Chapter 24: That is the Supreme Honor
"Brother... Brother! Don't sleep! Please, don't close your eyes!"
Masashi's voice had completely cracked, filled with a heart-wrenching sob.
He knelt on the ground, his knees sinking deep into the mud, but he felt nothing.
In his arms, he held the man who had always stood in front of him since childhood—his elder brother, Masaki.
Masaki's condition was critical in the extreme.
The once-tidy Demon Slayer Corps uniform had now turned into a tattered rag soaked with blood.
The most shocking sight was his left chest.
Where a heart should have been beating powerfully, a gaping hole the size of a bowl had appeared.
The flesh around the edges of that large hole was mangled, showing a mixture of ashen grey and dark red; the dark red blood was no longer gushing,
but was instead bubbling out like a broken hourglass,
carrying the last bit of warmth from the human body, instantly soaking Masashi's sleeves,
winding down his arms and dripping onto the ground with heavy 'tap, tap' sounds.
"Why won't it stop... why won't it stop!"
Masashi pressed down on the wound frantically with both hands, trying to fill the void with his palms,
trying to force the fading life force back into his brother's body.
His hands were shaking like a sieve, and the gaps between his fingers were filled with a slick, warm liquid.
The greasy sensation filled him with an unprecedented sense of nausea and panic.
"It's all my fault... it's all my fault!"
Masashi's tears mixed with the blood and grime on his face, blurring his vision.
Like a child who had done something wrong, he repented in despair.
"Clearly... we clearly just passed the Final Selection..."
"Clearly, we haven't even worn these uniforms long enough to get them warm..."
Masashi choked, a sound like an injured beast's cry coming from his throat,
"I was too arrogant... I was the one who insisted on dragging you here..."
"I said there were only a few insignificant weaklings here..."
"I said we should achieve something to show Master Sanemi..."
"I'm the one who ruined you."
"Brother, hit me, curse me, just please don't die."
He wished more than anything that he was the one lying there with a hole in his chest.
A few days ago, when they walked out of the wisteria-blossomed Mount Fujikasane and received their own Nichirin Swords,
how high-spirited he had been.
He had talent for Wind Breathing, and the Nichirin Sword in his hand glowed with an emerald green color.
He felt omnipotent, feeling that the demons of this world were nothing more than weeds waiting to be harvested.
He mocked his brother's caution and insisted on dragging him along to take this mission.
Masaki's originally vacant pupils focused slightly for a moment after hearing his younger brother's cries.
His face was as pale as paper, and his lips had already taken on a deathly bluish-purple hue.
Life was rapidly draining from his shell, and coldness spread from his limbs toward his core,
but he still tried his best to move his fingers—that blood-stained, rough yet warm hand.
It lifted extremely slowly, with great difficulty,
seeming to want to touch Masashi's cheek, but in the end, it only rested weakly on Masashi's arm.
"Ma... Masashi..."
Masaki's voice was as faint as a flickering candle in the wind, every word sounding like a breath forced out of his lungs,
accompanied by blood foam overflowing from the corner of his mouth,
"Don't... don't cry..."
"Brother! I won't cry, I won't cry, don't speak, save your strength!"
Masashi shook his head desperately, tears flying off and landing on Masaki's pale face.
"Lis... listen to me..."
Masaki's eyes began to glaze over; he could feel the cold fingers of the Reaper already clutching his throat.
He wasn't afraid of death; as a swordsman of the Demon Slayer Corps, he had been prepared from the moment he gripped his sword.
But he was afraid, afraid of what would happen after he died,
to this impulsive, reckless, yet kind-hearted fool of a younger brother.
Masaki struggled to move the muscles at the corners of his mouth, wanting to show his usual honest smile to comfort his brother,
but due to the intense pain, that smile appeared distorted and miserable:
"It's because your brother... was too weak... and couldn't... protect you..."
"No! It's not like that!"
"You blocked that hit to save me!"
"I'm the weak one! I'm a useless piece of trash!"
Masashi roared, his heart feeling as if it were being squeezed hard by an invisible hand, hurting so much he couldn't breathe.
"Cough..."
Masaki suddenly coughed up a large mouthful of black blood mixed with fragments of internal organs, and the rise and fall of his chest visibly weakened,
"That demon... is strong... after I die... he won't... let you go..."
Masaki's vision had already begun to blur, and Masashi's face before him turned into a fuzzy blur of light and shadow.
He was so unwilling.
He had clearly promised their parents that he would take care of Masashi for a lifetime.
They had clearly agreed to slay demons together and become Hashira together.
Now he was leaving Masashi alone in this cruel world.
That demon was still watching greedily nearby; once he died, would Masashi be able to survive?
At this tragic moment of parting between the brothers, from the shadow of a towering ancient tree not far away,
a sneer rang out.
"Hehehe..."
"What a truly touching display of brotherly love; I'm almost moved to tears."
A tall figure slowly paced out from the shadows.
It was a demon.
He was extremely burly, over two meters tall, with knotted muscles all over his body.
His skin was a bizarre deep green, covered in bulging veins that twisted like centipedes.
His fingernails were as sharp as knives, with a few shreds of bright red flesh still hanging from them.
Those were fragments of Masaki's heart.
The demon was in no hurry to strike.
He was an elegant diner; before enjoying a grand feast, he liked to admire the final struggles of his ingredients.
In his pair of pale yellow vertical pupils, light of greed and mockery flickered.
"Hey, brat with the green sword, your brother is going to die."
The demon stuck out a long, crimson tongue and licked the bloodstains at the corner of his mouth,
"Tsk tsk tsk, the feel of that punch was really not bad, piercing right through the sternum and crushing the heart."
"Do you know?"
"The flesh of Demon Slayer Corps swordsmen is a great tonic for us."
The demon took a deep breath, an intoxicated expression appearing on his face:
"I've already eaten dozens of ordinary people, and my strength has been stuck at a bottleneck."
"But today, my luck is truly too good."
"To encounter two swordsmen who have just debuted."
"The blood in your bodies, tempered by Breathing Styles, smells like aged fine wine."
"I can feel that as long as I eat the two of you, I'll be able to break through the boundary."
"Maybe... maybe I'll even be able to reach the threshold of the Lower Ranks."
When mentioning the words 'Lower Rank', a fanatical desire erupted in the demon's eyes:
"When that time comes, That Man... That Man will appreciate me,"
"and carve a number into my eyeball..."
"That is the supreme honor!"
"For the sake of my honor, just obediently become my nourishment!"
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