Part 1°
A 16-year-old boy was squatting on the ground in the early morning, the scent of dew traveling far on the wind.
His hands came together in a silent gesture of respect toward the tombstone before him, stones that were neither too luxurious nor too poor, but simply ordinary. After all, that was the kind of grave the people now buried there would have wanted, and that alone was enough. Besides the carvings he had meticulously worked on by hand, the rest of the granite-like stone remained untouched, its edges naturally softened by the wind and rain. That's why he didn't hesitate to use them as soon as he found them.
A breeze blew, the birds sang in the trees, and the arrival of strong rays of sunlight alerted him that he didn't have much time left before he had to attend to his other responsibilities.
So, it was time to leave.
Tanjiro sighed as he stood up from his crouched position, the moisture from the ground beneath him staining his pants a moderate shade of brown with the dirt clinging to them.
He didn't particularly care as he simply brushed off the dirt with his hands, but it wasn't as if he cared about how he dressed at that moment.
He was young, barely seventeen, wearing leather pants tied with laces. His black shirt was equipped with small metal plates covering his vital areas, like his chest and shoulders, without losing mobility.
His hair was dark red and messy, with his distinctive lighter red streaks, now even more disheveled and wild. His eyes, once a deep dark red, had transformed into a bright crimson with slitted pupils, reflecting a mix of ferocity.
His skin had become a bit paler and his teeth sharp, giving him an even more terrifying appearance. The flame-shaped scar on his forehead had expanded and darkened, accentuating his demonic and formidable appearance.
Hours earlier, in that mysterious forest, night had fallen with unusual speed. The moon, hidden behind a dense fog, refused to show its face.
Tanjiro, however, did not feel helpless. His eyes, inexplicably sharp, penetrated the darkness as if the sun itself illuminated them. Despite the hours of walking, his stamina did not falter, even with the weight of the burly man he carried on his shoulders.
The stranger, whose body easily exceeded 80 kilos, defied the laws of physics. Had his training with Himejima-san prepared his body for this test? The protagonist couldn't help but marvel at his own strength and endurance.
Finally, he emerged from the forest's thick cover and found himself under a starry sky with majestic mountains in the distance.
The horizon was painted with impossible colors, as if nature itself had mixed its palette to delight his senses.
The grass under his feet, green and ethereal, contrasted with the darkness he had left behind. He inhaled deeply, feeling the clean air fill his lungs. Was it possible that the night had purified his soul?
He decided to give the stranger a rest. In a quiet corner, he improvised a grave with stones and adorned the place with dew flowers. His prayers, sincere and prolonged, rose to the sky as the dawn timidly broke through the mountains.
The sun, warm and benevolent, did not burn him. He smiled, accepting his new existence as a demon.
There was no turning back, but his joy remained intact. Only one concern persisted: his mind. Although the sun did not affect his skin, Muzan's voice, the progenitor demon, suggested atrocious acts.
Devouring the flesh and livers of children and women to increase his power. Tanjiro had rejected these ideas, but the infernal laughter tormented him until dawn finally silenced them.
Now, the dawn, a silent guide in the vast sky, rose like a beacon in the immensity. The words echoed in his mind: "Follow the direction of the sun, and you will find a village." Superstition or wisdom? Skepticism clung to his thoughts like a shadow.
Who was the fool at that moment? The one who followed an apparently simple piece of advice or the one lost in an unknown forest? Uncertainty mixed with hope, and he decided to trust the ancient belief.
His steps, firm and determined, led him eastward. The sword at his waist, an extension of his will, rested in its sheath. He adjusted its position, ensuring that his dominant hand could draw it without obstacles.
The landscape transformed around him. The trees, silent witnesses to his journey, seemed to lean toward the light. Hokkaido? Was he still in Japan? The answer floated in the air, as uncertain as his destiny at that moment.
"If you walk toward the rising sun in the morning, you will head east; if you walk toward the setting sun in the afternoon, you will go west." He repeated in his mind, making sure he was correct.
But he kept walking, guided by the sun, by hope, and by the certainty that, sooner or later, he would find shelter in that vast world.
Part 2°
As the first rays of the sun filtered through the trees, Tanjiro advanced slowly along the brown sand path. Each step resonated with a dry, deep crunch, a solitary echo in the quiet dawn.
The worn leather boots kicked up small clouds of dust that dissipated in the fresh air, while the night shadows retreated, yielding to the emerging light.
The rhythmic sound of his steps mixed with the soft murmur of the wind caressing the leaves, creating a natural melody that announced the new day.
The birds awakened, singing melodious songs that floated in the air, a greeting to the sun that slowly ascended over the horizon.
Tanjiro observed the landscape around him intently. The trees, though majestic, were not the same pines and cherry blossoms he was used to seeing. Here, oaks and firs dominated the terrain, their thick, leafy branches creating a canopy that filtered the sunlight into complex patterns on the ground. The air had a distinct aroma, a mix of damp earth and resin, with a touch of something more exotic he couldn't quite identify.
With each step, Tanjiro sharpened his senses, searching for clues in the flora and fauna that might indicate where he was. The giant ferns and brightly colored wildflowers were completely unfamiliar to him.
Not far from the path, a family of deer grazed quietly, their curious eyes following the young demon slayer's movements. The animals seemed unafraid of him, suggesting that this region had not seen much human activity recently.
As he advanced, his mind reviewed everything he had learned on previous missions. The details mattered: the direction of the wind, the moisture in the air, even the sounds of the insects could tell him much about his location.
Though he could tell he wasn't in Japan, his training and experience had taught him to adapt quickly to his surroundings. He remembered his master Urokodaki's lessons on how to read nature like an open book. Here, precisely at this moment, those skills would be crucial.
The brown path wound through gentle hills and open meadows, each curve revealing a new and surprising landscape. The horizon stretched into a vast golden plain, dotted with wildflowers and low shrubs that Tanjiro had never seen before.
In the distance, mountains rose majestically, their snow-capped peaks shining under the rising sun. This confirmed that he was not in the Japan he knew; this was something entirely different.
After walking for two hours, the sounds of the forest intensified. The birdsong was different, more varied and melodious than that of Japanese birds. A fox crossed the path at full speed, its reddish fur shining in the sunlight. Tanjiro smiled, remembering how his sister Nezuko used to play with foxes on the hills near their home.
A river soon appeared before him, its crystal-clear waters running over a bed of smooth, rounded stones.
Tanjiro knelt by the shore and drank some of the cold, refreshing water. He watched the fish swimming in the river, their bright colors and quick movements. Everything in this place spoke of a rich and vibrant land, but strange and full of mysteries to discover, at least for him.
Following basic survival methods, like following the river downstream, he quickened his pace. It didn't take long before his sight detected a village in the distance along the riverbank.
As he approached, he noticed several things; the houses were made of stone and wood with thatched roofs, reminiscent of some remote Japanese villages, but the details were different. The windows were larger, and the gardens were filled with plants he had never seen.
The village, at first glance, was inhabited by ragged and downtrodden people, performing common activities like repairing house fences, tending to domestic animals, and other mundane tasks.
However, his enhanced sense of smell detected a pervasive sense of depression in the air. Unable to ignore his curiosity, he quickened his pace. The villagers, though dressed humbly, had different facial features and other peculiarities he couldn't overlook.
Following the road leading into the village, he quickly reached the village center.
His presence caught the attention of the villagers, who had various reactions; some showed indifference, others curiously displayed joy at seeing the boy, and the rest did not hide their growing displeasure at the sight of the slayer.
One of the villagers approached the young man without haste, who, noticing the action, gave a warm smile.
"You're one of those mutants, right? I assume you've seen the sign in town."
Tanjiro's smile slowly and comically faded as he didn't recognize or understand what he was being asked.
Receiving no response, the villager, no older than 25, raised an eyebrow.
"Are you okay?"
"Um... I don't understand what you're saying, I'm very sorry," Tanjiro expressed with an apologetic look.
The other, like the slayer, gave him a curious and surprised look at the boy's strange accent, as if talking to a drunk who didn't know where he was.
"Lucas... is this boy a witcher?"
"Mr. Grindel, yes, it seems that way if it weren't for his strange accent. Honestly, I think he might be pulling our leg."
"What?"
"When I came to greet him, he not only seemed not to understand me, but he also started spouting nonsense like 'kore ni waku wan' or something like that."
Then, another man approached them, noticeably older, his gray hair revealing his age. They began to speak in that language that Tanjiro completely did not understand, and the casual and cautious glances they sent him during their exchange suggested that he was the center of their conversation.
"I see...."
Then the elder stepped forward; he was an old man through and through, his black hair having entirely turned white with age. His kind gaze somewhat reminded Tanjiro of Urokodaki.
"What is your name, boy? We won't be able to start negotiating if we don't begin on the right foot. By the way, my name is Grindel, and I am the leader of this village."
Once again, Tanjiro showed an embarrassed face at not being able to understand what he was hearing, or at least not entirely, as he could distinguish a name among the strange words. That instinctively told him that the man was introducing himself.
With what little he could understand and reason, he bowed at a 90-degree angle in respect to the elder.
"Nice to meet you, sir, my name is Kamado Tanjiro."
Silence reigned for a few seconds, interrupted only by the wind's whistle and the occasional hammer blow.
Grindel looked at him with wide eyes, visibly surprised by what he heard. Lucas had previously mentioned the boy's strange accent, but he thought it was just someone who hadn't had the fortune of proper education.
But hearing the boy firsthand, the possibility that he was talking to a mentally deranged person crossed his mind. After all, it wasn't unusual to see one of those wandering around. But seeing how he spoke fluently and even bowed, he had to consider another idea.
He narrowed his eyes and began to pay more attention to the boy after all.
With his usual courtesy, Tanjiro stepped forward with the villagers and tried to communicate. He used gestures and simple words, pointing to the forest and mountains, trying to get information about his location.
"I think he wants you to give him instructions, Mr. Grindel."
"That seems to be the case, but we better make sure."
Then, Grindel began to make signs with his hands, an action that slightly relieved the younger man. Having to deal with all sorts of situations as a slayer, he was also forced to learn sign language to avoid using words in stealth situations.
And apparently, they used the same method. It didn't take long to decipher what the elder wanted to say.
"You're not from around here, are you, boy?"
Tanjiro smiled, finally having a way to communicate.
"That's right, I'm looking to properly orient myself," he communicated with gestures.
"I'm sure you've come to the right place," Tanjiro raised an eyebrow, but the elder continued signing, "Months ago, the village started being tormented by something stalking us outside. Every time we send men out to replenish our supplies, they are attacked and... never return."
Grindel paused, his gaze resting on the people doing their daily activities, on the women washing clothes by the river, and the men doing heavy work.
"We are running out of food, our children are dying at a high rate each month." Then his gaze fixed on the boy, who looked at him with a face that mixed confusion and seriousness.
"You, who are a full-fledged hunter..." Tanjiro's eyes widened in surprise; this elder was aware of the hunters. "I implore you to help us; we can only offer 300 coins. It's little, but it will be enough for you to eat peacefully for a few days."
Although demon slayers were a secretive company, that didn't mean no one knew about them. It was simply that the government didn't recognize them as an official company. But usually, older people and others recognized them, so the young slayer was used to that.
But were there hunters and demons in other parts of the world? He was fully aware that he was not in Japan, and Muzan's memories didn't help much in that regard.
"Don't worry, I'll help," he quickly agreed. "Just give me the details and I'll resolve it."
Grindel smiled while calling the other villager with a hand gesture, who arrived with a map.
Parte 3°
Tanjiro walked along a path leading to the small forest not far from the village. The air grew colder and more humid as he ventured into the shadowy realm created by the tall, dense trees.
The sun barely pierced through the canopy, casting elongated shadows on the ground covered in dry leaves and moss. With every step, the crunch of branches and the whisper of the wind through the trees intensified the eerie atmosphere around him.
He paused for a moment, his senses sharpening as he detected a metallic, penetrating smell in the air. The familiar scent set him on high alert: blood.
The young demon slayer followed the trail, his heart pounding but his mind focused and clear. Soon, the thick foliage opened into a small clearing, and there, under the dim light, he saw what he feared.
Three bodies lay on the ground, their positions disordered and grotesque. Tanjiro approached slowly, his eyes scanning every detail with precision and care.
He knelt beside the first body, a middle-aged man with pale skin and empty, lifeless eyes. The wounds were deep and brutal. Claw marks on his chest suggested a violent attack, tearing through flesh and exposing ribs. The dried blood pooled darkly beneath him, indicating he had been dead for at least a day.
Tanjiro's thoughts filled with the lessons he had learned from his missions. He recalled how he had been taught to read wounds to better understand his enemy.
The claws were long and sharp, capable of penetrating deeply with a single swipe. The man had several defensive wounds on his arms, indicating he had tried to protect himself, fighting until the very end.
He moved to the second body, another man. His face was frozen in an expression of sheer terror. Tanjiro noticed bite marks on his neck and shoulders, small but numerous.
The flesh had been torn away in strips, as if the creature had relished prolonging his suffering. His fingers were broken and dislocated, suggesting he had been tortured before he died. The brutality of the attack indicated not just strength, but a ruthless cruelty.
The third body was the smallest, a young man who couldn't be much older than Tanjiro himself. Tanjiro felt a pang of pain in his chest as he looked at the boy. The wounds on his body were different, less deep but just as lethal.
It seemed the creature had caught him quickly, sparing him the prolonged suffering of the others. However, the strangulation marks on his neck and the way his eyes were swollen and bloodshot showed his death had been no less horrific.
Grindel had told him that for months, howls had been heard outside the village, specifically in this forest, which they had to cross to reach the nearest town.
Initially, Tanjiro thought a demon was terrorizing the village; his very existence was clear evidence that such monsters still roamed the world. But the characteristic of leaving the bodies almost intact was not typical of a demon.
"Maybe a bear is roaming the area and has claimed it as its own, or it recently had cubs. In any case, I must not let my guard down. Demon or wild animal, I must solve this problem."
Tanjiro closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm his mind.
The scene before him was desolate and macabre, but he knew he had to remain resolute to honor the victims and find the culprit. He opened his eyes and continued his analysis.
Three men. Three victims, each with different wounds but connected by the same brutality. Tanjiro wondered if they had all been attacked simultaneously or if the creature had returned multiple times. The differences in the wounds suggested an evolution in the attacker's method, perhaps experimenting with different ways to inflict pain.
He examined the marks on the ground
around the bodies. The footprints were deep and disordered, mixed with signs of struggle. The tracks indicated the attacker had been large and heavy, moving with considerable force. However, there was something else.
Among the large footprints, Tanjiro saw smaller, lighter ones, almost human-like. His fist clenched as he realized he might be facing a demon that retained some of its humanity, using the guise of a man or woman to lure its victims.
—Blood Demon Art? Perhaps, but usually, demon arts appear when they've consumed a certain number of humans. The rate of destruction should be higher, or it could have already massacred the village without issue. So why?
He knew demons could vary greatly in behavior and abilities. Some were savage and brutal, while others were cunning and manipulative. This demon seemed to have a mix of both traits: brute force combined with a twisted mind.
He looked again at the wounds, searching for patterns that might reveal more about the attacker. The claw and bite marks were unusual, with shapes and depths that didn't exactly match the demons he had faced before.
Perhaps this demon had unique abilities or was part of a different species. The lack of uniformity in the wounds also suggested the demon might be experimenting with its power, trying different ways to kill.
Tanjiro stood slowly, his gaze sweeping the clearing one last time. The silence of the forest was overwhelming.
Accustomed to all kinds of situations, he decided to continue investigating the area, an action that rewarded him moments later as he walked a few meters.
—This is.... —Seeing the familiar red liquid —It's fresh blood. Whatever killed these people is still nearby.
His eyes followed the pattern of stains that wound around the forest, leading straight back to the village.
Part 4°
It only took seconds for his hurried march to stop on the plain; from the slope, he could see the town perfectly, with its inhabitants going about their usual activities.
"Thank goodness", he sighed. "The trail of blood stopped a few blocks back. The killer is likely hiding among the villagers, which is why the bleeding stopped, or whatever was bleeding at that moment."
On the slope, the figure of an older man, sturdy with a gentle expression, stood out against the backdrop of the village. It was Grindel, the village leader. Tanjiro adjusted his breathing, preparing for the conversation he knew he had to have.
As he approached, Grindel came closer to Tanjiro with a look of confusion and distrust. His eyes scanned the young demon hunter.
—You've come back very gloomy. Did you solve the problem? —the old man gestured.
—I found three bodies in the forest, all murdered. I think the culprit might be hiding among the villagers.
Grindel frowned, his confusion turning into concern.
—A murderer among us? That's impossible. We know everyone in this village. What makes you think someone here could be the culprit?
—The wounds on the bodies were very specific and aggressive, something only a beast or someone with similar skills could inflict. The blood trail stopped suddenly near the village, suggesting the killer stopped on purpose to avoid detection. Also, the wounds showed signs of someone familiar with the terrain and local customs. It's possible the killer is using their knowledge of the village to hide.
Grindel read the meaning in the young man's hand movements, nodding slowly, visibly worried.
—If what you say is true, we must act cautiously. We can't sow panic among the villagers. Do you have any idea who it could be?
Tanjiro took a moment to consider his words.
—I'll need some time to investigate and observe. Any change in the villagers' behavior, any sign of nervousness or recent injuries could be a clue. It's also important to keep everyone safe and prevent the killer from having another chance to attack.
—Alright, boy. We'll trust your judgment. But remember, these are our friends and family.
With Grindel's approval, Tanjiro began his investigation. He spent the following hours discreetly observing the villagers, looking for any sign that might reveal the killer.
The atmosphere in the village was calm, but he could feel an underlying tension, like a rope about to snap.
The village market was bustling with activity. People moved between stalls, buying and selling goods, laughing, and chatting.
Tanjiro watched each person carefully, looking for any unusual behavior. He noticed a woman with a bandaged arm, but upon approaching her, he discovered she had cut herself while cooking. However, he was not discouraged; he knew the clues could be subtle and hard to find.
There were around 50 families in the village, almost 200 people in one place. The challenge of finding the killer among them seemed almost impossible, but Tanjiro knew his sense of smell could be the key to solving the mystery.
As he walked through the village streets, his senses were overwhelmed with a cacophony of smells: the aroma of cooking food, the smoke from chimneys, the sweet perfume of wildflowers, and the unmistakable and disturbing scent of blood.
The first clue was present.
Following the scent like a trail of smoke from freshly cooked spaghetti, he pursued it with the determination of an Italian man chasing the perfect dish.
The trail led him to a young man about twenty-five years old, with short brown hair and large eyes that reflected a mix of fear and despair. The young man was sitting on a water barrel, his gaze lost on the ground.
The distancing from the population and his hunched posture were indicative of deep distress. His hands, stained with dirt, trembled slightly as he tried to hide from an inescapable truth.
—He... he smells of clotted blood —Tanjiro thought.
Without wasting much time, he began to approach. This action was noticed by the other, who, seeing the "Witch" directing his attention towards him, began to get nervous.
Meanwhile, Tanjiro advanced calmly towards the young man, always with a smile on his face, avoiding being hostile at all times.
—Are you okay? —Tanjiro asked in sign language.
It seemed that the majority of the village could understand sign language to some extent, at least the basics.
The man, understanding what the boy was saying, frowned in annoyance.
—What do you care, mutant? Get lost.
He raised his voice quite a bit, drawing the attention of people passing by, including Mr. Grindel, who had been silently following the hunter. Although the latter had known for quite some time, as he wasn't interfering, he let it pass.
—Is something wrong? Is everything alright here? —Grindel asked calmly, approaching the two.
—Mr. Grindel, tell this mutant to stop bothering me.
Like a nervous child hiding a mischief, he threw a tantrum at the elder, who just gave the hunter an inquisitive look.
On the other hand, Tanjiro watched the villagers' interaction with a metaphorical question mark over his head, unable to understand anything they were saying, but from the man's tone, it didn't seem good.
So, he began to give brief explanations to the old man.
Grindel raised an eyebrow, not understanding the boy's vague explanations. Yes, he could certainly understand sign language, a custom adapted over generations, but that didn't mean he could understand everything.
—Have you found the culprit? —he asked, hesitant.
Tanjiro nodded, making eye contact with the increasingly nervous man. —Correct, and I think we have him right next to us.
—¿Miquel? Grindel asked in surprise, as if he couldn't believe it, even stopping his signing as he looked with wide eyes at the man.
—¡It's all a misunderstanding, this boy just wants to bother me!
The man, on the verge of panic, jumped up, but his movement was abruptly interrupted by Tanjiro, who planted himself in front of him, hand gripping the hilt of his sword.
The tension in the air was palpable. The man retreated hastily, but it only took Tanjiro raising his hand in a peace signal to calm everyone down, at least to some extent.
At that moment, Tanjiro sent signals to Grindel, who responded with a puzzled look but nodded in understanding.
Unsheathing his sword, it instantly turned a brilliant crimson. Tanjiro had made a deep cut on his arm and raised it, letting a large pool of blood form under him.
—If you really are Miquel —Grindel said seriously to the young man, though with some disgust at seeing the blood —this shouldn't affect you at all.
Miquel, terrified, watched the scene. He slowly retreated while brutally clutching his face, tearing it little by little.
—¿Miquel? —Grindel exclaimed, worried and willing to help his citizen.
However, as Grindel hurried toward Miquel, a crimson sword blocked his path. A look of disgust crossed Grindel's face as a wave of heat enveloped him.
—¿¡Boy, what are you doing!? We must help him! —he shouted.
But a single look from the boy was enough to stop him in his tracks. Those red, feline eyes stared at him, sending a chill that made him break out in a cold sweat. "He killed them," he understood instantly.
—GHAARRRRRR! GYAAAAAAHH!
Miquel convulsed in place, screaming like an animal. His fingers grotesquely tore at the skin of his face, transforming into gray fur. The horror unfolded before them, and Tanjiro, with his sword still in hand, seemed to be the epicenter of this dark change.
—¡THEY WERE TORTURING ME! I HAD NO CHOICE!
A furious and infernal scream tore through the air, a demonic cacophony that infiltrated every corner of the village. The villagers, consumed by terror, began to retreat, their eyes wide and bodies trembling.
Within minutes, everyone was barricaded inside their homes, closing doors and windows, their hearts pounding wildly, awaiting the arrival of the devil.
Then, Miquel's body began to swell grotesquely, like an abominable beast being born from his flesh. His muscles and veins exploded in an orgy of blood and tissue, bursting from his skin in a macabre spectacle. Miquel's skin tore with a nauseating sound, replaced by coarse brown fur emerging like worms from a festering wound.
His legs elongated grotesquely, bones crunching and stretching with a repugnant snap, transforming into the powerful limbs of a monstrous wolf.
His arms, now tortured and twisted limbs, stretched inhumanly, while his hands became sharp claws, black and gleaming like deadly blades.
Miquel's face was destroyed and reformed into an elongated snout, opening in a gruesome grimace. The veins and flesh pulsated in a horror show, and a row of sharp teeth emerged, dripping saliva and blood. His clothes tore and fell in tatters, leaving only miserable scraps hanging from his ankles and arms.
Miquel's transformation was complete, revealing an infernal beast that breathed heavily, with bloodshot eyes and a drooling jaw.
The hunter, the only one who had withstood the tide of fear without trouble, stood firm, facing the monstrosity that once was a man.
—¡DAMN MUTANT, YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE COME HERE!
The werewolf's grotesquely hypertrophied legs flexed with superhuman strength as his arms stretched toward the hunter.
With a colossal leap, he launched himself at the red-haired boy, like a lightning bolt of fury and terror.
But in that decisive instant, he failed.
He tried.
Just a few words were enough to seal their fate.
—¡Sacred Dance of the Fire God: Immense Fiery Haze!
The monster, at the peak of its attack, loomed directly above Tanjiro.
Its colossal claws descended in a cross slash, seeking the young hunter's flesh.
As its hands touched Tanjiro, they sank into an iridescent fire, a kaleidoscope of flames shimmering with the colors of the rainbow.
SLASH!
A red blade, shrouded in a haze of black fire, emerged with blinding speed from behind, slicing the humanoid's neck like butter.
The werewolf's head flew through the air as its body collapsed, consumed by sacred flames.
Tanjiro landed with superhuman grace, his feet touching the ground with the lightness of a feather but the firmness of a titan.
His gaze fixed on the ground, in a serene and majestic posture, embodying the essence of a warrior. In less than three seconds, he had secured his victory, leaving only a reverent silence in his wake.
Grindel watched everything from the safety of his window. His eyes, laden with the wisdom of years and the scars of time, widened at the spectacle before him.
Particles of sunlight pierced the air, illuminating the scene with an almost divine glow. In his astonishment, he couldn't help but murmur, his voice a reverent whisper.
"So that's it... That is the power of a witcher."
Everything had happened so fast that he didn't even have time to comprehend what he was seeing. A brief flash, strong and powerful, had torn through the air, and in the blink of an eye, the werewolf's head was flying toward the ground. The old man stood motionless, his mind trying to process the majesty and brutality of the event.
Sunlight played with the dust in the air, creating an ethereal atmosphere that contrasted with the violence he had just witnessed.
Grindel felt a mix of awe and respect, a deep admiration for the young hunter whose power had unleashed a torrent of destruction with the elegance of a sacred dance.
As the monster's head rolled across the ground, leaving a trail of dark blood, Grindel remembered the old times, when witchers were beings of legend, feared and respected in equal measure. Now, before his own eyes, the legend had come to life, and the reality of that power was more impressive and terrifying than he had ever imagined.
The old man moved away from the window, moved by what he had seen. Inside, a new spark of hope and fear ignited.
He knew that with such formidable powers come immense responsibilities and that the fate of the village, perhaps the world, could depend on those capable of wielding such power.
Tanjiro, still perplexed by the recent events, tried to process what had happened. Questions echoed in his mind, like whispers in a vast void.
"What happened?" he asked himself, his mind searching for answers amidst the chaos.
—¿What were those flames? ¿Was it magic? —The murmurs of the crowd fueled his confusion.
—¿And what is this thing supposed to be? —A man moved the monster's head with his foot, horror and curiosity mingling in his voice.
People began to emerge from their homes, surrounding the place like a rising tide. The babbling and murmurs multiplied, filling every corner with whispers of awe and fear.
Soon, a small crowd made way for Grindel, who approached slowly toward the hunter and the werewolf's corpse.
—Good heavens, Miquel... How did this happen? —Grindel's voice trembled, laden with incredulity and pain.
Tanjiro remained silent, his mind working feverishly to understand the situation. He couldn't discern if these people truly knew the creature he had just slain.
He had experienced before how demons could camouflage themselves among humans, deceiving them with their appearance. However, he had overlooked a crucial detail: it was broad daylight, and what he thought was a demon wasn't disintegrating under the sun.
This realization plunged him further into his thoughts, seeking quick answers but finding only more questions.
His eyes turned to Grindel, who stood beside him with a desolate expression. It seemed the old man knew well the man who had just left this world without glory. The sadness on Grindel's face was palpable, a mix of loss and resignation that touched something deep in Tanjiro. It was as if the tragedy of the werewolf, once known as Miquel, had left an indelible mark on the old man's soul.
Grindel, with a tired gesture, turned to Tanjiro and began to speak in sign language, his hands moving with a sad grace. Before starting, he extended a leather pouch toward Tanjiro, who looked at it with confusion.
—Take it, boy. It's the promised money, —Grindel sighed, his voice full of painful resignation. —Thank you for the help. You can go now.
Tanjiro, dismayed by the action and the old man's defeated attitude, took the small leather pouch in his hands. Although he initially wanted to refuse, the deep sadness in Grindel's eyes convinced him to accept. It was not the moment to reject a gesture that, perhaps, meant more to the old man than he could understand.
Just as Tanjiro prepared to leave, Grindel continued communicating, his hands moving slowly and determinedly.
—Before you go, please, take the body of... of Miquel far away —he hesitated for a second, as if the words themselves were a burden. —I don't want the murderer of so many people near. I'll take care of the bodies in the forest myself. Now, you can leave.
Tanjiro watched the old man's hunched back as he walked away, the murmurs still echoing in the air like a distant echo of the recent tragedy. He sighed heavily, feeling the weight of responsibility and others' pain.
With a single movement, he lifted the huge monster's body and placed it on his shoulders, grabbing the fur-covered head.
Parte 5°
Tanjiro scrutinized the creature's body, analyzing each muscle and any clue that might reveal what this thing was, for it was clearly not a demon. Confusion mingled with doubt as his mind feverishly worked to understand what lay before him.
Up until now, he had only known one demon who could survive under the sun: his sister Nezuko. He vividly remembered that day when he thought he had lost his reason for living, only for fate to prove him wrong as he saw Nezuko, unharmed under the sunlight in that distant field. That day, he had learned that the world held secrets and exceptions that defied his understanding.
But now it was different. He was beside a horrifying and grotesque being that had died with a simple slash to the neck. Any ordinary demon would have died the same way, except for a few exceptional monsters. However, this case was different.
Internally, Tanjiro wrestled with an agonizing decision. He knew there was a solution to better understand the creature: entering its mind, a skill he had begun to feel within himself.
But accepting this ability meant something terrifying: accepting that he himself was becoming a demon. This acceptance was not something he could take lightly. Acknowledging this transformation meant confronting his own fears and the moral and ethical implications it entailed.
"Can I allow myself to use that ability? Would it mean that I am giving in to Muzan within me?"
He remembered the promise he had made to himself to never suffer unnecessary losses again, to protect the innocent, and to face the shadows with determination. But this dilemma made him question everything. What would he do if the creature turned out to be something else, something that challenged even his vast experience with demons?
He looked at the monster's disfigured face, feeling a mix of repulsion and compassion. If he entered its mind, he might unravel the mystery and possibly discover a truth no one else knew.
But at what cost? The mere idea of connecting with such a corrupted and dark mind sent a shiver down his spine. Moreover, accepting that ability would mean making a deal with the devil, a betrayal of everything he had sworn to protect.
Tanjiro closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. He knew he couldn't remain paralyzed by indecision. The image of Nezuko, strong and brave under the sun, reminded him that even in the darkest moments, he must move forward with hope and courage.
The silence around him became oppressive, as if the entire world was holding its breath. A torrent of blood emerged from his body, enveloping his hands in a macabre glow.
His nails elongated, transforming into sharp daggers, each one gleaming with a sinister shine under the sunlight.
With a grimace that combined regret and disgust, Tanjiro extended his fingers toward the beast's head. His movements were slow, almost ceremonial, as the weight of his decision crushed him. The tips of his nails, charged with power, sank into the monster's brain with cold, calculated precision.
In that moment of contact, a wave of images began to flood his mind. They were chaotic visions, a whirlwind of images and memories that flowed incessantly.
Each image was a fragmentation of nightmares and distorted realities, as if he were seeing the warped reflection of life itself through the beast's eyes.
Time seemed to crumble in the vastness of his vision, and with each image, horror and despair intertwined in an endless spiral.