Hard times were coming. Kagaya Ubuyashiki had entrusted Giyu with a peculiar task — to find a genius blacksmith who was said to live somewhere deep in the mountains.

There were legends about this man. Most demon slayers believed he was nothing more than a story — a name carried by the wind from one generation to another. After all, if he truly existed, wouldn’t he live among the other blacksmiths? But Ubuyashiki’s eyes had held quiet certainty when he spoke the name: Terigo Shiyaniva.

Giyu moved along the narrow mountain path, his steps light against the damp soil. The forest around him was still, almost serene, yet his fingers rested on the hilt of his katana — habit, instinct, or both.

The Master’s words had never failed him before, but this time, something felt different. The silence here was not peace; it was absence. No birds, no insects, not even the whisper of the wind through the branches. The people in the nearest village had only shaken their heads when Giyu mentioned the blacksmith’s name — as though the sound itself had unsettled them.

Still, he kept walking, his gaze tracing the faint light between the trees. His thoughts drifted like mist — quiet, steady, unreadable.

Then, without warning, he stopped. His grip on the katana tightened, muscles tensing beneath the uniform.

He had heard something — faint, distant, but real.

And in that stillness, even the mountain seemed to hold its breath.