Well-Adjusted Barely Traumatized Demon Slayer (Murata SI-ish)

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Murata watched the river. It flowed simply, not a care in the world.

His reflection stared back at him. This appearance was familiar, and not in a flattering way.

When Murata remembered the reason he kept his hair in such a manner, he cried to himself.

In a world of demons, this was the person he became?

Murata put his hands on his hair and groaned.

-

He was more than just Murata, but don't tell anyone that. It didn't really matter since no one would believe him.

Maybe his mother and father would, but they were long gone. It was only after he was rescued that a flood of life poured into his mind.

It wouldn't be wrong to say that a part of him died when an unnamed, unimportant demon slaughtered his family and friends. It just so happened that another life found itself imbedded in him.

So with two half-lives, he moved forward.

He moved forward towards certain death. He was training under a waterfall freezing from hypothermia.

Cultivators were rare, good ones especially so. To be completely fair, one had to be insane to survive this long as a demon slayer. An unfortunate side effect is that many of them went past the point of teaching. In other words, teachers trained their childish students to exhaustion.

In a world of supernatural abilities, it actually made sense in a morbid way. If you pushed yourself to the absolute limit, you could break barriers and reach the unseen world of strength and power. This is called plot armor because otherwise, you would just die.

He was Murata with something else, but the distinction mattered less and less. Two blueprints existed in this body. The original host and the parasite fused together to make something. Again, he was Murata, but not the same seen on the pages of a book.

While he was older than most children his age, it didn't help as much as he would have hoped when it came to knowledge.

Just because you knew something doesn't mean you could prevent it! Much less, affect events so as to change the world!

But he would try anyway. Because in a world full of unnecessary suffering, it was worse than doing nothing.

-

Breathing styles involved more than breathing. It goes without saying, but most people forget about that fact.

Take for example, Water Breathing. At a basic level, it mimics an aspect of Sun Breathing. All breaths do to a certain extent.

Water Breathing focuses on adaptability and ease of use. It became something more usable for anyone who wasn't Yoriichi.

However, besides breathing, one had to understand how to move their body. To be like water and to understand how the breath affects that process.

Water Breathing was seen as the most approachable breathing art due to water's nature. It flows and it's adaptable.

"You are terrible at this," Murata's teacher said. "I've never had a worse student."

Murata held back a complaint. He was his teacher's only student.

A punch to the abdomen, a smack to the back, and a kick to the leg.

"Your stance is off and your body's trembling. What was the point of all that physical conditioning? Are you naturally weak?"

He was only given a month or so of physical training.

Murata legs buckled and he fell to the ground tasting dirt. It was a familiar taste. Murata and the ground were about as good friends as comrades who've seen years of war together.

"After you get up, go back and down to the village. Guess we'll spend more time training before working on technique."

Murata could only nod as he began the hour long run.

-

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

Murata's training sword broke as it collided with the dummy.

"Good try," Sato said. Surprisingly, Murata and his teacher shared the same last name.

Unsurprisingly, it's also one of the most common last names in all of Japan. Murata's lack of distinction was its own trait at this point.

Sato unleashed the first form against the second wooden dummy. Murata didn't even see the unsheathing of the blade. Only the remains of the dummy allowed him to realize something was done.

"If you get to my level, maybe you can make a difference," Sato said. Murata knows the man is impressive, but he's also bragging to his only student.

Murata spoke up. "When I get there, then I get to take part in Final Selection?"

"If you were that good, then there wouldn't be any demons left at the end," Sato said. "Instead, once you master the first five forms to my liking, then I'll allow you."

Murata nodded. Though, the timing on this was tough. As far as he knew, he participated during the same time as Giyu. When that took place, he had no clue.

If he trained hard enough, it might be possible to help Sabito. The dead boy was stronger than Giyu at that point, so maybe his potential was even greater.

"Why only the first five?"

Sato smacked him. "I'll be dead by the time you master all of the forms. Just stick to the core principles, and you'll at least stay alive."

Murata nodded and unleashed the first form with a new training sword.

-

Truth be told, Murata had a good cultivator. Sato, or old man Sato, as Murata mentally called him, had the ability but never became a hashira. He retired as a kinoe when a demon tore off his arm.

Murata was very lucky. It was a shame that he couldn't make the most of it. People might think being a demon slayer was all about training hard and being strong, but being stupid was more of a danger than being weak.

It was important to understand a proper course of action in any given situation. Proper planning, weighing risk and reward, protecting the general populace, basic first aid and survival skills, and much more.

It took especially long because Murata wasn't a special prodigy nor did he have an instinctual knack. He couldn't move his organs or smell the intention of others. He can't hear feelings or see through flesh. So, training took up most of his time.

Even the memories were fading. Details became sparse, and the memories of his lives blended together.

Though, it was because of this seamless integration that he had one advantage above other people:

He had experience. Not demon slaying experience, but life experience. It may not make him a giant but that small thing could make all the difference.

Murata unleashed the third form as he stewed in his thoughts.

-

Sato lay on his deathbed. He was sick, he knew it, and Murata knew it as well.

At first, it was a cough. Then a limp. Next, the constant fog in his brain. Lastly, his strength began leaving him.

Murata was not a special miracle. But he did surpass his teacher's expectations, managing to perform the tenth form. It was awful and left Murata weak for the next day, though the fact he could even do it was a testament to his efforts.

Murata cleaned his teacher's towels and prepared warm soup for him. Sato could not even muster the ability to smack his student. There were lots of things he wanted to say but not enough time to say it.

"You've done well," Sato said.

"I know."

"I think that of all the students I've had, you were the best."

"I was your only student."

Sato shook his head. "I had one son, and he wanted to prove himself to this old man. He would become the Water Hashira, and he wanted me to take care of the estate."

Murata froze. He watched as his teacher gained a clarity in his eyes.

"But he died. Fighting a Lower Moon. I thought, why is the world cruel?" Sato coughed.

"That was the wrong question. I should have asked, why was I not stronger?"

"But you are strong."

"Of course I am!" Sato coughed again. "But I'm also old and weak. Seeing you grow made me grateful. Even though this world is cruel, there are those who can't help but want to change that."

"It's for selfish reasons," Murata said. It was true. His parents and sister died to a demon attack, and it was Sato who saved him. Unlike a certain kind-hearted person, Murata would never stop hating demons. Nor has he found the inner strength to emit a presence of focused tranquility.

"That you do it at all is enough for me. Truthfully, I didn't think you had it in you. I still don't," Sato laughed.

Murata frowned.

"You somehow reached a level of Water Breathing I didn't expect. If it suits you, so be it. But don't be afraid to be different if it helps you survive."

"I am not like others. I cannot just make a breathing style."

"Of course not," Sato said, "that's not what I said. Don't be afraid to take things to new heights."

Pausing, Murata collected his thoughts. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that. Keep my sword. Take it to Final Selection."

"I will."

"I'm leaving everything here to you. Do you still want to become a demon slayer?"

Sato had everything necessary to survive. A built house, a small garden, and beautiful nature to relax in. All Murata would need to do is to find a wife, have some children, and he could live a life his parents would be proud of.

But not like this. This was the tragedy of a demon slayer. Not a single one was 'normal.' Even Murata, the man who would be mocked as 'pitifully average' by those who read about him, had a righteous heart and innate desire to fight against monsters that could easily kill hundreds of humans. Even with his unexplainable memories, that determination had not wavered.

"Even so, I'm going to become a demon slayer."

Sato sighed, then he cried. Murata stayed silent, allowing his teacher to grieve about the past and future.

"I…wish you all the best. Stand tall and help others. Those small actions can change the entire world," Sato whispered.

An hour later, old man Sato died. That night, Murata dug a grave for his teacher and offered his prayers.

If Murata cried, then no one was there to see it.