---
As Ryuji and Gyomei conversed inside the modest room, the faint sound of footsteps and murmurs outside caught their attention.
Gyomei tilted his head slightly, his ever-serene demeanor unchanged. "It must be the other Demon Slayers arriving. Let's step out and introduce ourselves. Should we hunt demons together in the future, cooperation with them will be crucial."
Ryuji nodded and followed Gyomei outside.
Standing in the courtyard were four Demon Slayers, all wearing uniforms that marked them as Demon Slayer. Each carried themselves with an air of competence, their Nichirin Blades glinting faintly under the moonlight.
The first was an elderly man with deeply lined features and weathered skin, a testament to countless battles. Beside him stood two middle-aged men: one tall and lean, with sharp, hawk-like eyes, and the other short and stocky, his robust frame exuding quiet strength.
The last figure drew Ryuji's attention most. A young man around his own age stood there, his fiery golden hair tipped with vibrant red, strikingly reminiscent of flames. Even in the dark, his presence radiated warmth and energy.
The golden-haired swordsman's eyes lit up as they landed on Ryuji. Without hesitation, he spoke, his voice lively yet firm. "You must be the one recently promoted Kinoe under Master Ubuyashiki's guidance."
The man's tone, though bold, carried no malice. Instead, it brimmed with unrestrained enthusiasm.
"I am Kyojuro Rengoku, Also Kinoe Demon Slayer. May I know your name?" His piercing gaze locked onto Ryuji, brimming with genuine curiosity and an unshakable cheerfulness.
Ryuji blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the intensity of Kyojuro's presence. He recovered quickly, offering a respectful nod. "Ryuji. It's a pleasure to meet you, Rengoku."
Kyojuro's face split into a wide grin as he strode forward and clapped a hand on Ryuji's shoulder with disarming familiarity. "Excellent! Ryuji, do you happen to have any food on you? All this traveling has left me famished!"
Ryuji stiffened slightly at the unexpected gesture but composed himself. "No food, unfortunately. But I do have a flask of sake. Care for a drink?"
At the mention of sake, Kyojuro's smile faltered. His golden brows knit together, and his usually bright expression dimmed. "I'm sorry. I don't drink."
Ryuji raised an eyebrow, noting the sudden change in Kyojuro's demeanor. The flame-haired swordsman hesitated before adding, his voice quieter, "My father… he drank often after my mother passed. It dulled his spirit, and he became… unkind. I vowed to never follow that path."
Ryuji studied Kyojuro for a moment, then shrugged. "A shame. This sake is quite good. Strong liquor for strong men, I always say." With that, he took a swig from the flask.
Kyojuro's frown deepened, but he said nothing, clearly unwilling to argue.
Before the atmosphere could grow tense, the elderly swordsman stepped forward and introduced himself. "Takamura Isamu," he said, his voice steady despite his age.
The tall, thin man gave a small bow. "Hashimoto Shinya," he said curtly.
The shorter swordsman followed with a deep nod. "Tahara Kawamura. A pleasure to work alongside you all."
The introductions were brief but cordial. Despite Ryuji's initial expectations, none of the other swordsmen seemed resentful of his recent promotion. Instead, they treated him with respect, which was a pleasant surprise.
Demon Slayers, Ryuji realized, valued camaraderie. Trust was essential when fighting creatures as dangerous as demons. Petty rivalries could mean death, and these men knew better than to let pride get in the way of survival.
As they exchanged pleasantries, a new presence made itself known. From the shadows, a figure leaped gracefully onto the rooftop of a nearby building. The breeze stirred his wavy white hair, and the feathers of his tengu mask danced as he landed lightly on the ground before them.
The figure straightened, revealing the distinctive uniform of a Water Hashira. His calm, measured voice broke the silence. "Urokodaki Sakonji. I am honored to meet you all."
Gyomei stepped forward, his massive frame towering over the group as he pressed his hands together in a gesture of respect. "It has been some time, Sakonji. The last time we met was during the Hashira meeting."
Sakonji inclined his head. "Indeed. Time has not slowed you, Gyomei. You bear the weight of your responsibilities well."
"And you," Gyomei replied, "continue to shape the next generation of swordsmen. I hear your disciples are exceptionally talented."
A hint of pride flickered in Sakonji's voice as he responded. "They still have much to learn, but I have high hopes for them. When the time is right, I shall bring them to meet you."
The conversation shifted to the matter at hand. Gyomei addressed the gathered swordsmen, his deep voice steady and commanding. "We have been tasked with eliminating one of the Twelve Kizuki. This mission will demand our full strength and cooperation."
The group nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the task.
Ryuji glanced at the swordsmen around him. Though they were strangers, he could sense their resolve. In this line of work, trust wasn't earned through words but through actions in the face of death.
As the group prepared for the journey ahead, Ryuji's gaze lingered on the moonlit horizon. The road before them was perilous, but with allies like these, he felt ready to face whatever horrors awaited.
---
Under the Pale Moonlight
The forest was alive with the soft hum of insects, but the stillness of the night was pierced by the blur of a figure racing through the trees. Shadows danced with every fleeting movement, the speed so uncanny it was almost supernatural.
Suddenly, the figure stopped. Scarlet eyes gleamed as they turned skyward.
High above, a black crow circled, its cries distinct in the silence. This was no ordinary bird but a Kasugai Crow, one of the Demon Slayer Corps' messengers. The sight of it made the figure narrow their eyes in annoyance.
The demon smirked, twirling a delicate vase-like object in its clawed hand. Its voice dripped with mockery.
"A Kasugai Crow? How quaint. Does this mean another hunter is nearby?"
The crow's sharp call gave no answer, but it was soon silenced. With a flick of the demon's wrist, a gleaming projectile sliced through the air. The crow let out a final, desperate cry before tumbling lifelessly to the forest floor.
"Jie jie jie... sending more lambs to the slaughter, are they?" The demon cackled, its voice echoing eerily. This was Gyokko, the Fifth Upper Moon, a twisted artist with an insatiable lust for grotesque beauty.
But before Gyokko could savor its morbid victory, an old man leapt from the treetops. His landing was soft yet deliberate, the fallen crow cradled gently in his hands. His face contorted in grief as he knelt by the lifeless body of the bird.
"Takamura Kazatsu," a firm yet calm voice interrupted.
The old swordsman flinched, recognizing the tone. He looked up to see a tall figure standing on a high branch, moonlight illuminating the tengu mask covering his face. White hair flowed gently in the breeze, and a pair of steady eyes behind the mask locked onto him.
"Water Hashira, Urokodaki Sakonji," Kazatsu whispered, bowing his head in shame.
Urokodaki's voice was steady but laced with disappointment.
"You let your emotions get the better of you. A mistake like that could have cost lives."
Kazatsu's grip on his Nichirin Blade tightened, his lips trembling.
"I... I'm sorry. This crow was my only companion for decades. It was foolish, but..." His voice broke, tears falling freely.
Urokodaki's gaze softened, though his posture remained disciplined. He sighed, stepping closer.
"I understand. But remember, Kazatsu, we fight not for ourselves but for the living. Regret cannot undo mistakes."
Before Kazatsu could respond, a deep voice resonated through the forest.
"Enough, Sakonji," it rumbled, "compassion is part of strength, not weakness."
A towering man emerged from the shadows, his hands clasped in prayer. The Rock Hashira, Himejima Gyomei, strode forward with calm yet unyielding purpose. His massive frame was adorned with prayer beads, and his weapons—a massive axe and a spiked flail—gleamed ominously.
Gyomei paused beside the fallen crow, murmuring a quiet prayer. His expression, though gentle, bore the weight of an immeasurable sorrow.
Gyokko's smirk faltered.
"Ah, the Rock and Water Hashira," it sneered. "How nostalgic. You think two relics can best me?"
Gyomei ignored the taunt, his eyes closing briefly.
"I have no words for you, demon. Only action."
From the forest, more figures emerged, stepping into the moonlit clearing.
"Hashimoto Shinya, reporting in." A tall, lean man with sharp eyes raised his blade.
"Tahara Kawamo," added a shorter, stockier man, twirling his sword confidently.
Rengoku Kyojuro stepped forward, his vibrant hair catching the moonlight. His broad smile was unwavering.
"Rengoku Kyojuro, at your service! Let us fight valiantly together!"
Last was a young man who approached with a calm, almost aloof demeanor. His sharp black hair framed intense eyes, and he carried his sword with ease.
"Ryuji," he said simply.
Gyokko's eyes narrowed as it assessed the group. Though the swordsmen were beneath its notice, the combined presence of two Hashira gave it pause.
Urokodaki descended from the treetops, his blade drawn. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Gyomei, the two Hashira exuding an unshakable resolve.
"Sakonji," Gyomei began, his voice steady, "tonight, we cleanse this forest of evil."
Urokodaki nodded, his blade gleaming in the moonlight.
"Agreed. He will not leave this place alive."
The Hashira exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them.
Gyokko cackled, its grotesque form undulating as it prepared to attack.
"Let the dance begin!"
And with that, the clearing erupted into chaos, blades flashing and the night filled with the clash of steel and the roar of demons.
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