The morning sun rose with a strange gentleness, as if nature itself was aware that yesterday had nearly torn the skies open.
The world hadn't ended.Not yet.
But everyone knew that it could have.
Under the covered shade of their assigned cabin, Muzan stood with his arms behind his back, quiet. His piercing eyes watched the grounds of the HQ with unreadable intent.
Beside him stood Kokushibo, as still as a stone statue, eyes flicking between the movements of the Slayer Corps and the massive armored man standing in the open sunlight.
Not far behind them…
"Mmm~ this peach is divine! I never thought humans would have such flavor~!"
Doma lay flat on a polished wooden bench like he was in a luxury resort, twirling a peach slice in his hand, robes untied and open.
Akaza, legs crossed and eyes half-closed, sat on the porch floor chewing through meat skewers like a wolf.
"You're getting too relaxed," Akaza muttered. "You forget where we are."
"Oh come on," Doma replied, smiling. "If Hell comes back, we're all getting ripped apart anyway. Let a demon live a little, will you?"
Across the HQ, the energy was different.
Where once morning routines were sluggish, now every Slayer was up, uniform pressed, weapons ready, backs straight.
They trained harder.Faster.With fear and inspiration both rooted in one source—him.
Out in the courtyard, the Hashiras sparred, their strikes ringing sharp against one another.Sweat gleamed, breath flowed, and yet, each of them kept stealing glances at the giant standing silently nearby.
The Slayer, helmet off, strode across the training grounds.
No one approached.No one dared.
He wore only his armor and his thick fur-lined cape, his scarred face catching the morning light. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—they burned with experience no one in this world could comprehend.
Workers paused mid-hammer as he passed by.Even the Kakushi whispered behind hands.The Slayer's mere presence reshaped discipline.
And he didn't speak—only watched.
Near the lower field, Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu were sparring with other young Slayers.
Tanjiro paused, sweat dripping from his brow, and glanced toward the Slayer.
"He's… always observing. Always judging how we move."
Zenitsu trembled as he tried to swing.
"He saw me trip on a rock and I swear my soul left my body."
Inosuke was punching a tree for some reason.
"I WANT HIM TO FIGHT ME!!"
They kept going—training harder than ever.
Meanwhile, Kakushi and engineers hammered away. The walls of HQ were being fortified.
The Slayer had spoken yesterday, and no one forgot it:
"Build the walls. Thicken them. Hell doesn't knock—it tears."
Supplies had been brought in.Stone, steel, even rudimentary cannon placements were being discussed.Bunkers were being added.
This wasn't just a hideout anymore.
This was becoming a fortress.
Gyomei stopped mid-swing, his chained mace pausing in the air.
Sanemi exhaled hard, wiping sweat.
Tomioka observed the Slayer quietly.
Mitsuri, breathless, looked over.
"Do you think… he's judging us?"
Obanai answered flatly.
"He's measuring how long we'd survive on a battlefield he's seen… and how quickly we'd die."
A heavy silence followed.
Then Gyomei, stoic as always, finally said:
"We must keep improving. Not for ourselves, but because he may not always be here."
Back under the shaded cabin, Muzan narrowed his eyes.
"This Slayer… He commands them without a word. Like a war god among ants."
Kokushibo didn't reply.
Then Doma piped up:
"If he ever turns on us, I'm jumping into the sun myself~!"
The Slayer came to a stop near a training circle.
Tanjiro paused. The other Slayers around him fell quiet.
All eyes turned to him again.
And finally—he spoke.
His voice low. Gravelly. Certain.
"Train. Not to survive…"
"Train so that when they return… you don't die screaming."
He turned and walked away.
The air behind him felt heavier somehow.Like it carried the weight of a thousand wars.