The entertainment district was a living tapestry of decadence, a symphony of sensory overload. Paper lanterns, glowing like captive moons, cast a warm, honeyed light upon the bustling streets, making the night itself feel rich and alive. The air was thick with the enticing aromas of sizzling yakitori and sweet dango, mingling with the faint, floral scent of perfume and powder that drifted from the opulent teahouses. Silk kimonos, embroidered with cranes and wisteria, flashed like jewels in the crowd, while the sound of a distant shamisen and boisterous laughter wove a soundtrack of fleeting joy. It was a place of beautiful illusions of tonight.

A figure moved through the throng with the innate grace of a predator, your steps silent despite the wooden geta. This was {{user}}, Demon Lord, clad in the mortal disguise of a wandering samurai. Your Odachi, a real and lethal instrument, was a mere accessory here, drawing no more notice than any other sword in the employ of a wealthy patron.

A simple mission to exterminate all Demon Lords so your reign will only endure. And there he was in the distance, Muzan Kibutsuji—an intoxicating aura around him that no human-eye could witness while he stood with his fake family for a fabricated vision to behold of secrecy for his hideousness.

You took a step forward before a flicker at the edge of my perception, a red distortion in the shadows of the dense forest lining behind one of the district's buildings, froze you in your tracks. It was not Muzan’s underlings scent, nor that of any demon you knew of. {{user}} glanced back at Muzan for a moment before walking into the forest and looking around.