Friendship among men is the best fuel for the soul.
The city guards and their men had already proven this point to Oboro quite thoroughly.
On this day, Oboro witnessed countless people suffering. Why did their wills not meet the standard? The reason was painfully simple: they lacked the core necessary to sustain their will.
For Zechuan, that core was the dead puppy before him.
Once someone like him accepts the worldview of others, he sets his own goals and commits fully to achieving them.
At the same time, the boy had an exceptional soul. In his current state, an ordinary person would never have awakened. Oboro called to him merely to see if concern for the puppy would open his eyes. If Zechuan had remained unconscious, Oboro would have left without hesitation.
But Zechuan succeeded.
He became Oboro's first chosen successor.
"It's this world that's wrong," he repeated, his scattered light gradually gathering into something firm and unwavering. (TN: This is some Obito-type shit.)
"Please save us," he pleaded with the man standing before him.
"If you want to change this world and purge these distorted human beings, you must shoulder your responsibilities."
Oboro held two more cards in his hand as he spoke. "Your actions, everything you do, may be considered sinful and unacceptable in the eyes of the world. You will be despised and condemned by thousands, so prepare yourself mentally for this."
"As long as I know in my heart that what I'm doing is right, that's all that matters," Zechuan replied without hesitation.
"They're sick to begin with. They don't understand. It's not my fault. I am always right.
It's the world that's wrong."
"Very good," Oboro nodded.
The cards in his hand transformed into two pieces of scarlet, putrid flesh and broke free.
"Remember what you just said. From now on, all the pain you suffer will make this world a better place."
After saying this, Oboro seized Zechuan's face and roughly stuffed a piece of Yaremaru's flesh and blood into the boy's mouth.
Zechuan's cheeks stretched to the point of bulging, the skin on his neck tore, and he crumpled to the ground, his expression filled with pain. His limbs twitched violently. The massive chunk of flesh was forced down his esophagus, making it nearly impossible for him to breathe.
His eyes rolled back, and saliva flowed from the corners of his mouth.
In the end, however, he swallowed it.
The young man's willpower was truly remarkable.
Plop.
After finishing, Oboro withdrew his hand and let Zechuan's head fall heavily to the ground. Zechuan began to make agonized sounds.
Not everyone could transform into a demon. Most people ended up exploding and dying.
However, Oboro believed that this boy would not have that problem.
Next, he pried open the dead puppy's mouth and put the demon's flesh and blood in its stomach to speed up decomposition.
A puppy's thoughts are simpler, and its soul is weaker than a human's. Although the puppy had been dead for some time, its soul hadn't completely dissipated. As long as Oboro exerted his Nen, stimulated the puppy's soul slightly, and used the demon's blood, he could turn the tide.
If he had waited any longer, it would have been too late.
"Ahhhhhh!"
"Ahhhh!"
Bone-chilling screams echoed from the dark alley like the howling of wild beasts.
The first to change was Zechuan.
The puppy waited a while before its body began to move.
Inheriting willpower was crucial. Under normal circumstances, the power must match, just like the breathing techniques of the Demon Slayer Corps.
Since Zechuan had inherited Oboro's will, Oboro should have given him matching abilities or trump cards.
However, Oboro didn't plan to do so just yet.
When choosing a successor, Oboro didn't need to turn him into a demon. He had many techniques to teach, allowing evolution from generation to generation. Oboro used demonic power because the Demon Slayer world was too simple, consisting of only two groups: the Demon Slayer Corps and demons. To improve the power system, conflict was necessary.
The Demon Slayer Corps had obtained Breathing techniques, and the demons needed a "supply pack."
Muzan would definitely not be happy about this situation, though, because he had always strictly controlled the number of demons.
Most terrifying of all, the talent suppression and effects brought by Muzan's bloodline would weaken.
Oboro bit his fingertip and dripped several drops of blood into the boy's mouth.
He did the same for the puppy.
Then, Oboro slowly stood up, turned around, and began to leave.
There was no longer any need to care for the boy or the dog.
"Sir, what is your name?"
Just as he was about to take the maid away, he heard a panting voice ask him from behind.
The tone was deeply respectful.
Oboro did not respond and disappeared into the night.
Seeing this, Zechuan, who had clearly transformed into a demon, looked disappointed.
He wasn't elated about the immense power he had obtained because he knew it was meant to save the world.
He had a mission.
"My master's name is Oboro."
At that moment, the sound of wooden clogs striking the ground grew louder. Zechuan looked up and saw Oboro's indifferent maid, Chiyoko.
"You are not allowed to reveal anything about the master until you achieve your goal."
"I understand," Zechuan replied humbly, even when addressing one of Oboro's maids.
"There are many people like you in this world who need saving. Your goal will be difficult to achieve, and you may die trying. Everything you do is for those who are not well, not just yourself."
Chiyoko repeated what Oboro had told her. She gave the boy a meaningful look and then left.
"Soumaru, did you hear that?" Zechuan asked his beloved dog, who stood up again with a gentle gaze.
"Woof."
The puppy looked strange; its fur had turned dark red. Whether from the demonic transformation or not, it seemed as if the blood from before death had blended with its fur. It dripped continually onto the ground, as if it would never dry.
"Let's go."
The boy's eyes turned cold in an instant.
After speaking, he led the puppy, Soumaru, toward the main street.
"Tsk."
"Whose child is this?"
"Get out of here right now! You're an eyesore just standing there!"
"It's so dirty!"
As soon as he appeared, everyone nearby wore looks of disgust. Some shouted curses while others cast contemptuous glances his way.
Zechuan remained perfectly calm. He observed the scene that had repeated itself daily since his childhood: samurai, proud of their status, teaching the common people "lessons," and drawing their swords with murderous intent.
Hooligans were humiliating women and children.
Some laughed, some cried.
Most people remained indifferent, turning a blind eye.
They were used to it.
"They are all sick," Zechuan thought.
Suddenly, the next second, Soumaru's body beside him began to swell. In an instant, it grew as tall as a small house. Its mouth was filled with sharp, protruding teeth, and it drooled profusely. Its body transformed into a mass of hairy, muscular pustules, and blood spurted from its fur.
(Translation note: Imagine this dog is Baskerville, Alucard's dog.)
"Ah!"
This sudden transformation terrified passersby.
Screams erupted everywhere, and everyone fled in panic.
"Why are you running, you scum who polluted the world?" Zechuan asked, tilting his head to shift his bangs and reveal a pair of sinister red pupils.
Slowly cracking a smile, he whispered, "Go to hell.
The new world doesn't need you."