Dawn had barely broken when Tanjiro woke up, feeling the crispness of the early morning air. He stretched, savoring the peaceful moment before pushing himself into a swift warm-up. His muscles felt alive, his breathing steady, and a surge of readiness coursed through him, eager to face another test. Sitting cross-legged, he materialized the system window, the faint, glowing screen flickering into view.
Takeda Jiro.
The name hovered before him in the window. Takeda Jiro, the legendary Thunder Hashira of the Sengoku era, known for his deadly speed and precision. Accepting the challenge, Tanjiro took a steadying breath, feeling the world around him grow dim as the simulation environment took shape. Jiro materialized before him, clad in the traditional Demon Slayer uniform of that era, his expression sharp and eyes like flickering lightning.
"You're the one challenging me?" Jiro asked, his voice cool and assessing. "Very well, then. Prove your worth."
Tanjiro barely had a chance to reply before Jiro was upon him, moving with an electrifying speed that left him gasping as he threw up his sword to block. Sparks flew, and Tanjiro's muscles tightened as he felt the force of Jiro's power. Yet, with each parried blow, his own strength seemed to sharpen, his breathing techniques flowing through him like a steady river. In the quicksilver dance of their clash, Tanjiro's understanding of Thunder Breathing deepened, every movement charged with purpose and strength.
Finally, he seized an opening and surged forward, landing a decisive blow. As the simulation faded, Takeda Jiro looked at him with a rare, approving smile.
"Well done," Jiro's voice echoed. "Few have reached this level. May your lightning always strike true."
With Jiro's acknowledgment, a surge of mastery flowed into Tanjiro, leaving him with a profound understanding of Thunder Breathing. He felt his mastery solidify, his body more attuned to its speed and precision. But there was little time to savor it—his next challenge, Himejima Gyomei, the Stone Hashira, awaited.
The arena re-formed, this time shifting into a mountainous landscape, with Gyomei towering before him, every inch the formidable figure he'd always imagined. His presence radiated strength, and Tanjiro felt a flicker of intimidation in the face of such power. Gyomei's voice was calm yet thunderous, filling the air with a sense of gravity.
"Steel yourself, Tanjiro," he intoned, taking his stance with his massive, chained flail. "The way of the Stone Breathing is not a path for the weak."
Their battle began, and every blow Gyomei struck reverberated with crushing force. The mountain setting intensified the sense of immensity, each swing of Gyomei's weapon shaking the earth around them. Tanjiro matched him, calling upon every ounce of strength, endurance, and precision he possessed. Sweat poured down his brow, his muscles burned, but he held fast, his determination unwavering. He remembered his training with Gyomei, the moments of silence and meditation that honed his resolve as much as his body.
Finally, with a deep, steady breath, he surged forward, his sword ringing against Gyomei's chain, and with a powerful strike, he succeeded. The mountain air stilled, and Gyomei looked down at him, nodding with an expression of solemn pride.
"Your spirit," Gyomei said, "is as unyielding as the stone itself. You have done well, Tanjiro."
As the simulation faded, Tanjiro felt the immense strength and resilience of Stone Breathing take root within him, fortifying his body with an enduring strength. His stance felt more grounded, his breath even steadier, like he had truly absorbed the spirit of stone.
Then, as the system window blinked back into view, he saw a new name: Raiden Kuroiwa. His pulse quickened, recognizing it as another formidable test. Yet, he was winded, his breaths shallow from the exertion. He knew pushing himself further might lead to mistakes—and there was no need to rush. For now, he closed the system with a deep breath.
Just as he relaxed, a small slip of paper fluttered down from above, carried by a crow's wing. Unrolling it, Tanjiro read the message. "Mission: Asakusa, Tokyo."
The description detailed a demon sighting, a call to investigate what could only be the handiwork of an elusive, powerful demon preying on the bustling city. He would need to be careful; a city like Tokyo was a hunting ground unlike the remote villages he was used to.
It would be a long journey to Asakusa, and he'd need every bit of skill he possessed. As he prepared for the journey, Tanjiro couldn't help but think of how the system had enhanced his abilities, all the different breathing techniques he'd honed under the guidance of the masters. But combining them—melding his knowledge into a unique, cohesive style—was now his goal.
As he walked along the winding road, he began to experiment, blending forms from Water, Thunder, and Stone. Water Breathing gave him fluidity and adaptability, Thunder provided speed and precision, and Stone lent him grounding and resilience. The result was a style that was unmistakably his own—a synthesis of all he'd learned, adapted to his strengths.
In the evenings, he'd find quiet clearings to practice in solitude, feeling his form, his breathing, his movements slowly transform into something new, something powerful. His control of Observation and Armament Haki began to weave into his breathing style, his awareness expanding with each motion, each breath. He could feel his senses heightening, every shift in the air, every leaf rustle becoming part of his focus.
By the time he reached Asakusa, Tanjiro felt a new level of confidence. His body had adapted to the flow of his newly forged style, a balance between excitement and calm taking root within him. He was ready.
As he stepped into the vibrant, unending energy of Tokyo's city streets, he exhaled deeply, steadying himself for whatever lay ahead.