The Blade of the Ghost Slayer
The iron-clad warship roared as its steel artillery shattered the ancient gates of the shogunate, ending centuries of isolation. With the gates broken, communication with the outside world was finally restored.
But far from the capital, a darker tale was unfolding.
In the rural provinces under the shogunate's rule, terrifying creatures—oni, or evil spirits—began to appear. Their skin was tougher than steel, their claws could rend through flesh and bone like parchment, and their strength surpassed wild beasts. Yet they had one fatal weakness—they could not survive sunlight.
Into this eerie land stepped Uchiha Lihuo, his crimson Sharingan spinning softly in the snow. This was not the world he knew. He had crossed into another realm—one that bore a striking resemblance to ancient Japan. The low, wooden houses, the tiled roofs, the lantern-lit streets—everything screamed of a feudal age.
He had no idea how he got here. But instinct told him one thing: this world was dangerous.
The language spoken here was Japanese, same as his own, though certain dialects were archaic. Still, communication posed no obstacle.
Lihuo walked past the corpses sprawled across the snow-covered road. The villagers lay frozen, their blood staining the white snow. Their bodies were cold—no pulse, no warmth. They were long dead.
He entered a nearby house and found a black cloak in a wardrobe. He draped it over his shoulders to ward off the snow and chill. Illness would weaken him, and he didn't know this world's herbs or medicine. Catching a cold could mean death in a place teeming with monsters.
After all, he was still human—albeit one with the Sharingan.
---
A heart-wrenching scream echoed through the air.
"Father! Mother! Brother! Sister!" cried a boy in green checkered robes. He knelt in the bloodstained snow beside the still bodies of his family. Tears streamed down his face as he gently touched each of them, hoping against hope they might awaken.
But they were all gone. Lifeless. Silent.
All except one.
Lying nearby in the snow was a girl in pink plaid robes—his sister, Nezuko. She was covered in blood, but her chest still rose and fell. She was breathing.
"Nezuko… You're alive!" Tanjiro Kamado gasped, hope flaring in his eyes. Carefully lifting her onto his back, he sprinted through the snow-laden forest toward town. If he could just find a doctor, maybe—just maybe—she could be saved.
But as he ran, Nezuko stirred.
Her eyes snapped open.
Her mouth widened.
Fangs emerged.
Without warning, she lunged for his throat.
"Nezuko?! What are you—?!" Tanjiro cried, barely avoiding her bite. They tumbled down a snowy hill, cushioned by the soft earth. He scrambled to his feet, only to find her already standing—eyes glowing with a demonic light, claws outstretched.
She wasn't human anymore.
Tanjiro grabbed his hatchet just in time, using the wooden handle to block her attack. "Why? Why are you doing this?!"
But something strange happened.
Nezuko froze. Tears welled in her eyes. Huge drops rolled down her cheeks, falling on Tanjiro's chest. Though her instincts screamed to devour, something in her resisted.
She was still fighting it.
Suddenly, a blade flashed through the snow.
A boy dressed in a patterned yellow-and-black haori appeared. His sword—a Nichirin Blade—sliced through the air with deadly precision.
Tanjiro rolled away just in time. But when he turned, Nezuko was already bound in the boy's grip, her arms tied tightly. She squirmed but didn't resist violently.
"You fool," said the boy coldly. "She's turned. She's a demon now."
"I know… But she's still my sister! She wouldn't hurt anyone!" Tanjiro pleaded, eyes burning with desperation.
"There was someone like you before. He said the same thing. That his loved one wouldn't harm him. But she did. She killed him," the demon slayer replied, emotion flickering in his eyes. "I should have come sooner. Maybe your family would still be alive. But I'm here now. And I won't let her kill again."
Tanjiro didn't respond. Instead, he hurled his axe into the air as a distraction and lunged forward. The demon slayer knocked him back effortlessly—but the flying axe landed beside his head.
"So you tried to fake a charge while throwing your weapon?" the slayer muttered.
But before he could strike Nezuko down, something unexpected happened.
She didn't attack.
Instead, she ran to Tanjiro and embraced him, whimpering.
"She… she's not eating him…" the slayer whispered in shock.
A ghost that refused to feed.
"Amazing. That kind of restraint… even I've never seen such a thing."
Then came a new voice.
"Let her rest."
A soft, commanding tone rang out from the woods.
Nezuko collapsed peacefully in Tanjiro's arms, as if the voice itself lulled her to sleep.
"Who's there?!" both boys shouted in unison.
The slayer raised his sword, scanning the forest. Tanjiro clutched his unconscious sister protectively.
From behind the curtain of falling snow, a figure emerged.
He was about their age, perhaps younger—but his eyes were unnatural. Crimson irises, spinning with tomoe-shaped markings—the unmistakable sign of the Sharingan.
"You ask for my name," the newcomer said calmly, "yet offer none in return. How rude."
The demon slayer's breath caught. He sensed power—ancient and foreign.
Tanjiro simply asked, "Are you… here to help?"
The boy didn't answer immediately. His eyes stared into the sleeping form of Nezuko, analyzing… then softening.
"My name is Uchiha Lihuo. And no—I'm not from your world. But it seems fate brought me here… just in time."