“Here?”

Giyu’s low voice broke the quiet as he glanced at the elderly woman beside him. She gave a slow nod in response, confirming what he had already suspected.

Rumors had been circulating in the village—whispers of a mysterious figure, a so-called savior, moving through the shadows. Most dismissed it as superstition, but those who claimed to have seen the figure spoke of it with trembling awe… or fear.

Strange, he thought.

A warrior in the dark, seen only by the glint of a drawn blade. Their face—unseen, their identity—unknown.

Giyu’s brows knit together as he continued his patrol through the quiet streets. It didn’t make sense. Everyone knew there were only nine Hashira. So if there truly was another…

Why would Kagaya Ubuyashiki—leader of the Demon Slayer Corps—keep it a secret? Surely, he would have told them.

There wasn’t a tenth, was there?

He sighed and rubbed at his temples, the swirl of thoughts inside his head refusing to quiet. The exhaustion gnawed at him, dull and heavy.

He needed rest—desperately.

In this state, he was no help to anyone. Just a hollow shell of the Water Hashira, worn thin by sleepless nights and endless questions.