning, as though she were speaking a foreign language.
Twenty-five.
Without exception, those with the mark died by that age. His own older brother had passed when he was eleven.
The emergency meeting of the Hashira came to an end after a vigorous discussion of the training sessions needed for the battle to come. It was crucial to review every move without repeating a lesson and wasting time.
Muichiro made his way out of Ubuyashiki Mansion. He was wandering through the picturesque rock garden when he heard a voice from behind. “Do you have a minute?”
Without turning around, he knew who the low, quiet voice belonged to. “Oh, hello, Himejima.”
The Stone Hashira, Gyomei Himejima, narrowed his sightless eyes. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“To me?”
“Mm.” Himejima nodded. “If you don’t mind, let’s go somewhere we can sit and talk.”
Muichiro followed Himejima out to the gazebo. Built in one corner of the garden for relaxation, it admitted a refreshing breeze, and the thatched roof had a pleasant scent. As Muichiro settled into a seat, he could hear the calls of songbirds mixed with the rustle of the wind in the trees.
“So what’s this about?” he asked the older Demon Slayer.
Himejima got to the point. “What Lady Amane said at the meeting.”
Oh.
Muichiro had guessed as much. No point in beating about the bush. “You mean the mark? About only living to twenty-five?”
“Yes.”
“You know, I was in an extreme state when the mark appeared on me.” Muichiro tossed his head. “It’s probably not even a true mark.”
Much remained unknown about the Demon Slayer Mark. Some believed it was a kind of concentration of the bearer’s life force. If that were true, those with the mark died young because they used up their lives more quickly than other people. But that power allowed a Demon Slayer to hold his or her own even against Upper Rank demons. Muichiro had been able to beat the Upper Rank Five demon precisely because of the mark.
“What about you, Himejima?” he said. He’d heard that Himejima was twenty-seven. If he bore the mark, he’d already passed the oldest recorded life span. Was that even possible?
“Don’t worry about me.” Himejima sounded unusually on edge. “I’ve always been ready for death. But you … You’re only fourteen.”
Muichiro flinched at the sadness on Himejima’s face and in his voice. The blind giant was arguably the most powerful fighter in the Demon Slayer Corps, with a massive physique, the envy of other men, shielding the steadfast heart of a bodhisattva. And here he was worrying about Muichiro.
“Tokito,” said Himejima hesitantly, “I don’t mean to cast doubt on you as a Hashira or question your readiness. But...are you all right?”
Muichiro was taken aback. “Why do you ask?”
He hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but Himejima’s brow furrowed. “The mark appeared on you in your battle with the Upper Rank demon. Your time is short.”
“Maybe,” said Muichiro. “But it’s the same for Kanroji. Why don’t you worry about her? Or Iguro?”
Himejima’s frown deepened. “Why would you bring up Iguro?”
“It’s just...” Muichiro stopped short. “He likes her, doesn’t he?”
For a fleeting instant, Himejima opened his lightless eyes wide. “I had no idea.”
“You didn’t notice?”
“No. I’m surprised that you did.” It was a slightly rude remark, but Himejima said it without rancor. His stern, monk-like face softened. Muichiro had the sudden thought that if demons didn’t exist, if they hadn’t been forced to fight this war, Himejima would have lived a simple, quiet life somewhere far from turmoil. He was not a warrior at heart.
“You’ve changed,” said Himejima. “Or was this the real you all along?”
Muichiro didn’t know what to say. It was true that, in the past, he wouldn’t have noticed a comrade’s feelings, no matter how painfully obvious. He’d even forgotten his own twin. Once, he had cared only for killing demons. Now it seemed like he had been living in a thick fog, unable to see or hear.
The voices of Tanjiro, who reminded him of his late father, and Kotetsu, who had risked everything to save him, had led him out of that fog and into the light in which he now stood. Thanks to them, the world had beauty and color again. He could notice the kindness of the people around him.
Looking up at the broad sky over Ubuyashiki mansion, Muichiro suddenly remembered a promise he’d made in the village of swordsmiths.
“Is that you, Lord Tokito? What are you doing here?” Kozo Kanamori ran up to Muichiro and peered at his bandages. “Are you sure you’re healed?”
“More or less,” Muichiro said. Well enough to pay a visit to the swordsmith village, anyway. “How’s the move coming along?”
“Just two more days and we’ll be finished. Women, children, and elders are moving to the new village first. My wife is already unpacking.”
Many villagers had been injured or killed in the attack by the Upper Rank Two demon, but damage to the village as a whole had been kept to a minimum. The survivors had been able to begin evacuation to a new hidden site immediately.
“We’ve moved nearly all our tools and swords,” Kanamori continued from beneath his mask. “The last of them are being transported now. We’ll bury our dead here. Haganezuka ran ahead of everyone else and is already polishing blades in his new forge. Never mind, though. He’s not good for anything but swordsmithing, so if he stayed he’d only get in the way.”
Muichiro looked out at the skeleton of the old village. Before the attack, the clanking of hammers on iron could be heard from every corner. Now the houses and smithies stood empty. It was an achingly lonely scene.
“You’re not moving the graves to the new village?” he asked.
“No.” Kanamori’s voice caught, but he forced his tone to brighten. “We have to prioritize the living. And get back to making swords, of course. That’s what we do.”
Muichiro acknowledged this with a grunt.
“But what brings you here, Lord Tokito? Did you forget something?”
“I thought I’d visit Tetsuido’s grave.”
Kanamori started in surprise, then nodded eagerly. “Is that so? In that case, I’d be delighted to show you the way.”
Tetsuido was the swordsmith who had made Muichiro’s swords before Kanamori took over. He’d been more than just Muichiro’s smith; from the beginning, he’d shown personal concern for the young Demon Slayer. Muichiro hadn’t been able to appreciate this while Tetsuido was still alive. In fact, he’d barely even remembered the man’s name.
Which was exactly why he had to say a prayer at his grave before the village vanished.
“I also wanted to talk to Kotetsu,” he added. “But …”
If the women and children had already moved to the new village, Kotetsu would have gone ahead with them.
“Oh?” Kanamori said. “If it’s Kotetsu you’re after, he’s still around.”
“He is?”
“Yes,” said Kanamori. He paused. “The truth is, there’s just the tiniest bit of trouble with young Kotetsu.”