Chapter 10: A Gift to the Demon Slayer Corps
On a quiet hillside, a solitary tombstone stood with the inscription: "Grave of a Thousand Years."
Akira stumbled forward and collapsed before the grave, clutching his chest as he gasped for air.
"Chitose... I'm useless…"
He gave a bitter smile. "I saw that bastard today. But I couldn't avenge you. I'm pathetic. You must be so disappointed in me… having a brother like this."
A black crow swooped down from the sky, landing in front of Akira. In its beak were gauze and blood-staunching herbs.
"Akira, treat your wounds quickly. If not, you'll die from blood loss," the crow—Lang Itachi—warned.
Akira didn't answer right away. Instead, he asked quietly, "Lang Weasel… what's the meaning of life?"
"I'm not human—how would I know?" the crow responded bluntly. "But if you want revenge for Chitose, you won't get it if you're dead."
"Even if I do live, what then?" Akira's voice cracked. "Tengen Uzui—the Sound Hashira—said that once you awaken the Demon Slayer Mark, you won't live past 25. Lang Itachi… I don't have much time left."
He turned to the crow, his longtime companion. "You knew about this, didn't you?"
Lang Itachi said nothing and looked away. Silence can be its own kind of confession.
"…I'm sorry. I just didn't want to see you give up."
Akira clenched his fists. His nails dug into his skin until they bled.
He was going to die.
There's nothing sadder than death—except knowing exactly when it's coming.
Less than a year. That's all he had left.
What could anyone do in so little time?
He wanted revenge—for Chitose's death, for his own humiliation at the hands of the Demon Slayer Corps—but with so little time, could he really accomplish anything?
Despair clawed at him.
He hated himself. For being weak. For failing to protect his brother. For failing to avenge him. For letting Kibutsuji Muzan escape. For being powerless in the face of fate.
He was a failure. A complete and utter failure.
How could he still face the world?
Wouldn't it be easier to just… die?
Suddenly, the crow took to the air in panic, sensing a deadly presence.
Akira remained slumped in front of the grave, eyes blank as he stared skyward.
Click. Click. Click.
Footsteps echoed through the still air.
A man with a strangely elegant, almost feminine face stepped into view, halting just a few steps from Akira.
For a long moment, the man stood frozen, as if haunted by something from the past, before finally moving forward.
It wasn't until Akira felt the chill in the air that he slowly turned his head.
He recognized that face instantly.
A face that had haunted his dreams.
The face of the man he had sworn to kill.
Kibutsuji Muzan.
The tension in Akira's eyes flickered… and then faded.
All that was left was emptiness.
"…Here to kill me, Muzan?" he rasped.
"Hmph." Muzan let out a cold snort. Strangely, there was a slight, almost tsundere edge to it.
"You've been making quite a name for yourself lately," Muzan remarked. "A rogue swordsman who hunts Demon Slayers instead of demons. Even among my kin, your name is known. I had to come see you myself."
His scarlet eyes gleamed with unreadable cunning.
No one could guess what was going through the mind of this supremely cautious demon. Just standing here, so close to a former Demon Slayer, was a massive risk. But Muzan had a reason—and a plan.
He looked down at Akira like a god gazing upon a pitiful mortal.
"I can feel it—your soul is crying out. You want power. You want strength, don't you?"
Akira's bloodshot eyes locked onto Muzan's.
"What are you getting at?" he growled.
"I heard your heart. I felt your hatred," Muzan said smoothly. "That's why I came."
He smiled darkly. "Beg me. If you want power, beg. Abandon your weak human body, and I'll grant you a new one. Evolve beyond your limits."
Muzan crouched beside him, barely a foot away. His icy breath swept across Akira's face. His lips curled into a devilish grin.
"Make them pay for what they did to you, Akira."
A flicker of hesitation passed through Akira. If this had happened before Chitose's death—if this had been the old Akira—he would've lunged at Muzan without a second thought.
But now?
Now, something deep within him had changed.
A voice he had long buried began to rise…
"…I can gain power… by begging you?" he whispered.
It was a deal with the devil.
Akira knew exactly who Muzan was. He knew the danger. He knew what this meant.
But he had no other choice.
He wanted to live.
He wanted strength.
He wanted revenge.
And Muzan… Muzan was the only one who could give it to him.
The Demon King's smile widened.
"Yes. Come to me, child. I'll forgive everything in your past. Today, I give you a new life."
Akira didn't resist.
He let the dark power invade his body.
Agony exploded in his veins. His body convulsed. But he didn't scream—not once.
Muzan's eyes gleamed. Akira was stronger than he'd expected. He could withstand more. This gamble might actually pay off.
Just then, the crow swooped back toward Akira.
Muzan flicked a glance at it, and the overwhelming pressure in his gaze alone brought the bird crashing to the ground beside Akira.
Dark red blood poured from Akira's body, soaking the ground—and the fallen crow.
As the blood touched it, the crow twitched… then went still.
"AHHHHH!!!"
Akira finally let out a roar of pain—and fainted.
Muzan stood over him, satisfied.
"The Demon Slayer Corps… You've hunted me like vermin for hundreds of years."
He smiled.
"Now, let me return the favor—
with a gift."