The silence of the mountain had changed. It no longer felt still.
Adam moved through the dense fog, unbothered by the darkness. His steps were soundless. Calculated. Behind him, the twisted corpses of the spider "mother" and "father" had already dissolved into ash.
Only two remained before the real hunt could begin.
The "Daughter" came first — petite, silent, with hollow eyes. Her movements were jerky, unnatural, like a puppet who had cut its own strings. She tried to run, then to fight and lashed out. Adam didn't even draw a new weapon. With a flick of his wrist, a short blade of solidified blood formed in his palm — elegant, simple.
One swipe.
Her body fell in two before she could even scream. She never had a chance to react. She was dust before her brain could process death.
The "Son" fared no better, Adam just had to sidestepped one of his attacks like an afterthought and drove a dagger up through his chin, letting it burst out of the top of his skull in a spray of demon blood.
"Two down," he whispered. "Now for the real one."
He turned toward the center of the mountain — the spider's nest.
Rui sat atop a web-choked tree, pale fingers weaving delicate thread into an unseen tapestry. To anyone else, he looked harmless — a boy, no older than ten, white-haired, red-eyed, expression emotionless.
But Adam saw past the mask.
He saw a demon who had murdered his own parents, then fabricated a family from fear and pain. There was no humanity left. No sorrow. Only obsession.
And unlike Tanjiro, Adam would show him no understanding. Only judgment.
Rui's crimson eyes flicked toward him, lips curling into a soft smile.
"You're not like the others," he said, voice light and childish. "You're not afraid. That's rare. I like that."
Adam didn't respond. He merely stepped forward, the mist curling away from him like it, too, feared his presence.
Rui continued, still weaving. "But you talk too little. That's rude. We could have a real family here. I could even—"
"You've already placed your threads. Above and below," Adam said calmly.
The boy paused mid-sentence, his eye twitching.
"Nano," Adam said silently.
[All threads mapped. Engagement protocol active]
Blood surged through Adam's body as he activated Blood Technique: Flowing Red Scale — a crimson aura wrapped around him, armor-like, enhancing his speed, reflexes, and reaction time to supernatural levels.
In each hand, he forged weapons anew — twin blood daggers, curved and lethal. He crouched slightly.
And then he moved.
The fight began in an instant — Rui's threads lashed out from every direction, moving faster than the eye could see, cutting through trees and stone like air.
But Adam was faster.
He weaved between them like liquid shadow, slicing through threads with ease, each step and motion deliberate. He wasn't just dodging — he was learning.
Testing.
And when Rui realized that his threads couldn't touch him, he shifted his tone.
"You're not normal," the boy hissed. "Fine. Let's end this."
From behind his back, Rui pulled the trump card — his Blood Demon Art: Murderous Eye Basket – Cutting Thread Cage. A dome of burning red, blood-coated threads exploded from around him, weaving into a dense net of absolute death — the very same that nearly killed Tanjiro.
Adam didn't move. Instead, he whispered:
"Blood Art: Convergence."
His flowing blood retracted instantly, collapsing inward toward his core. His armor vanished — replaced by coiling tension. Pressure built. His whole body became a compressed weapon.
"Now," he whispered, "Piercing Blood."
In a single breath, a compressed lance of blood exploded from his fingertip, so fast it broke the sound barrier.
It collided with Rui's technique head-on — not only piercing through the web, but shattering it completely, the impact carrying forward and blasting clean through Rui's skull, which pop like a melon.
The boy didn't even realize he was dead.
His body stood for a second, headless, twitching slightly — then crumbled into ash as if he had never been.
Adam exhaled slowly, letting the blood recede from his form.
"You should have stayed a child even if sick"
The mountain was quiet again, peaceful, cleansed.
He turned back toward the path he came from. There were still Upper Moons out there. Bigger monsters. Stronger prey. And Adam was just getting started.
-------------------------------------------
Word traveled faster than wind.
Even before Adam set foot back on Demon Slayer Corps grounds, the news had already swept through the ranks like wildfire—Lower Moon Three had been slain.
For the first time in centuries, a Moon had fallen. Hope surged through the Corps. New recruits who once trembled at the idea of demons now stood tall, eager to learn. The once-hidden art of Total Concentration Breathing became the new path forward. Hashira, trainers, and students alike pushed themselves harder, refusing to be left behind.
In the heart of headquarters, the Master sat beneath the sakura tree, joined by his young son and Tamayo. Tea was poured in quiet celebration—not for the death of a demon, but for the resurrection of hope.
When Adam finally passed through the gates, two figures waited.
Tamayo. And Arika.
Tamayo smiled and stepped close, her voice just loud enough for only him to hear.
"I'll be waiting…"
With a small bow, she disappeared down the corridor, her rear swaying like ink behind her.
Adam turned his attention to Arika.
She was dressed in her training uniform, breathing steady but posture alert—different from the girl she had once been. Her expression was serious, but her eyes shone with excitement.
"Is it true?" she asked. "That the Lower Moons are… that strong?"
He nodded slightly, his voice calm. "They are. But strength without control is fragile. They rely to much in thir blood demon art, forgettign that they are weak in combat againts a swordman. If you master your breathing, they will fall. But still be carefull, not all demons are weak againts a sword, there those who don't fret and even welcome the head to head challenge so never believed yourself superior to them or you'll face a hard reality"
She bit her lip, eyes narrowing. "Then I'll keep training. I wanted to tell you… I've chosen a breathing style."
"Oh?"
"Flower Breathing. At least the first form," she added, crossing her arms. "It's slower than I expected, more delicate. But I can feel the potential. Also—"
She hesitated for a moment, glancing at the ground before continuing.
"I seem to have affinity with Thunder Breathing and… Moon Breathing, too."
Adam raised an eyebrow.
"Moon Breathing… interesting."
He looked her over, not judging—calculating. Flower Breathing was intricate and graceful, built on rhythm and movement. Thunder was raw speed. Moon was something else entirely—elegant chaos, born of a demon's will to surpass his brother and still fail.
"You'll start with Flower. Refine your control. Thunder will come after. And Moon… later."
Arika nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir."
With that, they parted ways—her back to the courtyard, his steps leading down the quiet hallway toward the steam-filled bath chambers.
The bath was warm, the room quiet. The stone floor was slightly damp, steam dancing over the surface like ghosts.
Tamayo was already waiting inside.
The candlelight flickered against her pale skin, half-shrouded in mist, her thin robe clinging to her form. Her expression was serene, but her eyes glowed with barely restrained excitement. She was not the cold alchemist tonight nor a centuries old demon.
She was just a woman waiting for her lord.
Adam entered without hesitation, the heat wrapping around him like a welcome. Their eyes met, and no words were needed.
Tamayo stepped closer, voice soft like silk.
"Let me show you just how grateful I am… for everything."