Tanjiro stood on the edge of the town, the cool evening air brushing against his face as he surveyed the horizon. His crow had delivered the mission earlier that day, its words clear and chilling: "High chance of encountering a Lower Moon demon. Be prepared."
The town he had been sent to was quiet, too quiet. An eerie stillness clung to the streets like a veil, shrouding the townspeople in fear. The few who dared step outside moved quickly, heads down, eyes wary. It didn't take long for Tanjiro to gather the information he needed. The elderly and children, more attuned to unusual occurrences, had noticed a strange pattern: sudden fortune followed by grisly death. The local church, slightly to the west of the town, seemed to be at the center of these events.
According to the townspeople, those who entered the church often found riches beyond their wildest dreams. But this newfound happiness didn't last. A day later, those same people would be found dead. Their bodies, however, weren't left to rot. A mysterious figure always appeared, taking the corpses and presumably burying them in the churchyard. Oddly enough, there were dug holes in the yard—plenty of them—but none were ever filled.
Tanjiro's gut told him this was the work of a demon, and not just any demon. The presence of unfilled graves suggested cruelty, a mockery of life and death. And from the murmurs of the town, this demon operated with impunity. It had to be a Lower Moon.
He made his way toward the church as night fell, the streets growing darker with every passing moment. His heart remained calm, his breathing steady. He had faced demons before, and this one, no matter its power, would not shake him.
The church loomed ahead, its silhouette stark against the starless sky. It was an old building, its wooden frame creaking with the weight of history and neglect. As Tanjiro approached, he could sense it—the stench of demonic energy thick in the air. He crouched low, hiding in the shadows as he waited for the demon to appear.
It wasn't long before the church doors creaked open. A figure emerged, tall and gaunt, moving with an eerie grace. His eyes gleamed with malice, and his mouth curled into a cruel smile. The demon wore a tattered priest's robe, the mockery of his appearance only adding to the grotesque sight.
"Humans are so predictable," the demon muttered, his voice cold and indifferent. He walked toward one of the open graves, carrying a limp body in his arms. "They come for salvation and leave as food for the weak."
Tanjiro watched, his eyes narrowing. This was no ordinary demon. There was an aura of strength about him, but more than that, there was a cold, calculated cruelty in his actions.
The demon carelessly tossed the body near the grave and looked up at the sky. "Lower Moon Three, Rokuro," he muttered to himself, chuckling as if the title amused him. His eyes then darkened as he noticed Tanjiro standing at the edge of the churchyard.
"Ah, a Demon Slayer," Rokuro said, his grin widening. "I was wondering when one of you pests would show up. Though you're a bit earlier than I expected."
Tanjiro stepped forward, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. "You've caused enough suffering. Tonight, it ends."
Rokuro tilted his head, unimpressed. "Bold words, boy. But you don't know what you're dealing with."
With a flick of his wrist, Rokuro's body shimmered and phased, disappearing like mist. Tanjiro's eyes widened as the demon seemed to vanish, only to reappear behind him, his hand slashing through the air. Tanjiro barely managed to block the attack with his sword, the force of it sending him skidding back several feet.
Rokuro cackled, his laughter echoing across the yard. "You see, I am a phantasm. Nothing you do can touch me. You're just a child, swinging a stick at a ghost!"
Tanjiro steadied himself, his mind racing. This demon's Blood Demon Art allowed him to phase through matter, making him intangible. But he noticed something—Rokuro had to materialize to attack. That brief moment of solidification was a weakness.
Tanjiro took a deep breath, focusing. He needed to be patient, to watch for the exact moment Rokuro became vulnerable. His sword gleamed under the moonlight as he shifted his stance, preparing to engage.
The demon lunged again, his body flickering in and out of existence. Tanjiro dodged, observing the pattern of his movements. Each time Rokuro attacked, his body became tangible for a split second—a brief window where Tanjiro could strike.
Tanjiro feinted, pretending to stumble and expose his back. Rokuro took the bait, his cruel laughter filling the air as he rushed forward for the kill.
"Now!" Tanjiro thought.
In an instant, he switched to Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash. His body surged forward with a burst of speed, faster than the demon could react. Rokuro barely had time to solidify before Tanjiro's blade sliced clean through his neck.
The demon's head tumbled to the ground, his expression one of disbelief. "H-how?" Rokuro sputtered as his body began to crumble into dust. "You… You're just a boy…"
Tanjiro stood over him, his sword gleaming as the demon dissolved. "I am the last Sun Breather, and the inheritor of Tsugikuni Yoriichi's bloodline," he said coldly, his voice steady and calm, though the claim was a calculated lie. The words were not for Rokuro, but for someone else who might be watching.
Far away, hidden in the shadows, Muzan Kibutsuji's eyes narrowed. He had been observing Rokuro out of sheer boredom, but this… this was unexpected. Yoriichi. That name sent a chill through him, a reminder of the one person who had ever brought him to the brink of death. The thought infuriated Muzan.
Without hesitation, Muzan summoned all of his demons back, his mind racing. If there was a chance—no matter how slim—that Yoriichi's bloodline had survived, Muzan had to act. And soon.
As Tanjiro rested in a small inn after the battle, exhaustion weighing heavily on him, he allowed himself a moment of relief. He had defeated a Lower Moon. It was a small victory, but one that strengthened his resolve.
Suddenly, the familiar ding of the system chimed in his mind, bringing up a new notification:
"New challenge available: Face Takeda Jiro, the Thunder Hashira from the Sengoku era."
A smile tugged at the corners of Tanjiro's lips. The battle with Rokuro had left him eager to test his limits further, to grow stronger in preparation for what lay ahead. He sat cross-legged on the tatami mat, focusing his mind. Slowly, the form of Takeda Jiro began to materialized before him—a towering figure with a sharp gaze and an air of authority.
Tanjiro rose to his feet, his heart steady. "It's time to move forward," he whispered to himself, determination burning in his chest.
For now though, Tanjiro Kamado will enjoy some well-deserved rest, later he will complete his Thunderbreathing Trial with Takeda Jiro, he almost couldn't wait for tomorrow.