Chapter Thirty-One: Guidance from the Illusory Feather

Even so, Kibutsuji Muzan found the Demon Slayer Corps to be a constant thorn in his side. Over the centuries, while the Demon Slayers hadn’t dealt any significant blows to the Upper Moons of the Twelve Kizuki, they had caused considerable losses among his Lower Moons. Displeased, Muzan decided to have Nakime summon two demons directly to his side.

“Akaza, Doma,” he commanded. “Put aside the search for the Blue Spider Lily for now. Your priority is to exterminate those meddlesome rats. Especially the one in the white cloak seen by Rui before his death. Far too many demons have perished at his hands in this past month.”

“Yes,” replied one demon. He had short peach-colored hair, golden eyes, deathly pale skin, and his body was covered in deep blue tattoos signifying countless sins. His nails were blood-red, and he wore a wine-red short jacket with prayer beads around his ankles. This was none other than Akaza, the Upper Third of the Twelve Kizuki, renowned for his prowess in battle.

“Yes,” echoed the other, a demon with hair the color of white oak, eyes like shimmering rainbows, and demon markings on his forehead resembling bloodstains. This was Doma, the Upper Second, infamous as the Demon of Ice and known for his fondness for devouring women. Most of the female members of the Demon Slayer Corps had fallen at his hands, and he was the one Shinobu Kocho despised above all others.

There was a degree of information sharing among demons, so they were aware that the one who slew Lower Fifth was a man in a white cloak. Reports from other demons, too, occasionally included images of being killed by this white-clad figure. That their master’s attention had been drawn was only natural.

With Muzan’s orders received, the two demons were each teleported away. Though they shared a mission, their temperaments were utterly incompatible—one refused to kill women, the other reveled in devouring them. As such, even with the same target, they would never work together. Besides, each placed absolute confidence in his own strength. Since becoming Upper Moons, they had slain countless Hashira over the centuries.

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Nine quiet days slipped by. Thanks to the efforts of the Hashira, the number of demons dwindled significantly. For a time, Chufan enjoyed a rare period of peace. Though a trace of unease lingered within him, all he could do was focus on his duties.

“Mr. Illusory Feather, I’ve mastered Total Concentration: Constant,” Tanjiro announced one morning, waving up at Chufan, who was, per his habit, seated atop the roof to catch the fresh breeze.

“Very well. Come to the Chrysanthemum House,” Chufan replied.

“Yes, sir!” Tanjiro’s face lit up with happiness at finally being allowed to visit.

So, Tanjiro arrived at the Chrysanthemum House’s front gate to pay his respects. As he entered, Little Chrysanthemum, noticing a rare young visitor, offered a word of advice. “Lord Illusory Feather is in the courtyard. Speak carefully and respectfully when you meet him.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” Tanjiro replied with a warm smile.

Leading Nezuko with him, he entered the Chrysanthemum House.

“Mr. Illusory Feather, please teach me how to master the Breath of the Sun,” Tanjiro entreated as soon as he reached the courtyard, bowing low until his forehead touched the ground, his posture expressing utmost reverence. “I want to become stronger.”

“Raise your head and come in,” Chufan said, seeing Tanjiro’s courtesy.

“Excuse me,” Tanjiro answered, rising and stepping into the house from the courtyard, placing the box he carried in a shady spot safe from sunlight.

“I know you have many questions, Tanjiro,” Chufan began, watching the boy sit nervously across from him. “But as I’ve said before, I still cannot give you those answers.”

“I understand. Please, guide me as best you can. I’ll do everything in my power to not disappoint you,” Tanjiro replied earnestly.

“Rather than instruct you, Tanjiro, I am here to guide you,” Chufan explained. “For I myself do not know the Breath of the Sun. What you must do is recall the breathing technique of the Dance of the Fire God. Though it has become a dance, every movement in it is a sword technique. Your father must have demonstrated his strength to you once. As a child, you might not have understood, but now, having learned the Water Breathing, you should be able to grasp it.”

Were it not for the interference of fate and his own arrival, Chufan reflected, these were all things Tanjiro would have discovered on his own in the future. All he did was plant the concepts in Tanjiro’s mind, leaving it to this chosen son of the world to comprehend and master them.

Tanjiro fell into deep recollection. The Dance of the Fire God was a tradition passed down through generations of his family. He had watched his father perform it countless times. Every step, every detail, even the breathing rhythm, was etched in his memory. He recalled how his father had once felled a towering bear with a single swing of an axe meant for chopping wood. At the time, it had seemed nothing short of miraculous, but now, with Illusory Feather’s guidance, he understood: his father’s strength, to kill a mountain’s overlord with just an axe, was extraordinary. To dance the Fire God’s ritual all night in the snow—his father had been no ordinary man, and his true power likely far surpassed Tanjiro’s own at present.

Lost in these memories, Tanjiro stood frozen as he recalled the past. Chufan waited silently by his side.

After only a few seconds, Tanjiro’s breathing began to change. He felt an inner warmth rising, seeking its moment to erupt.

Chufan tossed him a wooden practice sword. Tanjiro stepped into the courtyard and, guided by memory, broke the dance into sword techniques.

“Dance of the Fire God: Circular Waltz!”

With a twist of his body, he swung the wooden blade. Flames seemed to ignite the air. With a sharp crack, the sword shattered into splinters, reduced to powder by the unbearable heat.

Tanjiro stared in astonishment at the broken weapon in his hand. Illusory Feather had spoken the truth—the Dance of the Fire God truly was a breathing technique.

“In the future, do not shout your techniques in battle,” Chufan advised. “It only gives your enemy time to react. When you use a move, keep it in your heart. Give your foe not a moment’s chance to respond. That is how you survive.”

“Yes, sir,” Tanjiro replied, nodding with resolve.