Let's take a moment for introductions.
The energetic little kid from earlier was named Ichirō Miura, the son of the wealthy merchant Takeo was currently assigned to protect.
He was eight years old, full of boundless energy.
Ever since he had witnessed Takeo defeat three adult guards single-handedly over two weeks ago, he had been clinging to him, begging to learn swordsmanship.
But Takeo knew his own situation well.
His sword skills weren't particularly advanced—they were the result of adapting various other close-combat techniques passed down from Logan. They weren't part of any proper or consistent sword school.
Trying to teach that to someone else would only end up misleading them.
Takeo had already explained this to Ichirō. He'd even told him that if he really wanted to study swordsmanship, he should go to a proper dōjō and receive formal training. After all, his family was wealthy—enrolling in a kendo school wouldn't be difficult at all.
But the kid had completely fixated on Takeo.
According to Ichirō's logic, Takeo didn't look much older than him, yet he was strong enough to defeat three grown men at once—which clearly meant his swordsmanship was amazing.
Why go learn from some old geezer when you had a powerful young swordsman right in front of you?
Ichirō had no interest in making things harder than they needed to be.
Takeo could only sigh at the situation.
Since explanations weren't working, he had come up with another idea.
He crafted a bamboo sword for Ichirō and told him—"If you can land a hit on me with this, I'll teach you swordsmanship."
And so… the little rascal began showing up every single day, waving his bamboo sword around and challenging Takeo.
But to this day, the number of times Ichirō had successfully hit Takeo remained a solid zero.
Seriously—Takeo could smell the kid coming from ten meters away. If Ichirō ever managed to land a sneak attack under those conditions, Logan, who had passed on those heightened senses, might just come back from the dead out of sheer indignation.
No matter how many times Takeo tried to explain things again, the kid wouldn't listen.
With his chin raised in pride, Ichirō pointed his bamboo sword dramatically at Takeo and declared:
"I don't care! You said that if I hit you, you'd teach me! Just wait—I'm definitely gonna land a hit before this ship reaches shore!"
He was full of confidence.
Takeo, on the other hand, was completely speechless.
Just as Ichirō turned to run off and "strategize" how to defeat him, Takeo casually reached out and grabbed the back of his collar—like picking up a kitten.
"Wait a sec. I've got a question."
"What kind of question?"Ichirō stopped and tilted his head.
Takeo glanced toward the black-clad swordsman who had entered the ship's cabin with the merchant and asked:
"Who's that swordsman? I haven't seen him before."
Takeo had been serving as a bodyguard for the merchant family for over two weeks now, and he was confident he wouldn't mistake any of the other regular guards.
Which meant the black-clad swordsman was definitely someone new.
But what truly caught Takeo's attention wasn't just the unfamiliar face—it was the faint, lingering sense of danger the man exuded.
That was his beast-like intuition at work—an instinctual warning of something potentially threatening.
On top of that, the swordsman was wearing a real katana, not a regular blade—which only made the mystery more intriguing.
That's why Takeo had asked about the man's identity.
Ichirō also glanced toward the merchant and the swordsman, tilting his head in thought.
"I don't know either."
"You don't? Your father didn't mention anything?"
Since the merchant had the influence to acquire an official sword-carrying permit, it wouldn't be surprising if he had connections with someone who looked like a samurai.
Takeo figured the merchant might know something important.
"Nope. Hmm… Want me to eavesdrop for you? In exchange, you teach me swordsmanship!"
Ichirō's eyes sparkled with mischief as he spun the idea on the spot, clearly proud of his own cleverness.
Takeo lightly tapped the top of Ichirō's head with the side of his hand in a mock karate chop and said:
"Eavesdropping is wrong. It goes against the way of the samurai. So even if you did spy for me, I still wouldn't teach you swordsmanship."
"Ugh, always coming up with excuses…"
"Hm?"
"Blehhh! I'm off to train!"
The energetic little gremlin made a face at Takeo, then bolted off like a gust of wind after catching a glimpse of Takeo's pretend threatening glare.
Takeo rolled his eyes at the kid's retreating back, but he didn't bother chasing after him. Instead, he shifted his gaze back toward the ship's cabin.
He still didn't know who that black-clad swordsman was—but if someone that strong had been brought aboard, then it likely meant there was a chance something dangerous lay ahead on this journey. Something that only a warrior like that could handle.
It seemed the road ahead… wouldn't be so peaceful after all.
...
Inside the ship's cabin.
The wealthy merchant who had chartered the cargo vessel, Tarō Miura, sat across a small tea table from the ship's captain, Kiichi Mizunoki.
Seated formally beside the table was the black-clad swordsman whom Tarō Miura had personally welcomed aboard earlier.
His katana lay neatly beside him, placed in proper fashion.
"Captain Mizunoki, are you certain you know nothing about the disappearances on this ship?"
In the silent cabin, the calm voice of the young swordsman echoed.
His tone was composed, but his gaze was sharp as a blade, piercing straight into Captain Kiichi Mizunoki.
Nearly forty, with streaks of gray in his hair, Mizunoki's expression grew tense.His eyes darted around nervously as he stammered:
"I—I really don't know anything…"
"It would be better for you to tell the truth, Captain Mizunoki."
The swordsman's voice deepened, his warning quiet but firm.
Off to the side, the slightly plump Tarō Miura quietly lit the pipe in his hand. After taking a puff, he glanced at the swordsman and said:
"He's not going to tell the truth. After all, if something really is wrong on this ship, he'll have to pay me a hefty sum in compensation. Isn't that right, Captain Mizunoki?"
His eyes were cold and dangerous.
Tarō Miura had only learned about the rumors—about sailors mysteriously disappearing aboard this vessel—after he had already chartered it.
It wasn't until today, when he met this demon slayer from the Demon Slayer Corps, that he finally got the full picture.
The reason it had been kept from him was simple—Captain Mizunoki had deliberately hidden the information, not wanting word of the disappearances to spread among the crew or passengers.
Tarō Miura could understand the reasoning.
After all, it was currently winter—a dangerous season for sea travel. If a ship could be rented out during this time, the owners would earn a significant sum.
That money alone could sustain them for the entire winter without needing to sail again.
But Tarō Miura couldn't accept it.
Because he was the one who had paid to charter the ship. If there truly was danger aboard, then he was the one at risk. To put it politely, Captain Mizunoki had "withheld important information. "To say it bluntly—it was practically attempted murder for profit.
If the contract hadn't already been signed and the ship wasn't already en route, there was no way Tarō Miura would have agreed to go forward with this.
Now that things had reached this point, blaming others wouldn't help. It was better to focus on resolving the issue.
Captain Mizunoki sat on his knees, drenched in cold sweat.
The demon slayer from the Demon Slayer Corps, seeing this, sighed softly. Then he turned to Tarō and said:
"Mr. Miura, I came because I received word that there may be a demon aboard this vessel. But whether that's true or not, I still need to investigate. For that, I'll need cooperation—from both you and Captain Mizunoki."
"I'll cooperate," Miura replied flatly."But as for Captain Mizunoki… well, that's another matter entirely."
Miura spoke in a low voice, taking another puff from his pipe.
White smoke slowly spread through the cabin.
Sweat continued to bead on Captain Mizunoki's forehead. Under the quiet pressure of the young demon slayer's gaze, he finally gave in and confessed:
"…I… I'll cooperate. Fine, I admit it—people really have gone missing on this ship. But… but that doesn't mean there's definitely a demon on board!"
"Then may I ask," the demon slayer said calmly, without a trace of accusation, "how exactly did they go missing?"
His tone was composed, serious, and professional—and that, in turn, eased some of Mizunoki's tension. His voice grew steadier as he began recalling the events:
"The disappearances… always happened at night.It was like—they'd go to sleep, and the next morning, they'd just be gone.At first, we thought maybe they had just gone home or disembarked quietly,but… a few days ago, when we were already out at sea, someone still vanished!"
After that came Miura's charter request,and Captain Mizunoki made the decision to hide the disappearances.
Then, a demon slayer from the Demon Slayer Corps arrived to investigate.
And that—was the situation as it now stood.