It was the Taisho era. Western things were pouring into the country without end. It was both opportunity and challenge.
People's tastes were changing. Society's customs were changing. Clothing, food, housing, travel—every part of daily life was changing.
In the old days, a single ox cart, or simply one's own two legs, was enough to carry a bamboo basket from the countryside to Ueno to sell goods without complaint. Now, however, it required larger, faster steam trains to meet the demand.
In order to free itself from reliance on Western technology, the Railway Administration had moved from importing and imitation to independent design. In recent years, they had finally developed a standardized, mature product—the 8620 steam locomotive.
The Mugen Train. That was the name it had been given.
Night had fallen. Inside a third-class carriage.
Electric incandescent lamps hung from the ceiling. The filaments should have been brand new, yet the lights flickered as if the current were unstable.
Sawako and Kondo Isamu leaned by the window, quietly observing everything inside the carriage.
They were members of the Demon Slayer Corps. Shin rank.
Not long ago, a Kasugai Crow had delivered a message—
On this busy railway line, a series of mysterious disappearances had occurred. Ten victims so far.
The official newspaper, Chuhō News, reported that a "serial killer" was prowling along the railway, striking at night. Travelers were urged to remain vigilant.
To that end, the Demon Slayer Corps had dispatched the two of them to investigate, to determine whether this was the work of man or demon.
They were disguised as a traveling merchant couple. Their Nichirin Blades were hidden among their bundled goods. As they searched for signs of a demon, they also kept wary eyes on every station platform, where railway patrol officers stood holding rifles.
Whooo—
The whistle sounded. The wheels clattered once more as the train rolled deeper into the night.
"Do you think it's a demon?" Sawako asked softly, stifling a lazy yawn. "It's already past midnight. I haven't noticed anything unusual."
Kondo shook his head. "Hard to say. Get some rest. I'll wake you if anything happens."
"That feels embarrassing. We're on duty together—how can I slack off alone..."
"Your husband asked me to look after you. Besides, I'm older. I don't need much sleep."
Kondo patted his pocket helplessly, wanting to light some dried tobacco. Then he reconsidered—smoking here would probably break the rules. He withdrew his hand.
The swordswoman pulled her bundle closer, leaned against the window, and grinned. "Then I won't stand on ceremony. Good night."
To be honest, they had already circled this train several times under various pretexts. Not a trace of a demon.
Maybe it really was just some killer...
These days, the cabinet was mad, the army was mad. If a couple of lunatics slipped out and started slashing people, Kondo wouldn't find it strange at all.
Inside the carriage, passengers either nodded off with heads lowered or stared blankly out into the unfathomable night beyond the windows, quietly waiting for the next station.
Yawn... huh?
It hadn't been long since Sawako fell asleep, but Kondo suddenly found himself growing drowsy as well.
That shouldn't be happening. Had he not rested well yesterday?
He pinched the web between his thumb and forefinger hard. The sharp pain brought a flicker of clarity, but it was soon swallowed by a stronger wave of sleepiness.
"Excuse me... tickets, please..."
As Kondo repeatedly tapped his brow, trying to stay alert, the conductor arrived.
He looked exhausted, as though he hadn't slept properly in days. Bloodshot veins webbed his eyes.
"Ah, sorry, sorry. Here you go." Kondo fished in his pocket and handed over both his and Sawako's tickets.
The conductor didn't even check them. He mechanically clipped two holes with a click-click and left without a word.
"Is he all right?" Kondo craned his neck, watching him with concern.
Before he could put the tickets away, the irresistible drowsiness surged up again.
"...Just a quick nap should be fine."
He adjusted his posture, dozed off—and quickly slid into the deepest slumber.
"Daddy! You're back!"
A voice as clear as silver bells woke him.
Kondo's eyes flew open. For a moment, he was stunned.
In a small house, the hearth burned brightly. The air was rich with the savory scent of stew.
Before him, a three-year-old girl in a red kimono leapt into his arms like a warm little sun.
"Hehe, Daddy, I missed you." Her sparkling eyes shone as she hugged him tightly.
How could this be?
Weren't they...
His memories grew hazy.
Who died in the fire? Wasn't Miyoko killed by a demon...?
Demon? What was a demon...?
His dazed expression made the little girl frown in worry. She waved her chubby hands. "Mama! Daddy's acting silly!"
Mama? Miyoko?
Kondo froze. Holding his daughter Kasumi tightly, he looked toward the side door of the cottage.
A gentle-looking woman stepped out, wearing thick gloves and carrying a steaming pot of soup. She smiled.
"Isamu, you've worked hard all day. Put Kasumi down and eat first."
That plain dress, those eyes always filled with care and love—even in hell, Kondo would never forget them.
His wife. Miyoko. She wasn't dead. It had only been a nightmare...
All strength left his body. He collapsed onto the tatami, breathing heavily, overwhelmed by how sudden and how blissful it all felt.
He gently set Kasumi down and hurried to Miyoko's side, taking the soup pot from her hands.
"Ow, that's hot!"
The heat of her fingertips burned his skin until his eyes watered, yet he refused to let go. He quickly set the pot at the center of the low table on the tatami.
"Oh my, Isamu, did you burn yourself?"
She looked at him with concern, only to see his foolish grin. With a sigh, she lightly thumped his sturdy back with her gloved hand.
He sat by the hearth, watching his wife tenderly serve rice to Kasumi, listening to his daughter chatter in her childish voice about her day. Warmth seemed to wrap around every cell in his body.
He had wished to dream of days like this every night—yet never had.
Huh? Why did I wish to dream of it? Isn't this just an ordinary day? What was I thinking about earlier?
He scratched his head, then quickly abandoned the thought.
Why think about that? I have to work the fields tomorrow.
Should I plant potatoes or radishes this season... feels like I'm out of practice...
A smile rose unbidden to his lips—a smile of pure, heartfelt contentment.
But just as that happiness peaked, as his soul sank fully into supreme satisfaction—
Crack!
A sharp, abrupt sound rang out.
The blissful smile on Kondo Isamu's face froze forever.
He sat peacefully by the hearth, still in the posture of listening to his wife and daughter, like the happiest wax figure.
The fire continued to flicker. The aroma of food lingered. The figures of his wife and daughter remained warm.
Only he grew cold.
The Mugen Train. Third-class carriage.
Kondo Isamu and Sawako remained seated, backs against the cold wall of the carriage.
Their heads tilted slightly to one side. Their eyes were closed. On their faces rested an unusual serenity and peace.
At the corner of Kondo's mouth, a frozen smile of happiness lingered, as though he had embraced all the world's beauty in a dream.
On Sawako's face bloomed a radiant smile of confidence and glory—perhaps she had just reached the pinnacle of her career in her dream.
Yet both of their hands were tied with short lengths of hemp rope, the other ends bound to the wrists of two frail boys sitting beside them.
The carriage was deathly silent. Everyone was asleep.
A figure in a conductor's uniform stepped soundlessly into the foremost carriage.
He knelt respectfully, waiting without a word for instructions from the one before him.
No—that was not a human.
The creature turned its head, a sickly, twisted smile stretching across its face.
"You should thank me. Only demon slayers get dreams this good..."
"Though it's a bit troublesome, dying happily in a beautiful dream is the greatest mercy..."
Its eyeballs shifted, revealing blue-green pupils—
[Lower One]