The war general of the Himori Clan was a man who resembled a giant. His massive, muscular frame was clad in a dark hakama, and beside him rested a seven-foot-tall katana. He sat comfortably, his imposing presence casting a shadow over our pitiful state—and pitiful it truly was.
Our hands and feet were bound so tightly that we could barely move, our wrists locked together. The thick ropes dug into our skin, tearing flesh with every forced movement. Both my hands and feet throbbed with pain, though I felt only a faint sting, as if my body had numbed itself to the agony, The system it is.
"Are you spies?" the general asked, his voice reverberating through the ground. I could feel the echo of his words vibrating beneath my skin.
"They are definitely spies, my Lord," a man standing beside him interjected. "No one would be running through the West Gate in the middle of the night, especially after the announcement we made."
"I want them to speak for themselves," the general growled. He lifted his massive katana from the ground and swung it toward me, stopping just short of my neck. A gust of wind followed the blade's motion, sending a chill down my spine.
I swallowed hard, nearly choking on my own saliva. The katana was razor-sharp, and its wielder was every bit as terrifying as the weapon itself.
"Please pardon our intrusion," Yoriichi began, his voice calm and unwavering. "My colleague and I are from the Demon Slayer Corps. We are not spies."
The war general raised an eyebrow, his expression one of confusion. "I've never heard of such a group," he said.
"A small faction by that name exists, my Lord," the man beside him explained. "They believe in creatures that roam the night, feeding on human flesh. They claim to hunt and slay these beings."
"A cult?" the general asked, his tone skeptical.
"I know little about them, my Lord. It seems to be little more than rumor and superstition. I doubt the existence of such man-eating creatures. It's likely just a facade."
The general turned his gaze back to us and clicked his tongue in disapproval. "So you lie? I'll take your life first."
He raised his katana, preparing to bring it down on Yoriichi.
"You can check our weapons!" Yoriichi shouted. "They bear our insignia."
The general paused and glanced at the man beside him, who signaled another samurai to retrieve our weapons.
"The Demon Slayer Corps has existed for decades," Yoriichi continued. "We devote our lives to eradicating the evil that corrupts our world from the shadows. Many of us have fallen in pursuit of this noble cause—"
"Pfft, what nonsense is this?" the general's men erupted into laughter, clutching their stomachs as if Yoriichi's words were the most absurd thing they had ever heard.
For a moment, I felt pity—not for us, but for those who had died striving to create a peaceful world for these ignorant fools. Their sacrifices seemed utterly in vain. But more than pity, I felt rage.
"Enough," the general's voice boomed, silencing the laughter. He hadn't so much as cracked a smile.
At that moment, the soldier who had been sent to retrieve our weapons returned, carrying them wrapped in cloth.
"Give him back his weapon and cut his legs loose," the general ordered, shocking everyone present.
"But my Lord—" his subordinate protested.
"Do not make me repeat myself," the general snapped.
He rose from his seat and strode toward us, removing the top of his hakama to reveal three deep scars running across his chest.
"A friend of yours did this to me," he said, running a hand over the marks. "I killed him. I knew how strong he was, and I know the effort it took to end his life. We'll strike once at each other. If you survive my attack and strike back, I'll believe you and hear your reasons for coming here. If you fail to survive, that will be the end of you and your partner. Do you agree?"
Yoriichi stood, his hands still bound, and gripped the hilt of his katana tightly. Veins bulged in his hand as he prepared for the confrontation. He, too, seemed to realize the gravity of the opponent he was about to face.
The two men stood in silence, their eyes locked as the tension in the air grew thicker with each passing second.
The general made the first move. He stomped the ground with such force that it cracked beneath Yoriichi's feet, throwing him off balance. With a roar, the general swung his katana at Yoriichi.
Their blades met in a clash that sent a gust of wind and a cloud of dust into the air. Yoriichi bent his katana, redirecting the general's strike, and sidestepped with lightning speed. In the next moment, he was behind the general.
As the dust settled, both men stood still, their backs to each other. Yoriichi was the first to move. He dropped his katana to the ground and turned to face the general.
"I believe that's my victory," he said.
The general let out a sigh, followed by a low chuckle. "Both demons and slayers are monsters in their own right. Had you used the edge of your blade, I'd have been cut to pieces."
The marks on the general's body became clear—his shoulders, his side, all his vital points had been struck simultaneously.
"What's your name, slayer?" the general asked, leaning on his blade for support.
"Yoriichi Tsukuguni," he replied.
"Tsukuguni?" The general raised an eyebrow.
"My Lord, I told you he was a spy!" the right-hand man barked.
"Only weaklings are sent to spy on troops. The strong are kept on the frontlines. Dress their wounds and send them to my tent immediately."
"As you wish, my Lord."
***
We sat facing each other in the general's tent, a ceramic jug of wine and three cups laid out on the table before us. The general filled all three cups and immediately downed his in one gulp, letting out a loud sigh.
"So, what is your reason for coming here? Surely it's not just to talk about these night crawlers."
"Indeed, General—" Yoriichi began.
"Call me Fujimoto," the general interrupted.
"As you wish, General Fujimoto," Yoriichi continued. "I came to warn you. In less than a day, the war general of the Tsukuguni Clan, Tsukuguni Michikatsu, will arrive here with his troops."
Fujimoto scratched his beard. "We're already aware of this. We've sent spies. If I were you, I wouldn't concern myself with the affairs of another village. Do you realize what you're committing by revealing this information?"
"Treason. I am aware. But I didn't come to give you the upper hand in this battle," Yoriichi said.
"Oh?" Fujimoto raised an eyebrow.
"I came to end this war. I want peace to reign."
The two men fell silent, their eyes locked. Finally, Fujimoto broke the silence.
"And what was your village chief's response to this request?"
Yoriichi's brow furrowed. "There wasn't enough time to consult the shogunate—"
"Your clan?" Fujimoto interrupted. "We all know what the Tsukuguni Clan is capable of, especially that brat Michikatsu. Did you report this to your clan's leaders?"
"They rejected it," Yoriichi admitted.
Fujimoto sighed and scratched his beard again. He leaned back and studied Yoriichi. "You are strong, but you have the mindset of a child. You dip your hand into fire without knowing how hot it burns. War cannot be stopped by one man alone."
"That's why I need your help," Yoriichi said.
"And I'm afraid you won't get it," Fujimoto replied, standing up. "You have half an hour to leave this area. If you're spotted again, you'll be killed and fed to the pigs."
***
"Yup. I expected this," I said, glancing at Yoriichi. He remained silent.
We were now far from the village, avoiding any unnecessary clashes. I didn't know what was going through Yoriichi's mind, but one thing was certain: if he truly wanted to end this war, one side would have to accept his proposal. And that side would likely be the Aira troops, led by Michikatsu of the Tsukuguni Clan.
From what I knew, the Aira Clan had started this war as a conquest for land. They had already conquered several neighboring villages and clans under Ohara Village. For the Himori Clan to surrender now would be unthinkable—their pride would never allow it. That left us with only one option: stopping Michikatsu.
"So, what are you going to do?" I asked. "Will you meet your brother and talk to him, or are we going to fight?"
Yoriichi remained silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the evening sky as the sun began to set. Finally, he touched the hilt of his katana and stared into the depths of the forest.
"I'll do what I must. This war has to end," he said.
For a moment, I felt it—something significant was about to happen. I had made the right choice in following him.