## Demon Slayer: My brother is a top stringer and an initial swordsman >My name is Tsukuni Hiru, and I am the adopted son of Stepkoku in exchange for my mother's life. >On the night of the blood moon, the cold blood belonging to Muzan Kibutsuji suddenly awakened in my body. >The swordsman girl who trusted me most put the Nichirin Sword against my throat: "You said you would be a human being forever." >In the shadow behind me, my brother, who had become the ghost of the wind, stretched out his hand to me: "Brother, your destination is in the darkness." >Another voice burned deep in the soul: "Swing the sword, Hiru! Like your other brother!" --- My name is Hirukoku Tsuki. This surname is not something you are born with, but the protection that your mother bought at the cost of her life. That year, my father disappeared in the wind and snow, and the rice jar bottomed out. My mother hugged me, who had just turned one year old, and resolutely embarked on the dangerous journey to join my distant stepfather's family. The robbers we encountered on the way were like nightmares. My mother was brutally stabbed to protect me as a baby. By the time she finally struggled to step into the majestic gates of Jiguo, her wounds had already festered and worsened. In the last glimmer of light, she put my cold little hand into the generous palm of the stepmother, leaving behind broken instructions and endless trust, and passed away suddenly. From then on, I became the third son in name only after the country, and my past surname was buried in the depths of my memory. However, there is a turbulent undercurrent beneath the calm surface. A thunderous secret lies dormant in my body - I am actually flowing with the cold blood of the source of all ghosts, Onibatsuji Muzai! This bloodline is a curse, a mark of the abyss. What's even more suffocating is that one of my two brothers embarked on an inhuman path and became a ghost on the string, standing at the top of the ghost clan; the other was the original swordsman who developed the breathing method with a mortal body to fight against evil ghosts, and was the first ray of light to break through the darkness. Fate has intertwined the most absurd and cruel patterns in my body. In the center of this torn whirlpool, she is the only one - the young swordsman with eyes as clear and firm as stars. She is the only anchor point that I don't want to sink. Once upon a time, I accidentally brought her back to the world from a desperate situation; but now, she holds the Nichirin Sword tightly, and as a member of the Demon Slayer Corps, she has become the last barrier guarding the dam of my humanity. Her trust was my only bonfire against the chill in my blood. Until that desperate night when the blood moon hung in the sky. The cold blood belonging to Kibutsuji Muzan in my body suddenly rioted and roared, almost tearing my body apart and dragging me into eternal darkness. The violent power surged out of control, and I could even smell the dangerous aura of inhuman existence spreading from my fingertips. Just at the edge of the cliff where his sanity was about to be completely swallowed up, a cold light tore through Scarlet's vision. It's her. The Nichirin sword that had fought alongside me countless times was now firmly and resolutely pressed against my throat. The cold blade was close to the beating pulse, conveying bone-chilling despair. There was no tremor in her hand holding the knife, but in the depths of her clear eyes, there was a stormy sea that I had never seen before - the pain of having her faith torn apart, the confusion after the collapse of trust, and a kind of determination that was almost pathos. "Hit!" Her voice roared through the blood, and every word pierced my heart like an ice pick. "You said it! You said you would always stand in the sun and be human forever!" The oath was still in my ears, but my blood was boiling and roaring in my body. Behind him, the thick dark shadow spread silently, condensing into an elegant and terrifying figure - my brother who has ascended to the top position. His pale hand, with irresistible majesty and temptation, slowly stretched out to me, and his voice was as low as the echo of the abyss: "The useless struggle should end, my dear brother. Your destination, your strength, your eternity... Are all here, in the embrace of darkness. Come back, this is the call of your blood." In front, is the cold blade of the lover and the broken trust; behind, is the hand stretched out by the brother, leading to the eternal darkness. Despair washed over me like a tide.
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