Oboro returned to the house that had been vacant for a long time.
The maids, Chiyoko and Rina, had also been sent back by the Demon Slayer Corps.
"They will definitely not appreciate my help now," he said softly as he sat on the porch in front of the house and watched a patch of grass that had just sprouted in the yard.
He had no desire to explain himself or prove whether he was right or wrong. No one could judge him.
Right and wrong were false propositions. Different values and thoughts lead to different perspectives on everything. Gentle growth was far less obvious than growth brought by pain.
In this life, he wasn't an active participant. He needed to strengthen and intensify this world's power system.
"But it gave me a clear understanding of the inheritance process," Oboro smiled.
After observing the wills of others, the next step was to find a suitable one for himself. However, there was no room in the Demon Slayer Corps for a new will of inheritance because their spiritual beliefs were deeply rooted.
The only option was Muzan and his demons.
"What will do I want to pass on?" Oboro recalled every detail of the Hunter World.
Should he advocate for personal power and stand on top of the world? Or should he advocate for lawlessness and freedom from rules?
In the Demon Slayer world, conflict was the only way to continuously improve the power system. No matter the time or space, without conflict, no matter how many "seeds" existed, there would be no way to produce fruit.
The later generations of the Twelve Demon Moons all became demons because they could not escape "human nature," nor the chaotic world and social atmosphere.
He's not like Muzan, who pursues immortality and ultimate evolution. His selfish thoughts resemble my own from when I was younger; they're a manifestation of personal will. Selfishness cannot be passed on. It only focuses on the individual. Once the individual dies, the will ends," Oboro muttered to himself.
"The only option is to take strong medicine."
Oboro had an idea. Of all the wills he could think of, he chose one that aligned with the characteristics of demons and the tone of the Demon Slayer world.
"It's not me who's wrong; it's the world!
The world is sick and needs healing."
This kind of inheritance will was undoubtedly negative. Once it started to hatch, the damage it would cause to the real world would be unpredictable. But there was no other way. Combined with the demon factor and the purpose of catalyzing the power system, it was the only choice.
Oboro didn't care if he was a good person or a bad person. He belonged to a higher level of "looking down." Had he not been a Demon Slayer, he could have chosen to inherit the "will of positive energy." Had the Demon Slayer Corps not had those previous swordsmen, he could have taken advantage of that. But it wasn't possible now.
The Demon Slayer Corps, led by the Ubuyashiki clan, was finalized. All that was left were demons. This was also the reason he cut pieces of flesh and blood from the Upper Five and transformed them into cards.
"Chiyoko," Oboro called out.
"Yes, Master," said the maid in the room as she knelt down and came forward.
"Get ready and go out."
"Yes."
That afternoon, Oboro came to Youguo's slums again.
The person he chose to carry on his legacy had lived in a dark and oppressive atmosphere for a long time. Only such a person could carry forward his will. From this point of view, Muzan's frequent travel between deserted villages, prisons, and filthy places was a smart choice.
Just as the swordsmen of the Demon Slayer Corps, including the Pillars, hated Muzan and demons because they had suffered persecution and lost family and friends to them, they could fulfill the will of their predecessors. This was the premise.
Without it, one could join the Demon Slayer Corps but would not be able to become a high-level swordsman or Pillar.
The person Oboro was looking for must think this world is sick.
The slums in Youguo were the most typical "chaotic places" in the area.
Oboro first entered a small gallery. In this context, a "gallery" refers to a brothel. Although this establishment was considered relatively formal in the slums, it still paled in comparison to those on the main streets.
Due to his noble status, the madam trembled with fear and didn't dare disturb him after he entered. Oboro didn't allow the prostitutes to serve him. Instead, he found a seat and listened to the chaotic sounds in the wooden attic. Prostitutes weren't geishas or singers. Geishas were real entertainers, while prostitutes were more transactional.
Of course, everything had a price, and as long as you could afford it, it all worked the same.
Inside the small hall, the first and second floors were filled with Japanese-style rooms separated only by door panels. All kinds of unbearable noises came from these rooms.
After spending less than an hour there, Oboro witnessed the ugliness of human nature.
A ragged woman worked around the clock, serving one guest after another. Some were down-and-out samurai, some were drunkards, and some were beggars. There were no nobles or wealthy individuals in the slums. The only people the woman served were lowlifes.
She was like a robot, constantly being ravaged and tortured; some of the guests had special fetishes.
Her eyes were numb and lifeless.
Oboro just glanced at her and dismissed her.
This woman's soul was fragile and could collapse at any time. She had succumbed to her situation, accepting her fate. Someone like that could not carry the will of others.
He was looking for someone unwilling to give in, someone who wanted to resist. Even if they surrendered, it would be because they were forced to or were hiding temporarily.
"Leave," said Oboro. After watching for a while and receiving the madam's farewell, he got up and departed.
Then he came to a place not far from Youguo. Its name was Ba Liang.
As he moved about, he witnessed the oppression from below. Everyone was working hard, from teenagers to the elderly with white hair. One skinny boy carried a wooden box that weighed hundreds of pounds. He fell, damaging the goods inside. The supervisor, who was holding a long whip, followed closely behind him and beat the boy wildly.
They seemed as if they were going to beat the boy to death. But the young man wasn't angry or upset. Instead, he was full of flattery and ingratiation.
This teenager was not an isolated case. Many others suffered injustice, but most people were like this. Like the prostitute, they chose to accept reality.
Some had eyes that revealed reluctance, and some had strong spirits, but they were far from Oboro's standard.
"It's hard to find. Want to pick up a bargain?" Oboro frowned slightly.
Picking up bargains naturally meant picking up Muzan's leftovers, the demons he chose in his later lives. This way, Oboro wouldn't have to look for them himself. However, even if he found one, he could only pick up a few. It was meaningless and had limited effect.
The characters Muzan chose, such as Doma, who became one of the Twelve Kizuki, were not suitable successors because they were mentally polluted by Muzan.
Currently, Gyutaro and his sister were the most likely candidates.
"Let's wait and see," Oboro said darkly.
The will to inherit needed to be passed on from generation to generation, so it took time to fuel the flames. Although there was still time before the plot unfolded, there wasn't much time left for Oboro if he wanted his will to bear fruit in the future.