Cids
Crimson Eclipse: The Blade Beneath Shadows
Chapter 1: The Convergence of Fates
The convergence happened without warning.
Cid Kagenou was in mid-monologue—as was his custom—crouched on a moonlit branch overlooking a small demon-infested village. His black cloak billowed dramatically around his lean form as he narrated to absolutely no one.
"The Shadow Garden extends its reach through the darkness," he whispered intensely, eyes gleaming with manufactured mystery. "Soon, all will know the name of—"
The sky fractured.
Not metaphorically—it literally split open like shattered glass, revealing a churning void beyond. Cid blinked twice, wondering if perhaps he'd accidentally inhaled some hallucinogenic pollen. He had an unfortunate encounter with a poisonous mushroom last week that had left him hallucinating shadow conspiracies for three days. Not that he'd minded—the delusions had given him excellent material for his internal narrative.
Before he could continue his internal debate, five distinct points of light shot from the rift, each trailing a different colored aura—crimson, silver-white, golden, turquoise, and rose pink. The celestial anomaly vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the night sky and Cid's bewilderment.
"Well," he muttered, adjusting the sword at his hip, "that wasn't in my script."
He felt a peculiar tugging sensation in his chest—as if invisible threads were suddenly anchored between his sternum and five unknown points. Curious but cautious, Cid abandoned his surveillance and leaped from branch to branch toward the phenomenon's epicenter.
What he found in the forest clearing changed everything.
Five women of extraordinary beauty lay unconscious in a perfect circle, their bodies unmarked save for faint, glowing symbols pulsing beneath their skin. As Cid approached, the tugging in his chest intensified to an almost painful degree.
"Extras in my background story?" he pondered, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "No, no, that won't do. Supporting characters at minimum. Perhaps love interests for the protagonist to ignore until the final act..."
As he circled the unconscious women, Cid's imagination raced with possibilities. Each woman was striking in her own way, and utterly foreign to this world. Their clothing alone marked them as otherworldly—elaborate dresses, strange uniforms, and impractical attire that no demon slayer would ever consider wearing into battle.
"This could work," he murmured, already incorporating their mysterious arrival into his elaborate internal narrative. "Shadow Garden's elite foreign operatives, summoned through dark magical means..."
As he spoke, the blonde woman—her hair so pale it seemed to absorb the moonlight—stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing irises the color of fresh blood. She fixed her gaze on Cid, and her expression shifted from confusion to fury in an instant.
"You," she hissed, attempting to rise but finding her limbs uncooperative. "What have you done to me, mortal?"
Cid froze, his internal monologue momentarily disrupted by her direct address. "Mortal?" he repeated, his interest genuinely piqued. "As opposed to...?"
The woman's eyes narrowed dangerously. With visible effort, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, her long golden hair cascading around her like a cloak. She wore an elegant red and black dress with white gloves adorned with black fur—attire better suited to a European aristocrat's ball than a Japanese forest.
"I am Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade," she snarled, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. "The iron-blooded, hot-blooded, cold-blooded vampire queen. Or I was, until..." Her eyes widened as she pressed a hand to her chest. "Until... I can hear it. A heartbeat. My heartbeat."
Her face contorted in a mixture of rage and terror as her fingers pressed harder against her chest, feeling the rhythmic pulsation that had been absent for centuries.
"What have you done?" she demanded again, her voice cracking.
"Nothing," Cid replied honestly. "You fell from the sky." He gestured upward. "There was a... tear in reality. You and these others came through."
Kiss-Shot's gaze swept over the other unconscious women, her expression unreadable. "Impossible," she murmured. "I was... I remember..." She trailed off, clearly struggling to recall the moments before her arrival.
Before Cid could question her further, another woman sat up abruptly—this one with striking platinum rose hair braided elegantly and unusual red eyes that immediately began scanning the surroundings with clinical precision. She wore what appeared to be a British Army uniform from another century, complete with a red jacket, black trim, and a black skirt. A holstered pistol was visible at her hip, and various medical implements hung from her belt.
Without a word, she immediately began checking her own pulse at her wrist, then her neck. Her movements were efficient and practiced, betraying no confusion or fear—only methodical assessment.
"Pulse rate 72," she noted aloud to herself. "Respiration normal. Sensory input intact. Autonomic functions operational." Only then did she acknowledge the others, her gaze settling on Kiss-Shot. "You're in distress. Allow me to examine you."
Without waiting for permission, she scrambled over and placed two fingers on Kiss-Shot's wrist.
"Unhand me, human!" Kiss-Shot snarled, yanking her arm away.
"Elevated heart rate. Approximately 115 beats per minute," the woman continued undeterred. "Pupillary response normal. You're experiencing acute stress reaction. Breathe slowly through your nose."
"I'll breathe when I choose to breathe," Kiss-Shot hissed, though Cid noticed she did take a deeper breath despite her protests.
"Who are you?" Cid asked the newcomer, fascinated by her unflappable demeanor.
"Nightingale. Florence Nightingale," she replied without looking up from her examination of Kiss-Shot. "Berserker-class Servant, though..." She paused, frowning. "My Spirit Origin appears altered. The connection to the Greater Grail is severed." She turned to Cid with renewed intensity. "Are you my Master? I see no Command Seals."
"I'm Cid," he replied simply, unsure what to make of her terminology. "And no, I don't think I'm your... Master. As I was telling her," he nodded toward Kiss-Shot, "you all fell from the sky after some kind of dimensional rift opened."
Florence nodded curtly, as if this were merely another data point to catalogue. "The others require medical attention immediately. You appear ambulatory. Assist me."
Before Cid could respond, the third woman awakened. She did so silently, simply opening her eyes—ancient eyes of a deep green hue, incongruously set in a youthful face framed by long silver-white hair tied in twin tails. She wore an elaborate white and gold robe with intricate magical symbols embroidered along the edges. She stared at the canopy of trees above, her expression impossible to read.
She raised one hand toward the sky as if reaching for something, then slowly lowered it when nothing happened.
"The mana," she whispered softly. "It's gone. The world feels... different."
She turned her head to look at Cid, and he felt an inexplicable shiver run down his spine. There was something in her gaze that spoke of centuries.
"Who might you be?" Cid asked, genuinely curious now.
"Frieren," she replied simply, her voice ethereal and distant. "Of the Funeral."
Florence immediately moved to check Frieren's pulse, but the elf—if that's what she was, with her pointed ears and ageless features—gently deflected her hand.
"I am well," Frieren assured her. "Merely... diminished. The magic that sustained me for a thousand years has changed."
"A thousand years?" Cid echoed, his eyes widening.
Frieren nodded slightly. "I am an elf mage. My lifespan far exceeds that of humans. Or it did, before..." She glanced around the forest clearing, then back at Cid. "Before whatever brought us here."
The fourth woman awakened with considerably more drama.
"ROMA!" she exclaimed, bolting upright with such force that she nearly collided with Florence. Her golden-blond hair was arranged in an elaborate style that somehow remained perfect despite her journey through dimensional space. She was notably shorter than the others, but carried herself with such imperial presence that she seemed larger. Her outfit was the most ostentatious—a revealing red and white dress with poofy sleeves, transparent front panel, and knee-high golden armored boots.
"Where are my legions? Where is my throne? Where is—" She paused, noticing Cid for the first time. Her bright lime-green eyes narrowed, then widened with apparent delight.
"YOU!" she declared, pointing a regal finger at him. "You shall be my new Praetor! I claim you in the name of the Roman Empire!"
Cid blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I am Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus," she announced proudly, pressing a hand to her chest. "Fifth Emperor of Rome, and now..." She paused, looking around at the unfamiliar forest with slight confusion before doubling down on her conviction. "And now, your emperor! Rejoice, for you have been chosen by beauty incarnate!"
Kiss-Shot let out a derisive snort. "Emperor? You're hardly taller than a child."
Nero whirled to face the former vampire, her cheeks flushing with indignation. "How dare you! The glory of Rome is not measured in stature but in magnificence!" She struck a dramatic pose. "And I am the very embodiment of magnificence!"
"You're loud is what you are," Kiss-Shot retorted, wincing slightly. "My hearing appears to have become more sensitive in this... reduced state."
Florence moved to examine Nero, who, unlike Kiss-Shot, welcomed the attention with theatrical enthusiasm.
"Yes, observe the perfection of imperial health!" Nero declared as Florence checked her pulse. "Though I do feel strangely... mortal. My divine protection seems diminished."
"You're human now," Florence confirmed, continuing her examination. "As are we all, it seems. Or near enough."
The final woman awakened with a languid stretch and a yawn that seemed too casual for the circumstances. Her long, wavy hair was a curious dual color—pale blonde transitioning to turquoise at the ends—and cascaded around an impossibly curvaceous figure as she sat up. She wore a tight-fitting black tank top that struggled to contain her generous assets, denim shorts, thigh-high socks, and oddly, a pink cap with small horn-like protrusions.
When she opened her eyes, Cid was startled to see they were heterochromatic—one black with a yellow inner ring, the other green with unusual patterns. She rubbed them sleepily, looking around at the assembled group before her gaze settled on Cid. A knowing smile spread across her face.
"My, my," she murmured, her voice melodious and calm. "So that's how it is."
She rose to her feet with fluid grace, the only one of the five who seemed completely untroubled by their circumstances. She approached Cid directly, leaned down slightly to peer into his face, then nodded as if confirming something.
"I'm Lucoa," she introduced herself, then added, "formerly Quetzalcoatl. It seems we're all bound to you now, aren't we?" She traced a finger along an invisible line from Cid's chest to her own. "Fascinating."
"Bound?" Cid echoed, his mind racing with possibilities. This was far beyond any background narrative he'd concocted for himself. "What do you mean, bound?"
Lucoa tilted her head, her smile never wavering. "You feel it, don't you? The pull? Like strings connecting us." She gestured between them, then to the others. "A tether of sorts."
Cid nodded slowly. He did feel it—that strange tugging sensation that had led him to them in the first place.
"What does it mean?" he asked, aware that the others were now listening intently.
"It means," Kiss-Shot growled, "that we're trapped. Bound to a mortal in a foreign world. How... humiliating."
"I don't see it that way," Lucoa countered cheerfully. "Think of it as a new adventure. One where we're all in this together."
"Together?" Nero exclaimed, clapping her hands with excitement. "A new empire to build! With my Praetor at the center!"
Frieren had risen silently and was now standing slightly apart from the group, her ancient eyes studying each of them in turn. "The connection is complex," she observed quietly. "Not merely physical, but spiritual. Our essences are intertwined."
"Symbiotic relationship indicated," Florence agreed, making mental notes. "Further observation required to determine full parameters and medical implications."
Before anyone could respond further, an inhuman shriek pierced the night. The sound was all too familiar to Cid—a demon had caught their scent.
"Well," he said, an excited gleam in his eye as he turned toward the sound, "it seems we'll have to continue this discussion later. For now..." He drew his sword with practiced precision, dropping into a combat stance that was far more dramatic than necessary.
To his surprise, Kiss-Shot was suddenly beside him, moving with inhuman speed despite her claims of mortality.
"My powers may be diminished," she growled, her fingers curled like claws, "but I still remember ten centuries of combat. And I refuse to die in this pathetic mortal form before I understand what has happened to me."
Florence appeared on his other side, wielding what appeared to be a makeshift spear fashioned from a broken branch. "The battlefield is where I was forged," she stated calmly. "Prioritizing defensive formation. Protect non-combatants."
"I resent being considered a non-combatant," Frieren noted softly, but she remained slightly behind the others, her eyes scanning the treeline with calm focus. "I may not command mana," she said, "but I remember every spell pattern. The demon's movements will follow predictable trajectories."
Nero had somehow acquired a sturdy branch of her own, which she held like a sword. "For Rome!" she declared, striking a theatrical pose that somehow managed to look both ridiculous and intimidating. "My blade may be wood, but my spirit is imperial steel!"
Lucoa simply smiled and stretched, cracking her knuckles. "This should be interesting," she said, moving to stand slightly behind Cid, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. "I'll support you all from here. Even without my divine powers, I see patterns humans miss."
As the demon burst through the treeline—a misshapen creature with too many limbs and eyes—Cid felt something he hadn't experienced in a long time: genuine surprise.
These weren't bit players in his self-created narrative.
These women were protagonists of their own stories, now inexplicably bound to his.
The demon launched itself toward them with unnatural speed, saliva dripping from multiple mouths. It was targeting Frieren, perhaps sensing her as the least physically imposing of the group.
"Left flank vulnerable!" Florence called out, already shifting her position to intercept.
But Nero was faster, darting forward with surprising agility for someone of her stature. "None shall harm those under imperial protection!" she declared, swinging her makeshift sword with unexpected precision. The branch connected with the demon's outstretched arm, and though it didn't sever the limb, the force of the blow diverted the creature's trajectory.
Kiss-Shot seized the opportunity, lunging forward with a grace that spoke of centuries of predatory experience. "You're not the only monster here," she hissed, driving her fingers like daggers into the demon's flank. She might lack her vampire claws, but her technique remained lethal.
The demon howled, twisting to snap at her with several mouths, but Kiss-Shot was already moving, dancing away from its reach with contemptuous ease.
"Its regeneration is impressive," Frieren observed from behind Cid. "Similar to certain magical constructs I've encountered, though the pattern is different. Aim for the neck—see how the tissue there pulsates differently?"
Cid nodded, adjusting his grip on his sword. He was about to leap into the fray when he felt Lucoa's hands tighten slightly on his shoulders.
"Wait," she murmured in his ear. "Three seconds. Then strike from below, not above."
Without questioning how she could know this, Cid held his position. Sure enough, three seconds later, the demon reared back, exposing its underside as it prepared to lunge again.
Cid darted forward, driving his sword upward into the creature's torso. The blade sank deep, and the demon let out an ear-splitting shriek.
"It's not enough," he called out, struggling to extract his weapon. "Demon can only be killed by decapitation with a special blade. This will just slow it down!"
"Then we slow it until dawn," Florence replied calmly, striking the demon's knee joint with surgical precision, causing it to stumble.
What happened next amazed even Cid, who had seen his fair share of combat. The five women, despite having just met and claiming to have lost their powers, moved together with uncanny coordination. Florence called out weak points, Frieren predicted movements, Kiss-Shot and Nero delivered punishing blows, and Lucoa always seemed to be exactly where she needed to be to redirect a limb or block an attack.
Eventually, they managed to pin the demon against a large tree, its limbs severed and its regeneration slowed by the continuous assault.
"Now what?" Kiss-Shot demanded, breathing heavily but looking exhilarated despite herself. "If we can't kill it, do we just hold it here all night?"
"I have a better idea," Cid replied, sheathing his sword with dramatic flair. "Every demon has a weakness. This one appears vulnerable to crushing pressure."
He began gathering large rocks, and the others quickly joined in. Soon, they had constructed a makeshift prison of stones and fallen logs, effectively immobilizing the demon until sunrise would turn it to ash.
As they stepped back to observe their handiwork, Nero let out a triumphant laugh. "Our first victory together! The foundation of our new empire is laid!"
"This is not an empire," Kiss-Shot muttered, but there was less bite in her tone than before.
"A team, perhaps," Frieren suggested quietly, standing close to Cid but not quite touching him.
"A unit," Florence corrected, already checking everyone for injuries. "With specializations and complementary skill sets."
"A family," Lucoa added with a warm smile, drawing surprised looks from the others. "What? Too soon?"
Cid looked from one extraordinary woman to another, a realization dawning slowly. His carefully constructed role as a background character manipulating events from the shadows had just been completely upended.
"I think," he said slowly, "that we have a lot to figure out."
As the adrenaline of battle faded, the reality of their situation began to sink in. Five women from different worlds, stripped of their powers, and bound to a man they'd just met in a world filled with demons.
The night was far from over, and their journey had only just begun.
Chapter 2: Bonds That Tether
Dawn broke hesitantly over the forest, thin rays of light piercing through the canopy to illuminate the aftermath of battle. Six figures sat in various states of exhaustion around the remains of a small fire. The demon they had trapped had disintegrated with the first touch of sunlight, leaving nothing but ash.
"So," Cid began, addressing the women who were now inexplicably part of his life, "let me see if I understand. You were all... what? Goddesses? Supernatural beings? From different worlds?"
"I was the queen of all vampires," Kiss-Shot replied, examining her now-blunted fingernails with visible disappointment. Her elegant dress was torn in several places, smudged with dirt and demon ichor. "Immortal, invincible, and infinitely powerful." She glared at Cid. "Now I'm... warm. And hungry. For food, not blood. It's disgusting."
Despite her complaints, Cid noticed how she had positioned herself closest to him around the fire, as if drawn to his warmth. Every few minutes, she would unconsciously edge slightly closer, then catch herself and shift away with a haughty sniff.
"I was a servant," Florence said matter-of-factly, bandaging a small cut on Nero's arm with methodical precision. Her uniform remained remarkably intact, though she'd torn strips from the hem of her skirt to use as bandages. "Heroic Spirit class, manifested through the Greater Grail. Combat medic specialization with Berserker modifications for improved battlefield efficiency."
"You don't seem particularly berserk," Cid observed.
Florence's expression remained unchanged. "The Madness Enhancement appears diminished in this realm. Logical faculties remain intact. Compulsion to heal remains dominant."
"I was an elf," Frieren added softly, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames. She sat slightly apart from the others, her posture perfect despite their night of battle. Not a hair seemed out of place in her silver-white twin tails. "A mage who had lived for over a thousand years, traveling the world after defeating the Demon King." She flexed her fingers experimentally. "The magic is gone, but the knowledge remains."
"Emperor of Rome," Nero declared proudly, wincing slightly as Florence tightened the bandage. Her elaborate outfit was surprisingly intact, though her hair had come partially undone from its complex arrangement. "Divine chosen of the gods themselves! The very embodiment of artistic brilliance and imperial might!"
"Former dragon goddess," Lucoa said with a lazy smile, stretching out her long legs. Unlike the others, she showed no signs of distress from the night's exertions, looking as fresh as if she'd just awakened from a pleasant nap. "Chaos deity, to be specific. Though I was forced to step down after a certain... incident involving alcohol and my sister." She waved a hand dismissively. "Ancient history."
She was sitting inappropriately close to Cid, their shoulders touching. He noticed that whenever he shifted away slightly, she would casually readjust to maintain contact, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"And now you're all... human?" Cid asked, trying to make sense of it all.
"Not precisely," Lucoa replied, twirling a strand of her dual-colored hair. "We're something in between. Our divine essence remains, but it's..." She paused, searching for the right words. "It's anchored to you. Tethered."
"To me?" Cid repeated, genuinely baffled. "Why me?"
Kiss-Shot snorted derisively. "That's what I'd like to know. Of all the mortals in all the universes, why are we bound to this... this..."
"Handsome and mysterious shadow master?" Cid suggested helpfully.
"I was going to say 'unremarkable human,'" Kiss-Shot retorted, but Cid noticed the faintest hint of a blush on her pale cheeks.
"The Praetor is hardly unremarkable!" Nero interjected, leaning forward earnestly. "Did you not see how he moved against the demon? Such grace! Such precision! Truly worthy of imperial attention!"
"He's adequate," Kiss-Shot conceded reluctantly. "For a human."
"The connection is spiritual," Frieren observed, closing her eyes as if to better sense the invisible bonds. "I can feel it. Like strings of fate, binding us together. Similar to certain ancient elven rituals, though those were voluntary." She opened her eyes, studying Cid with quiet intensity. "This was imposed upon us from outside."
"By whom?" Florence asked, her clinical demeanor giving way to genuine curiosity.
Lucoa shrugged, the movement causing her generous assets to bounce in a way that drew everyone's attention momentarily. "The multiverse works in mysterious ways," she said airily. "Perhaps it was random. Perhaps it was destiny."
"I refuse to believe my fate is tied to random chance," Kiss-Shot declared haughtily. "There must be a purpose. A way to reverse this... indignity."
"Is it really so undignified?" Cid asked, surprising himself with the question. "Being human, I mean."
Kiss-Shot opened her mouth to deliver what was surely going to be a scathing reply, then paused, her expression softening almost imperceptibly. "I was human once," she admitted quietly. "Long ago. Before I became... what I was." She looked down at her hands. "I had forgotten what it felt like. The warmth. The hunger. The... fragility."
There was a moment of silence as everyone absorbed this unexpected vulnerability from the former vampire queen.
"Is that why you fought so well together last night?" Cid asked, changing the subject. "I've never seen coordination like that from people who just met."
The demon they had faced had been surprisingly powerful—a mid-rank creature that should have been challenging for a single experienced demon slayer. Yet these five women, despite claiming to have lost their powers, had moved with uncanny coordination.
"We anticipated each other's movements," Florence confirmed, finishing with Nero's bandage and moving on to check a bruise on Kiss-Shot's shoulder, ignoring the vampire's half-hearted attempts to wave her away. "Combat efficiency exceeded expected parameters for unfamiliar unit composition."
"It's because we share you," Lucoa explained, casually draping an arm around Cid's shoulders. "Our connection to you creates a connection between us. We can sense each other through you."
Nero nodded enthusiastically. "Like the spokes of a wheel, all connected to the same hub!" She beamed at Cid. "You are our hub, Praetor!"
"That's... not how I would have put it," Frieren murmured, "but essentially correct. Our spiritual essence is bound to yours, creating a sympathetic resonance between all of us."
Cid rubbed his chin thoughtfully. This was far more complex than his usual scheme of pretending to be a background character while secretly controlling events from the shadows. These women were clearly not going to be content with supporting roles in his narrative.
"So what happens now?" he asked. "You're all stuck with me?"
"It appears so," Frieren said softly. She had been the quietest of the group, observing more than speaking. "The connection... it grows stronger the farther apart we are. There seems to be a maximum distance we can maintain before it becomes... uncomfortable."
As if to demonstrate, she stood and began walking away from the group. After about thirty paces, she stopped, her body visibly tensing.
"Beyond this point," she called back, "the sensation becomes quite unpleasant."
"Unpleasant how?" Cid asked, curious despite himself.
"Like your insides are being slowly pulled out through your navel," Kiss-Shot replied bluntly. "I tested it while you were sleeping. Made it to thirty-five paces before the pain became... prohibitive."
"You all need to stay within thirty paces of me at all times?" Cid's eyes widened as the implications sank in. "But that's—"
"Inconvenient? Certainly," Florence interjected, moving to help Frieren back to the group. "But not insurmountable. Military units maintain closer proximity during combat operations."
"But I'm supposed to join the Demon Slayer Corps," Cid explained, running a hand through his messy hair. "I can't exactly show up with five mysterious women in tow."
"Why not?" Nero demanded, striking a pose. "We shall simply join as well! The glory of Rome shall vanquish these 'demons' you speak of!"
"It's not that simple," Cid began, then paused. Actually, why couldn't they join? The Corps was always desperate for capable fighters, and these women had proven themselves surprisingly adept even without their supernatural powers.
Lucoa, still casually draped against him, seemed to read his thoughts. "We could be useful," she murmured close to his ear, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. "After all, we're stuck together either way. Might as well make the best of it."
"And I refuse to live in some filthy forest," Kiss-Shot added, wrinkling her nose disdainfully. "If joining this 'Corps' means proper shelter and food, then so be it. Though I expect quarters befitting my station."
"Your station is the same as ours now," Florence pointed out pragmatically. "Stranded interdimensional beings with diminished powers."
"I have extensive battlefield medical experience," she continued, addressing Cid. "Such skills are valuable in any combat organization. If your 'Demon Slayer Corps' engages in regular combat with superhuman entities, proper medical support would be essential."
Frieren had returned to the fire and was staring into the flames again. "I have spent centuries studying demons in my world," she said quietly. "The knowledge may transfer, though the fundamental principles may differ. At minimum, I understand magical theory on a level few could match, even without the ability to wield it directly."
"Then it's decided!" Nero declared, leaping to her feet and pointing dramatically skyward. "We shall become these 'Demon Slayers' and bring glory to... to..." She faltered momentarily. "What is this land called?"
"Japan," Cid supplied.
"To Japan!" Nero continued without missing a beat. "Under the banner of your Shadow Garden, Praetor!"
Cid winced. His fictional shadow organization was supposed to be a secret, not something to be shouted about in the forest.
"About that," he began carefully. "The Shadow Garden is... well, it's not something we talk about openly. It's more of a... personal project."
Kiss-Shot raised an eyebrow. "You invented a secret organization?"
"I didn't invent it," Cid protested automatically. "I founded it. There's a difference."
The vampire queen's lips curled into an amused smirk. "Of course. My mistake."
"This Shadow Garden," Lucoa mused, her fingers absently tracing patterns on Cid's shoulder that made it difficult for him to concentrate. "Is it real, or is it something you pretend exists?"
Cid's expression froze. How had she pierced through his carefully constructed narrative so easily?
"It's... complicated," he hedged.
To his surprise, Frieren nodded understandingly. "After living for centuries, sometimes the lines between what is real and what we wish to be real become blurred," she said softly. "I understand."
There was no judgment in her tone, only a gentle empathy that made Cid unexpectedly uncomfortable. Being seen through was not part of his plan.
"I'm sure the Praetor's Shadow Garden is magnificent!" Nero declared loyally. "As expected of one chosen by the Emperor of Rome!"
"Regardless," Florence interjected practically, "we require a strategic approach to integration with this 'Demon Slayer Corps.' What are their entry requirements?"
Grateful for the change of subject, Cid explained the basics: the selection process, the Final Selection trial on Mt. Fujikasane, and the need to learn specialized breathing techniques.
"Breathing techniques?" Kiss-Shot scoffed. "I've lived for ten centuries without breathing at all. Now I'm supposed to learn special ways to do it?"
"Perhaps that's why you're so pale," Nero observed cheerfully, earning a murderous glare from the former vampire.
"The techniques harness the body's potential in specific ways," Cid explained, slipping into lecture mode with surprising ease. "They're essential for fighting demons effectively in this world. Each style enhances different attributes—strength, speed, flexibility, and so on."
"Then teach us," Frieren requested simply, her green eyes fixed on Cid with quiet intensity.
Cid hesitated. "I'm still learning them myself. I was going to find a proper teacher after establishing myself as unremarkable but promising."
"Unremarkable?" Lucoa chuckled, gesturing at the five extraordinary women surrounding him. "I believe that ship has sailed, Cid."
She was right, of course. There was nothing unremarkable about traveling with five women of otherworldly beauty and presence. His plan to blend into the background was completely ruined.
"I suppose we'll have to adapt," he sighed, then straightened his shoulders. If he couldn't be a background character manipulating events from the shadows, perhaps he could at least maintain the mystique of a reluctant protagonist.
"Very well," he declared with newfound dramatic flair. "We shall seek out a former Hashira—a master of the breathing techniques—and convince them to train us. Then, we shall enter the Demon Slayer Corps as a unit and rise through the ranks until we can confront Muzan Kibutsuji himself!"
He wasn't sure where the sudden enthusiasm had come from, but the response was immediate and startling.
Kiss-Shot's eyes gleamed with predatory interest. "This Muzan person is the head demon, yes? Perhaps killing him will restore my powers. At the very least, it would be... satisfying." Her fingers flexed as if already imagining tearing into the demon lord.
Florence was already mentally cataloging potential medical supplies they would need. "Combat training will require proper nutrition and preventative care. I shall develop appropriate regimens. Vitamin supplementation will be essential given the physical demands."
Frieren merely nodded, her ancient eyes showing a flash of purpose. "A worthy goal. If this world's demons are anything like those I've encountered, their leader will possess knowledge that might help us understand our situation."
Nero thrust her fist into the air. "To glory! The forces of Rome... er, Japan... shall triumph over darkness!"
Lucoa's smile deepened as she leaned even closer to Cid, her breath warm against his ear.
"This is going to be much more fun than I expected," Lucoa purred, her fingers tracing lazy circles on Cid's shoulder. "A man who believes he's a shadow master, five former goddesses bound to him, and a world of demons to conquer. It's like the start of an epic tale."
Cid felt heat rising to his face at her proximity. The former dragon goddess seemed to have no concept of personal space, and her considerable assets pressed against his arm in a way that made coherent thought difficult.
"I... we should prepare to move out," he managed, standing abruptly and nearly causing Lucoa to topple over. "If we're going to find a teacher, we need supplies first."
"The Praetor speaks wisely!" Nero declared, seizing the opportunity to claim the space Lucoa had just occupied. "I shall organize our campaign logistics!"
Kiss-Shot rolled her eyes. "Do you even know what 'logistics' means, little emperor?"
"Of course!" Nero replied indignantly. "It means... imperial... preparation... things!"
"As I suspected," Kiss-Shot smirked.
"I will handle medical supplies," Florence interjected, already making a list on a scrap of paper. "Local flora appears to contain usable medicinal compounds. I'll begin foraging immediately."
"I'll assist," Frieren offered quietly, rising to her feet with ethereal grace. "My knowledge of plants transcends worlds. The principles remain similar."
As the group dispersed to their self-assigned tasks, Cid found himself momentarily alone—a rare occurrence since the women had arrived. He took the opportunity to center himself, mentally reconstructing his internal narrative.
"The Shadow Garden expands in unexpected ways," he murmured, slipping back into his familiar pattern of self-narration. "Five extraordinary agents, bound to my will through cosmic forces beyond mortal comprehension..."
"Is that what we are?" Lucoa's voice came from directly behind him, causing Cid to jump. He hadn't heard her approach. "Agents bound to your will?"
"I... that's not what I meant," Cid stammered, embarrassed at being caught in his fantasy.
Lucoa's mismatched eyes studied him with amusement. "Don't worry, I find it charming. After thousands of years, I've learned to appreciate the little delusions that help people cope with reality."
"They're not delusions," Cid protested automatically.
"Of course not," Lucoa agreed easily, but her smile said otherwise. She reached out and brushed a leaf from his hair with unexpected tenderness. "Whatever they are, they're part of what makes you... interesting."
Before Cid could respond, a crash and a string of elaborate curses drew their attention. Kiss-Shot stood amid the wreckage of a small tree, looking both furious and confused.
"This body is defective!" she snarled, nursing a bruised hand. "I merely tried to break a branch for firewood, and instead, I've damaged myself!"
Florence was at her side instantly, examining the injury with clinical precision. "Minor contusion. No fracture detected. Human bodies require adjustment period after supernatural enhancement loss."
"I don't want an 'adjustment period,'" Kiss-Shot hissed. "I want my powers back!"
"And I want a new amphitheater in Rome," Nero chimed in, hauling an armful of berries she'd gathered. "But wishing doesn't make it so! We must adapt and conquer!"
"The emperor is correct," Frieren noted, returning with an assortment of herbs. "Adaptation is essential. I've lived through multiple ages of the world—change is the only constant."
Kiss-Shot glared at them all, then let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine. Teach me how to use this... limited vessel properly."
Cid stepped forward, seeing an opportunity to reassert his role. "I can help with that. The breathing techniques I mentioned aren't just for fighting demons—they strengthen the body beyond normal human limits."
"Then teach us, Shadow Master," Lucoa encouraged with a playful wink. "Show us how to breathe."
Despite the teasing tone, Cid detected genuine interest beneath it. All five women were now watching him expectantly.
For the first time since their arrival, Cid felt like he might actually have something valuable to offer these extraordinary beings. The thought was both intimidating and exhilarating.
"Very well," he said, drawing himself up dramatically. "Let us begin with the most basic form—Total Concentration Breathing."
Chapter 3: First Steps in a Blood-Soaked World
"Again!" Cid called out, pacing around the small clearing where his five companions practiced the breathing patterns he'd taught them. "Feel the air filling your lungs completely, then force it through your entire body!"
Three days had passed since they'd begun training, and the results were already surprising. Though these women had lost their supernatural powers, their bodies retained an unusual affinity for the techniques, adapting far faster than any normal human would.
"This is pointless," Kiss-Shot complained, though she continued the exercise without breaking rhythm. "I'm breathing. What magical transformation am I supposed to experience?"
"Patience," Frieren advised softly. The former elf mage had taken to the breathing techniques with natural grace, her movements fluid and precise. "I can feel subtle changes already. The energy flow is... intriguing."
"I feel it too!" Nero exclaimed, bouncing on her toes with characteristic enthusiasm. "Like fire in my veins! The glory of Rome burns ever brighter!"
Florence maintained perfect form, her medical background giving her exceptional control over her respiratory system. "Oxygenation efficiency increasing by approximately 27%. Muscle response time improved. Fascinating physiological adaptation."
Lucoa seemed to be having the easiest time of all, moving through the exercises with languid perfection. "It reminds me of certain draconic meditation practices," she mused. "Though on a much smaller scale, of course."
Cid observed them with growing satisfaction. The breathing techniques were indeed taking hold quickly—far more quickly than he'd anticipated. These women might have lost their godlike powers, but they were far from ordinary humans.
"That's enough for today," he announced, secretly pleased with their progress. "We'll continue tomorrow as we travel. There's a village half a day's journey from here where we can resupply."
As the group dispersed to prepare the evening meal, Cid found himself approached by Frieren, who rarely initiated conversation.
"Your knowledge is impressive," she said quietly, her ancient eyes studying him with unnerving intensity. "These techniques... they're similar to certain elven practices, yet different in fundamental ways."
"Oh?" Cid replied, trying to appear nonchalant despite his surprise at her interest.
Frieren nodded slightly. "In my world, magic flows from within outward. These breathing techniques seem to draw power from without inward. A fascinating inversion."
"I hadn't thought of it that way," Cid admitted.
"Few would," Frieren said with the faintest hint of a smile. "It takes centuries of study to see such patterns."
She reached out hesitantly, then gently touched his arm—the first time she had initiated physical contact. "Thank you for sharing your knowledge with us. It's... a kind gesture."
Before Cid could respond, she had drifted away as silently as she had approached, leaving him oddly flustered by the simple interaction.
The evening meal was a surprisingly cheerful affair. Despite their circumstances, the group was beginning to develop a peculiar camaraderie. Even Kiss-Shot, the most reluctant to accept their situation, participated in the conversation with only occasional barbed comments.
"Tell us more about these demons," Lucoa requested, sitting inappropriately close to Cid as usual. "What makes them different from the monsters in our worlds?"
Cid leaned forward, warming to his topic. "Demons were once human, transformed by consuming Muzan Kibutsuji's blood. They gain incredible powers, but lose their humanity in the process. They can only be killed by sunlight or decapitation with a Nichirin blade."
"Reminds me of certain vampiric transformations," Kiss-Shot noted with grudging interest. "Though in my case, the transformation was an improvement."
"Debatable," Florence commented dryly.
"How dare you!" Kiss-Shot bristled. "I was perfection incarnate!"
"You were a parasite," Florence replied calmly. "Medically speaking."
Before the argument could escalate, a rustling in the bushes drew everyone's attention. All six fell silent, hands moving to their makeshift weapons.
The bushes parted to reveal not a demon, but a young boy, no more than twelve, his clothes torn and his face streaked with dirt and tears.
"Help," he gasped, collapsing to his knees. "Please... my village... demons..."
Florence was at his side instantly, checking for injuries with practiced efficiency. "Minor lacerations. Exhaustion. Dehydration. No life-threatening conditions detected." She offered him water, which he gulped desperately.
"What happened?" Cid asked, kneeling beside the boy.
"Demons attacked at sunset," the boy sobbed. "They took everyone... my family... Please, you have to help them!"
Cid exchanged glances with the others. They weren't ready for this—not yet. Their training had barely begun, and they lacked proper weapons.
"How far is your village?" he asked.
"An hour's run that way," the boy pointed. "Please... there's no time..."
Nero stood up decisively. "We cannot abandon civilians to monsters! It would be un-Roman!"
"For once, I agree with the emperor," Kiss-Shot said, rising fluidly to her feet. "I refuse to cower in the forest while lesser predators feast."
"Tactical assessment indicates high risk," Florence noted. "However, civilian rescue operations are priority."
"I will go where Cid goes," Frieren stated simply, her quiet voice somehow carrying as much weight as Nero's enthusiastic declarations.
Lucoa stretched lazily, but her eyes had lost their usual dreamy quality, showing a sharp focus that reminded Cid that beneath her carefree demeanor lay an ancient deity.
"Well, Shadow Master?" she asked. "What does your Garden command?"
Cid felt the weight of five extraordinary gazes upon him. This wasn't part of his plan—he'd intended to train properly, acquire real weapons, and then make a calculated entry into demon-slaying.
But the desperation in the boy's eyes cut through his careful plotting. Sometimes, the most dramatic narratives were the unplanned ones.
"We move now," he declared, drawing his sword with practiced flair. "The Shadow Garden protects the innocent from those who lurk in darkness!"
The journey to the village was made in tense silence, the boy leading them through forest paths at a grueling pace. Despite their human limitations, the five women kept up without complaint, their recent training already showing results in their enhanced stamina.
As they crested a hill, the village came into view below—and with it, a scene of horror. Buildings burned, casting grotesque shadows across the central square where several misshapen figures moved amid the carnage.
"Three demons visible," Florence assessed clinically, though her knuckles whitened around her makeshift spear. "Possibly more inside structures. Civilian casualties evident. Survivors likely captive."
"What's the plan?" Kiss-Shot asked, her crimson eyes gleaming with predatory anticipation despite her diminished state.
All eyes turned to Cid, who felt a surge of both terror and exhilaration. This was it—his moment to truly become the shadow master he'd always pretended to be.
"Nero, Florence—create a diversion on the western edge," he instructed, pointing toward the village shrine. "Frieren, Kiss-Shot—approach from the east and locate survivors. Lucoa and I will strike from the center once the demons are distracted."
To his surprise, they nodded without argument, accepting his leadership despite their own centuries of experience. The bond between them seemed to have created not just a physical connection, but a kind of instinctive trust.
"Stay here," Cid told the boy firmly. "We'll return for you when it's safe."
As the group separated according to his plan, Cid felt Lucoa's hand on his arm.
"Impressive," she murmured. "For someone playacting at being a shadow master, you have a natural talent for command."
Before he could respond to the backhanded compliment, she leaned in suddenly and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "For luck," she whispered, her mismatched eyes dancing with mischief.
Cid stood frozen in shock until the sound of Nero's voice echoed across the village—"BEHOLD THE MIGHT OF ROME!"—signaling that the diversion had begun.
"That's our cue," Lucoa said with a wink, tugging him toward the village center.
What followed was chaos, but a strangely coordinated chaos. Despite their limited training and makeshift weapons, the five women moved with the assurance of seasoned warriors, their centuries of combat experience evident in every movement.
Nero and Florence had successfully drawn two demons toward the shrine, where Nero's flamboyant taunts and Florence's precise strikes kept them occupied and confused.
From his position, Cid could see Frieren and Kiss-Shot moving like shadows through the eastern buildings, occasionally emerging with shell-shocked villagers who they directed toward the safety of the forest.
"Three more demons approaching from the north," Lucoa observed, her senses somehow still sharper than a normal human's. "And something else... something bigger."
Cid gripped his sword tighter. This was far worse than he'd anticipated. They weren't ready for a confrontation of this scale.
A scream cut through the night—Florence's voice, unnaturally high with pain.
Without thinking, Cid sprinted toward the sound, Lucoa close behind him. They rounded a burning building to find Florence on the ground, blood seeping from a deep gash in her leg. Nero stood protectively over her, fending off a demon with far more limbs than any creature should possess.
"You will not harm my subjects!" Nero declared, her makeshift wooden sword somehow holding the demon at bay through sheer force of imperial will. "Rome shall not fall this day!"
"Rome already fell, you delusional midget," Kiss-Shot called as she appeared suddenly, launching herself onto the demon's back with feral grace. "But we won't."
The demon howled as Kiss-Shot's fingers found its eyes, temporarily blinding it. Frieren materialized from the shadows, helping Florence to her feet while Lucoa moved to support Nero.
For a brief, glorious moment, Cid thought they might actually succeed. The villagers were evacuating, and they had the demons contained.
Then the ground shook.
From the largest building emerged a monstrosity that dwarfed the other demons—a hulking figure with multiple faces embedded in its torso and arms like tree trunks.
"Lower Moon Five," Cid breathed, recognizing the demon from descriptions he'd heard. One of Muzan's direct subordinates, far beyond what new demon slayers should face.
The demon surveyed the scene with a dozen eyes, then let out a laugh that seemed to vibrate the air itself.
"What have we here?" it rumbled. "Humans playing at being demon slayers? How amusing."
With shocking speed for something so large, it moved, swatting Nero and Lucoa aside like insects. Kiss-Shot leapt to attack but was caught mid-air and slammed brutally into the ground.
Frieren and Florence retreated, dragging the injured Nero and Kiss-Shot with them.
In seconds, their coordinated assault had collapsed into desperate survival.
The demon turned its attention to Cid, who stood alone before it, sword raised but hands trembling.
"And you must be their leader," the demon mused. "I'll enjoy breaking you slowly while they watch."
Something snapped inside Cid. Not fear, not courage, but something deeper—a sense that this was not how his story was supposed to go. He wasn't meant to be the victim, the failure. He was the Shadow Master, the hidden power behind the scenes.
As the demon lunged, Cid felt a strange calm descend over him. Time seemed to slow as he recalled every technique he'd ever practiced, every stance he'd perfected while pretending to be more than he was.
"Forbidden Shadow Technique," he whispered, the words emerging unbidden. "Protocol Null: Atomic."
He moved, sword flashing in the firelight. Not with supernatural speed, but with the perfect efficiency of someone who had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in his imagination.
The demon's attack missed by millimeters as Cid slipped past its guard, his blade finding the exact juncture of its neck where its multiple heads connected to its torso.
For a moment, nothing happened. The demon froze, as did Cid, their positions held in tableau.
Then, slowly, impossibly, the demon's head began to slide from its shoulders.
"Impossible," it gurgled as its body crumbled to ash. "You're just... human..."
Cid stood amid the settling ashes, his sword still extended, his body locked in the final position of his strike. He was as shocked as anyone by what had just happened.
"Cid!" Lucoa's voice broke the spell. She was helping Kiss-Shot to her feet, while Frieren supported Florence. Nero had recovered enough to stand on her own, though blood trickled from a cut on her forehead.
"Are you hurt?" Florence called, professional concern overriding her own injuries.
"I'm... fine," Cid replied, still staring at the pile of ash that had been a Lower Moon demon. "We need to check for more demons and get the villagers to safety."
As they regrouped, Cid noticed the way they were looking at him—with a new respect, even awe. He had faced a demon that had overwhelmed all five of them combined, and somehow emerged victorious.
"That technique," Frieren said quietly as they worked to extinguish the fires and gather the survivors. "I've never seen its like."
"Shadow technique, wasn't it?" Kiss-Shot remarked, watching him from the corner of her eye. "Perhaps there's more to your 'Shadow Garden' than childish fantasy after all."
"The Praetor is magnificent!" Nero declared, her enthusiasm undimmed despite her injuries. "Truly worthy of imperial favor!"
Florence said nothing, but her clinical gaze studied Cid with new interest, as if reassessing a patient's condition.
Only Lucoa seemed unsurprised. "I knew there was something special about you," she murmured, close enough that only he could hear. "The universe doesn't make mistakes when it forges bonds like ours."
Cid didn't know how to respond. The truth was, he had no idea how he'd defeated the demon. It had been instinct, muscle memory, and perhaps a healthy dose of desperate luck.
But as he looked at the five extraordinary women who were now bound to him—watching him with newfound respect and, in some cases, something warmer—he decided that perhaps the truth didn't matter as much as the story.
And in this story, he had just taken his first step toward becoming the Shadow Master he had always pretended to be.
Chapter 4: Ripples of Consequence
Word of the village's salvation spread quickly through the region. By the time Cid and his companions reached the next town three days later, whispers already preceded them.
"They're calling us the 'Moonlight Company,'" Lucoa informed them, returning from eavesdropping at the local teahouse. "Apparently, witnesses described us as 'moving like moonlight through shadow' during the battle."
"A poetic if inaccurate description," Florence noted, adjusting the bandage on her healing leg. "Our combat effectiveness was compromised by lack of proper equipment and coordination."
"Speak for yourself," Kiss-Shot retorted, examining her newly acquired outfit with evident satisfaction. The village headman had insisted on rewarding them, and proper clothing had been Kiss-Shot's first demand. She now wore a modified kimono in deep crimson and black that complemented her aristocratic bearing. "I fought magnificently despite these mortal limitations."
"We all did," Nero declared, striking a pose in her own new attire—a red and gold kimono that she insisted on wearing in the "imperial style," which seemed to mean "partially open to display more skin than was strictly decent." "Though none so gloriously as our Praetor!"
Cid shifted uncomfortably under their gazes. The story of his defeat of Lower Moon Five had grown with each retelling, until he barely recognized his own actions. What had been a desperate, lucky strike was now described as a display of supernatural swordsmanship.
"We should focus on our original goal," he reminded them, trying to divert attention. "Finding a teacher for proper Breathing Techniques."
"Indeed," Frieren agreed softly. The former elf had chosen a simple white and silver kimono that emphasized her ethereal beauty. Unlike the others, she seemed uncomfortable with the attention their growing reputation attracted. "Our progress with the basic forms is promising, but incomplete."
"There are rumors of a retired Hashira living in the mountains beyond this town," Cid continued. "If we can find him, perhaps he'll be willing to train us properly."
The innkeeper had provided this information when they'd arrived, his eyes wide with excitement at hosting the already-legendary "Moonlight Company." Cid had no idea if the rumors were true, but it gave them a direction, at least.
"For now, we should rest and recover," Florence advised. Despite her injury, she had taken charge of everyone's medical care with uncompromising efficiency. "Proper healing requires adequate nutrition and sleep cycles."
"A bath would be nice too," Lucoa suggested, stretching in a way that drew every male eye in the inn's common room. Her new clothes—a modified yukata in turquoise and yellow—did little to contain her generous curves. "It's been days since we've had a proper wash."
"The inn has an excellent bathhouse," Cid informed them, trying to keep his eyes at a respectful level. "Private, too."
"Perfect!" Nero declared. "We shall bathe together as Romans do! Communally!"
Cid choked on his tea.
"Absolutely not," Kiss-Shot stated flatly.
"It would be more efficient," Florence observed thoughtfully. "I could examine everyone for injuries more thoroughly."
"I have no objections," Lucoa added with a mischievous smile. "Bathing is more fun with friends."
"I..." Frieren began, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I suppose it would be practical."
All eyes turned to Cid, who was trying very hard to maintain his composure despite the mental images now flooding his mind.
"I'll... use the men's side," he managed, his voice strained.
"Nonsense!" Nero protested. "The Praetor must join us! It is the Roman way!"
"It is absolutely not the Japanese way," Cid countered desperately.
"But we're bound to you," Lucoa reminded him, her mismatched eyes twinkling with amusement. "Remember what happened the last time we tried to separate too far?"
Cid did remember. The previous night, when they'd tried to sleep in separate rooms, Kiss-Shot had made it thirty minutes before the pain of the spiritual tether had driven her to pound on his door, demanding they rearrange the sleeping arrangements. They'd ended up pushing all the futons together in one large room, sleeping in a circle around Cid like some bizarre slumber party.
"The bathhouse isn't that large," he argued weakly. "Surely we can manage for half an hour."
"Perhaps," Florence conceded. "But is the discomfort worth the risk? What if the connection causes acute pain while we're vulnerable?"
Cid searched desperately for a counterargument, but found none that didn't sound either ridiculous or offensive.
"Fine," he sighed in defeat. "But I'll keep my eyes closed and sit as far away as the tether allows."
"How noble," Kiss-Shot remarked dryly, though Cid noticed a distinct flush on her pale cheeks. "A true gentleman."
The bathhouse incident that followed would forever be seared into Cid's memory as both the most mortifying and secretly thrilling experience of his young life. Despite his best intentions to maintain propriety, the logistics of six people bound by an invisible tether attempting to preserve modesty in a small bathhouse inevitably led to a series of "accidental" encounters.
Nero's concept of personal space proved to be nonexistent, Lucoa seemed to find endless reasons to brush against him, Florence insisted on examining a bruise on his shoulder that he hadn't even noticed, Kiss-Shot maintained a haughty distance that nevertheless allowed her to observe everything with sardonic amusement, and Frieren... Frieren simply watched it all with quiet fascination, as if studying some rare and interesting phenomenon.
By the time they emerged, clean but emotionally frazzled, even Cid's carefully cultivated air of mystery had been thoroughly compromised.
"That was refreshing!" Nero declared, bouncing ahead as they returned to their room. "We must make it a regular occurrence!"
"Absolutely not," Cid and Kiss-Shot said in unison, then glanced at each other in surprise.
"The experience was educational," Florence noted clinically. "I observed several interesting physiological responses that warrant further study."
"I'm sure you did," Lucoa murmured with a knowing smile that made Cid want to disappear into the floorboards.
Only Frieren's gentle touch on his arm drew him from his embarrassment. "They're teasing you because they're comfortable with you," she observed quietly. "It's a form of acceptance."
Cid blinked, surprised by her insight. "Even Kiss-Shot?"
"Especially Kiss-Shot," Frieren replied with the faintest hint of a smile. "The prouder the spirit, the more significant the teasing."
Before Cid could respond, a commotion at the inn's entrance caught their attention. A group of men had arrived, armed with swords and wearing the distinct uniforms of the Demon Slayer Corps.
"They're here!" the innkeeper was saying excitedly. "The Moonlight Company! They saved Tanaka Village from a demon attack three days ago!"
The lead demon slayer, a stern-faced man with a jagged scar across his cheek, surveyed the common room until his eyes landed on Cid and his companions.
"You," he called out, his hand resting meaningfully on his sword hilt. "We need to talk."
Cid straightened, unconsciously adopting the dramatic pose he used when narrating his Shadow Garden fantasies. "About what?"
"About how six untrained civilians managed to defeat Lower Moon Five," the man replied grimly. "And why Lord Kagaya Ubuyashiki, leader of the Demon Slayer Corps, has personally requested your presence."
A ripple of surprise passed through Cid's companions. Even Florence looked momentarily nonplussed.
"The head of the organization has taken notice of us already?" Kiss-Shot murmured, a calculating gleam in her crimson eyes. "Interesting."
"This accelerates our timeline considerably," Florence observed.
"An audience with the leader!" Nero exclaimed delightedly. "As befits our station!"
Frieren said nothing, but her ancient eyes studied the demon slayers with cautious assessment.
Lucoa leaned close to Cid's ear. "Isn't this what you wanted?" she whispered. "To join the Corps?"
It was, of course. But not like this—not with the spotlight of attention focused directly on them. His plan had been to enter as unremarkable recruits, to work from the shadows.
But as with everything since these five women had entered his life, nothing was going according to plan.
"When does Lord Ubuyashiki wish to see us?" Cid asked, adopting a calm he didn't feel.
"Immediately," the demon slayer replied. "We leave at dawn."
As the demon slayers withdrew to make their own arrangements for the night, Cid gathered his companions in their shared room.
"This changes everything," he told them quietly. "We can't refuse a direct summons from the head of the Corps, but we're not ready for this level of scrutiny."
"Why not embrace it?" Lucoa suggested, lounging comfortably on her futon. "Perhaps fate is offering you a more direct path than the shadows you prefer."
"I agree," Nero declared. "Why skulk in darkness when we can march in glory? The Shadow Garden can become a recognized force within this Corps!"
"Idiot," Kiss-Shot hissed. "The more visible we are, the more questions will be asked about our origins. Do you wish to explain that you're a former emperor of Rome from another dimension?"
Nero opened her mouth, then closed it with a frown. "Perhaps not."
"We need a coherent narrative," Florence stated pragmatically. "A plausible explanation for our group's formation and capabilities."
All eyes turned to Cid, the self-proclaimed master of shadows and secret organizations.
"Well?" Kiss-Shot prompted. "This is your area of expertise, is it not? Creating elaborate fictions?"
There was a challenge in her tone, but also something else—a genuine request for leadership. Despite her prickly exterior, she was asking for his guidance.
Cid took a deep breath. This was his moment—not the one he'd planned for, but perhaps the one he needed.
"Here's what we'll tell them," he began, the familiar excitement of crafting a narrative rising within him. "We are indeed the Shadow Garden—a secret organization dedicated to combating demons from the shadows. We've operated independently until now, but recent events have convinced us to consider joining forces with the Corps."
"And our origins?" Frieren asked quietly.
"We come from a remote region to the north," Cid continued, warming to his tale. "Each of you was rescued by the Shadow Garden after demon attacks on your homelands, and trained in our secret techniques."
"Which explains our unusual fighting styles," Florence nodded approvingly. "And our varied appearances."
"Precisely," Cid agreed. "As for our connection to each other..."
"We are bound by oath to the Shadow Garden," Lucoa suggested, her eyes twinkling. "A spiritual pledge that connects us to our leader—you."
"That's... actually not far from the truth," Cid realized. "The tether that binds us could pass for a ceremonial bond."
"This might actually work," Kiss-Shot admitted grudgingly. "Though I dislike pretending to be your subordinate."
"Think of it as a role," Frieren suggested. "We have all lived long enough to know the value of adaptation."
"For the glory of Ro—I mean, the Shadow Garden!" Nero proclaimed, catching herself just in time.
As they continued refining their cover story, Cid felt a strange mixture of anxiety and exhilaration. They were about to meet the legendary leader of the Demon Slayer Corps under false pretenses, with five otherworldly women bound to him and a reputation already growing beyond his control.
It wasn't the path he'd planned. But as he looked at the extraordinary women who now shared his fate—each bringing centuries of experience and wisdom to bear on his hastily constructed fiction—he wondered if perhaps it might be an even better story than the one he'd been telling himself all these years.
The Shadow Garden was no longer just his fantasy. Somehow, impossibly, it was becoming real.
Chapter 5: Before the Butterfly Estate
Dawn broke over the mountains, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold as Cid and his companions prepared to depart with their Demon Slayer escorts. The lead slayer, who had introduced himself as Tenba of the Wind Hashira's squad, watched them with poorly concealed suspicion.
"You don't look like any demon slayers I've ever seen," he remarked, eyeing their eclectic appearance.
"We're not," Cid replied smoothly, falling into the narrative they'd constructed. "The Shadow Garden operates differently from the Corps. We prioritize stealth and subterfuge over direct confrontation."
"Until recently," Kiss-Shot added with a predatory smile. "Recent events have necessitated a more... visible approach."
Tenba's eyes lingered on Kiss-Shot's crimson eyes before quickly looking away. "Those aren't normal eyes," he muttered. "Are you sure you're human?"
"Are any of us truly human?" Lucoa interjected dreamily before Kiss-Shot could respond with something incriminating. "We're all just spirits passing through these temporary vessels."
The demon slayer blinked, clearly taken aback by her philosophical tangent. "Right... We should get moving. It's a three-day journey to the Butterfly Estate."
"Butterfly Estate?" Florence inquired.
"Lord Ubuyashiki's current residence," Tenba explained curtly. "The headquarters moves frequently for security reasons."
As they set out, Cid noticed how his companions had naturally arranged themselves around him—Florence and Frieren slightly ahead, scouting the path; Nero and Kiss-Shot flanking him on either side; and Lucoa bringing up the rear, her carefree demeanor belied by the alertness in her mismatched eyes.
They had adopted a protective formation without discussion, each taking a role that suited their strengths even in their diminished states. The realization gave Cid an unexpected feeling of warmth—and responsibility.
The journey proved surprisingly uneventful for the first day. The demon slayers set a brisk pace, clearly testing their stamina, but the breathing techniques Cid had taught his companions served them well. Even Kiss-Shot, who complained the most vocally about "being forced to march like a common foot soldier," showed no signs of genuine fatigue.
As they made camp that evening, Tenba approached Cid while the others were occupied with setting up their sleeping arrangements.
"That technique you used against Lower Moon Five," he said without preamble. "Witnesses described it as something they'd never seen before. Not Water, not Flame, not any of the established Breathing Styles."
Cid maintained his composure, though internally he was scrambling for an explanation. The truth was, he had no idea what he'd done in that desperate moment.
"Shadow Breathing," he improvised. "An original style developed by the Garden for operating in darkness."
Tenba's eyes narrow