Demon Slayer: Taking Care Of Tanjuro's Wife And Daughter

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After the gruesome battle with the Demon's s, Ryuji exhaled heavily, the Nichirin Blade in his hand still slick with blackened blood. His amber eyes flickered as he refocused his thoughts and brought up his mental attribute panel.

Name: Ryuji

Constitution: 3.99 (Normal human average is 1.)

Agility: 3.99

Strength: 3.99

Spirit: 3.99

Skill: Breath of the Sun (7.1/100)

Attribute Points: 2.55

A faint smile touched Ryuji's lips. Tonight's ordeal had been fruitful, earning him a total of 2.5 attribute points, a significant increase compared to previous battles. Normally, he wouldn't hesitate to funnel all his gains into improving his Breath of the Sun, a technique passed down to him through fragments of a lost legacy. But now, there was a dilemma.

Ryuji glanced at his physical stats, all halted at the precipice of 3.99. He had noticed something strange recently—no matter how much he improved Breath of the Sun, his physical body remained unchanged. It was as if he had reached the limits of human potential.

He hesitated for a moment, then decided to take a risk.

"Let's see what happens," he murmured to himself, his fingers trembling slightly as he allocated 0.1 points into Constitution.

Instantly, a searing warmth surged through his body. The number on his panel flickered before solidifying into 4.00, and then—

Crack!

A deafening sound erupted from within him, like dry wood snapping underfoot. Every muscle in Ryuji's body quaked violently. His bones felt as though they were being shattered and reforged simultaneously.

"Agh...!"

He collapsed to the ground, curling up as waves of agony overwhelmed him. His sweat-drenched body trembled uncontrollably, every nerve screaming in protest. It felt endless.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the pain subsided.

Ryuji blinked against the moonlight, his breathing ragged. His body felt... different. Stronger. Standing up, he clenched his fists, marveling at the latent energy surging through him. His presence now exuded a raw intensity, something primal and unyielding.

"This... this is incredible."

He unsheathed his Nichirin Blade and tested his newfound durability. With deliberate slowness, he pressed the edge of the blade against his forearm. The sharp metal met his skin but didn't cut through easily—it was as though his flesh had become as tough as stone.

Ryuji finally managed to slice a small piece of flesh. He held it up to the moonlight, and his breath caught as the severed tissue twitched and writhed, inching back toward him.

"The regeneration... like an oni's..." he muttered, awe and unease mingling in his voice.

All his encounters with demons had shown him their terrifying immortality—the way they recovered from decapitations, even mortal wounds, unless faced with sunlight or a Nichirin Blade. Was he now treading that same path?

Without hesitation, he invested the rest of his points.

The transformation came again, stronger this time, forcing him to the ground. He bit back a scream, his body twisting under the force of the changes. Hours seemed to pass before the storm within him calmed.

When he opened his eyes, the world seemed sharper, more alive. The faint flicker of a translucent, web-like structure overlayed everything in his vision—the Transparent World. He could see the flow of energy in his surroundings, even the pulse of life in distant trees.

"So this is what lies beyond human limits..." Ryuji whispered, clenching his hands. The ground beneath his feet felt softer, as if carried by an invisible wind. His entire being felt lighter, faster, deadlier.

He opened his attribute panel once more.

Name: Ryuji

Constitution: 4.60

Agility: 4.50

Strength: 4.50

Spirit: 4.50

Skill: Breath of the Sun (7.1/100)

Attribute Points: 0.01

A smile tugged at his lips. He wasn't the same person anymore. His physical prowess now eclipsed that of even the strongest Demon Slayer he knew—Himejima Gyomei. The gap in experience and skill remained, but sheer power was now firmly on his side.

"It won't be long now," Ryuji murmured, gripping his blade tightly. His gaze turned toward the horizon, where he knew Muzan Kibutsuji lurked. "Soon, I'll stand at the pinnacle."

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The night was alive with the hum of human activity. Lanterns bathed the streets in a warm, golden glow, casting shadows that danced with the movements of people. Among the bustling crowd, a man in a black Western suit and a white snakeskin hat strode with quiet confidence. His pale face, framed by the brim of the hat, bore an otherworldly beauty. Crimson eyes, glimmering like polished rubies, scanned the streets with a detached air.

Then, his steps halted.

Under the veneer of calm, Kibutsuji Muzan's expression darkened, a faint twitch of irritation crossing his face.

A moment ago, he had felt the unmistakable pull—a group of demons under his blood had been eradicated. With a flicker of curiosity, Muzan delved into their fading memories. It was a talent he rarely needed but one he relished. Through his blood, he could witness their final moments, the sensations of their defeat.

The fragmented recollections flooded his mind: the imposing figure of Himejima Gyomei, the Stone Hashira, wielding his crushing strength. Yet, it wasn't Gyomei who caught Muzan's attention—it was the young man who fought beside him.

This boy was no Hashira, but his strength was undeniable. His technique lacked polish compared to Gyomei's mastery, but what set him apart was his youth. He was a diamond still in the rough.

"A new threat..." Muzan murmured, his lips curling into a sneer. His fists clenched, pale knuckles cracking as nails dug into his palms. His mind drifted to an old memory, one buried deep but never forgotten.

Yoriichi Tsugikuni.

The mere thought of that man sent a jolt of unease through Muzan. A warrior who had brought him closer to death than anyone else. A man whose strength felt like divine retribution.

But that was centuries ago.

Muzan forced a smile, bitter and cruel. "Another 'great man'? What does it matter? Humans are fleeting. They grow old, their bodies wither, and their lives fade into dust. No matter how strong they are, I remain eternal."

"Husband, look at that lantern!"

The gentle voice broke through his thoughts. Muzan's expression softened instantly, the bloodlust in his scarlet eyes receding. He turned toward the speaker, his features molding into the perfect image of a kind and attentive man.

A woman stood beside him, draped in a richly embroidered kimono, her presence regal and refined. By her side was a young girl, her innocent face a mirror of her mother's beauty. The girl clutched her mother's hand, pointing excitedly at the glowing lanterns that swayed in the evening breeze.

"Yes, it is beautiful," Muzan said, his voice warm, though his mind was anything but.

The woman's gaze lingered on him, her eyes soft with adoration. "I'm so lucky to have a husband like you," she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder.

Muzan smiled faintly, an act perfected over centuries. The woman before him was a member of the royal family—a tool he had carefully cultivated. Her influence granted him access to resources and information, all directed toward a single purpose: the search for the Blue Spider Lily.

"You flatter me," he replied smoothly. "Let's enjoy the festival together."

As they walked, Muzan's thoughts simmered beneath his composed facade. The woman's affection meant nothing to him. He had long since discarded any connection to human desires—love, intimacy, and companionship. These things were beneath him now.

Her voice broke through his musings again. "Since we've been together, you've always been so distant. Have I done something wrong?"

Muzan's smile didn't falter, but his gaze turned colder. "There's nothing to worry about," he said gently, brushing a hand against her cheek. "You've been perfect."

Satisfied with his response, the woman leaned into him once more, a dreamy smile on her lips. Muzan's thoughts, however, were already elsewhere.

This young man fighting alongside Gyomei—this Ryuji—had intrigued him. The boy's strength was abnormal, and it bore the unmistakable scent of potential. Muzan would need to keep an eye on him. The last thing he needed was another prodigy rising to threaten his eternal reign.

As the lanterns swayed and the festival continued, Muzan's crimson eyes flickered once more. His facade remained flawless, but in the depths of his mind, a storm was brewing.

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