After two days of taking turns fighting the mechanical training doll, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke finally figured out its attack patterns.
Once they understood the rhythm of its movements, dealing with the doll became much easier for the three of them.
That same afternoon, they successfully cut off the doll's head. Hidden inside the mechanism, they discovered a rusted Nichirin blade.
When Raiden heard the news, he was still soaking in the hot spring.
He slowly rose from the water. Fine droplets slid down his well defined body as steam drifted quietly in the night air.
The day Tanjiro recovered the rusted Nichirin blade was supposed to be the same day Gyokko and Hantengu attacked the Swordsmith Village.
Although Zenitsu and Inosuke being present might slightly alter the timeline, Raiden still decided to walk through the back mountains that night, just in case.
After drying himself, he put on his white cloud patterned robe and headed toward the mountains behind the village.
Night soon fell, swallowing the Swordsmith Village in darkness.
Raiden walked along the narrow mountain path at a relaxed pace, not sensing anything unusual yet.
"Am I too early?"
He glanced toward the dark forest stretching across the mountains.
In the original events, Tanjiro fought the training doll for three or four days before defeating it. Since they finished earlier this time, the timing might be slightly off.
Still, that was not a problem.
He could simply treat this walk as a routine patrol.
Raiden's posture relaxed as he stepped onto a long set of stone stairs, pale under the moonlight.
Step by step, he climbed upward.
A gentle mountain breeze moved through the treetops, carrying the deep quiet of the night while brushing softly against Raiden's white hair.
Just as Raiden was about to place his foot on the third step, he suddenly stopped.
A sharp, fishy smell drifted through the air.
It slipped into his nose without warning and instantly triggered his alertness.
Raiden's expression hardened.
There were several small streams in the back mountains, filled with fish. Normally the air carried the fresh scent of water and plants.
But this smell was different.
It was raw and wild, mixed faintly with the scent of blood and decay.
"Not early," Raiden murmured quietly. "Perfect timing."
He already knew which Upper Rank demon carried such a smell.
Upper Rank Five, Gyokko.
The demon who had an unusual obsession with the pots he created.
One of the "friends" Raiden intended to meet in the Swordsmith Village.
The key to getting along with Gyokko was simple.
Praise his pots.
If Gyokko was pleased, becoming Raiden's verbal friend would not be difficult.
In the next moment, Raiden's figure vanished from the path.
He reappeared silently on a branch of a nearby tree.
The curved branch supported his weight easily, swaying slightly before settling again.
The tree Raiden chose was one of the tallest in the back mountains. From its top, the surrounding forest could be seen clearly.
Originally, Raiden intended to use his Line of Seizing ability to locate Gyokko.
However, something strange had happened.
The entire mountainside was filled with the same overwhelming fishy smell.
The odor was so strong that it completely covered Gyokko's unique demonic aura.
Since he could not track the demon through scent, Raiden relied on observation instead.
Standing on the high branch, he remained completely still.
He looked like a statue.
His eyes shone faintly in the night, reflecting the moonlight like a pair of cat's eye gems.
It was the result of his intense focus.
His gaze slowly swept across the forest below, capturing every corner of the mountains.
The trees swayed gently in the wind, leaves rustling quietly in the darkness.
After several moments of silent observation, Raiden heard the faint disturbance of birds and small animals.
Something had startled them.
His eyes immediately locked onto the direction of the disturbance.
Then his body disappeared again without a sound.
It was like a drop of water falling into a still pond, leaving no ripples behind.
The next moment, Raiden appeared on another branch, this one offering an even wider view.
Moonlight filtered through scattered leaves, casting broken shadows across his white cloud patterned robe.
The shifting shadows made his figure look vague and ghostlike.
Soon, something entered Raiden's line of sight.
A pot.
It sat motionless in the middle of the stone staircase.
Raiden immediately recognized it.
Gyokko.
The pot stood silently in the center of the path.
Was he waiting here for swordsmiths to walk into his trap?
Raiden tilted his head slightly and followed the stairs downward with his gaze.
Soon, he spotted someone.
A swordsmith had just finished soaking in the hot spring and was heading back toward the village.
The man walked casually, unaware of the danger ahead.
Iron Tail had just finished bathing and felt completely refreshed.
The exhaustion from a long day inside the forge had been washed away by the soothing hot spring.
All he needed now was a good night's sleep before returning to work the next morning.
The comfortable feeling made his steps light.
"I stayed in the spring too long," Iron Tail muttered while glancing at the dark sky. "It's already this late. I should hurry back. Tomorrow will be busy."
He was not worried about danger.
He simply did not want to delay tomorrow's work.
His wooden clogs creaked sharply as he stepped along the stone stairs.
Then he suddenly noticed something strange.
A pot sat directly ahead of him.
Its surface had a few painted patterns, several green willow branches and brightly colored flowers. The design looked crude, almost like a careless drawing from a child.
"A pot? That wasn't here earlier."
Iron Tail frowned and tried to recall the path he had taken earlier.
He was certain this pot had not been here before he went to the hot spring.
"That's dangerous," he muttered. "Who left a pot in the middle of the stairs?"
He walked toward it, intending to move it aside so nobody would trip or break it.
When he reached the pot, Iron Tail leaned forward and looked inside.
The opening was completely dark.
He could not see anything.
"I should move it."
He reached out his hand.
But before his fingers touched the pot, thick black liquid suddenly burst from the opening.
The substance looked like dark ink.
In an instant, the liquid formed a hand that grabbed Iron Tail's wrist and began pulling him toward the pot.
Iron Tail immediately realized something was wrong and struggled to free himself.
But the strength of the black liquid was overwhelming.
Even though he was a swordsmith, his strength meant nothing against such power.
He was about to be dragged inside.
At that moment, a sharp slicing sound cut through the air.
A blade had cut through flesh.
As a craftsman who had forged Nichirin blades for many years, Iron Tail instantly recognized the sound.
Only a Nichirin sword could produce such a clean and decisive cut.
And judging from the precision of the strike, the sword must have been forged by someone highly respected within the Swordsmith Village.
At the very least, the craftsman's skill far exceeded his own.
The black liquid gripping Iron Tail's wrist suddenly lost its strength.
It fell apart and disappeared.
The remaining liquid in front of him also vanished.
Iron Tail finally regained control of his body and looked forward.
Standing between him and the pot was a young man wearing a cloud patterned robe.
White hair moved gently in the night breeze.
Raiden had arrived.
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