Chapter Fifteen: Are You Not a Mage?

“Lord Illusory Feather!”

At this moment, Chrysanthemum hurried out from her house, looking slightly troubled as she gazed at the spot where Lord Illusory Feather had already vanished. When she first heard the crow conveying the mission, she’d wanted to help Lord Illusory Feather prepare a meal before he set out. After all, it was only noon—no matter how early he arrived, the demon would only appear at night, and if he got there too soon, he might end up hungry.

But before she could even mention it, Lord Illusory Feather had already departed with astonishing speed. She couldn’t imagine what kind of hatred he bore toward demons to act so swiftly.

Meanwhile, the crow flapped its wings with all its might, struggling to keep up with its master’s pace. Yet as Chu Fan ran faster and faster, the crow could only follow in the general direction of the message it had delivered.

Chu Fan raced southward at full speed. Though his spiritual power was running low, he remained unperturbed. After these past few days of cultivation, he had made a significant discovery: the powers of the Nature-type Blaze-Blaze Fruit did not necessarily require spiritual power to wield. When he exhausted his mystical energy, drawing upon the fruit’s fire abilities would instead drain his physical stamina. The consumption was immense, but perhaps that was what made the Devil Fruit abilities so formidable.

Unless he encountered an Upper Moon, Chu Fan hardly needed to use spiritual energy—he could slaughter demons with his bare hands.

The reason for his haste was simple: to Chu Fan, every demon was a rare source of attribute points. He needed to reach the limits of his Devourer talent as quickly as possible, to adapt to his newfound powers with all due speed. Only then could he be in peak condition to face the Upper Moons, who might attack together at any moment.

After over an hour of relentless travel, Chu Fan, who had set out at noon, arrived at the village mentioned in the mission around two in the afternoon. His arrival drew the attention of several villagers. Chu Fan’s attire was far too lavish and mysterious, making him stand out starkly among the locals. He ignored their curious stares.

Most ordinary people knew nothing of the Demon Slayer Corps, though its members were unfailingly kind in their conduct, and no villager would casually confront them. Rarely did a corps member vanish without reason—if one did, it was almost certainly because they’d encountered a demon.

Thus, Chu Fan was not worried about the crow relaying false information. In truth, searching for traces of demons in broad daylight was no easy task; too many people were out and about, busy with daily life. Nevertheless, Chu Fan focused his senses, listening intently for the faintest breathing within each house.

During the day, demons would hide, but that didn’t mean they left no trace. Chu Fan followed a faint scent of blood in the air. Though his senses were keen, his nose wasn’t as sharp as Tanjiro Kamado’s. He could only follow the blood scent to houses where he heard only a single breath inside.

Life in the world of Demon Slayer was hardly easy for ordinary people, but even in the afternoon, it was unusual for a household to have only one person present. In less developed times, families tended to be large, with someone always staying home.

So focused was Chu Fan on his search that the aura he emitted as he walked the village lanes left some villagers uneasy. He peered through windows, scanning interiors. Though some wanted to challenge and question him, his clothing marked him as someone of wealth or status, and none dared speak up.

Still, the villagers could tell that this stranger seemed to be searching for someone. At least for now, he had not trespassed nor done anything outrageous, such as abducting children or threatening women. They kept their distance, merely watching from afar.

Chu Fan walked to the edge of the village, where he saw a grand residence atop a stone stairway—luxurious by village standards. Only one breath could be heard from within, the doors and windows tightly shut, revealing nothing of the interior.

“Whose house is this?” Chu Fan did not enter directly but instead called out.

The villagers, trailing him at a wary distance, exchanged confused glances, unsure whom he was addressing.

“Who lives there?” Chu Fan repeated, stepping up to an old man who, by virtue of age, would likely know the village’s families and dwellings well.

“That’s the home of the village’s only wealthy merchant,” the old man replied, startled by how Chu Fan had crossed the distance in a heartbeat. Yet the pressure Chu Fan exuded compelled him to answer, voice trembling.

Chu Fan now had a fair idea—the demon was probably inside. If he were the demon, choosing a remote and grand house as a hunting ground made sense. The building’s size would muffle sounds, and after a kill, its spaciousness would help shield him from the sun.

“No matter what sounds you hear from inside, do not enter,” Chu Fan said, turning to the tense villagers. “Unless I come out, none of you must go in. If you have no regard for your lives, you may try following me inside—if you dare.”

Before entering, he remembered to warn them. Then he mounted the steps, striding toward the mansion.

The dozens of villagers, hearing these words—less a warning than a threat—exchanged glances and quickly dispersed. Even the most curious children were dragged away by their parents.

As Chu Fan drew closer to the house, the stench of blood and decay grew stronger. He frowned, pushed open the wooden door, and stepped inside.

Walking down the corridor, he was met with a ghastly sight: a trail of blood smeared along the floor, leading into the depths of the house. Carefully avoiding the bloodstains, Chu Fan advanced. As he approached a side hall, he saw four pools of blood and scraps of clothing torn by sharp teeth—grim reminders of the atrocities committed here.

Following the blood trail, Chu Fan reached a sealed room at the end. Inside were two intact, deathly pale female corpses. Judging by their figures, one was perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old; the other, more fully developed, was likely her mother. The other bodies had been entirely devoured—only these two remained, and Chu Fan needed no imagination to guess why.

As he examined the room, a shadow emerged from the darkness, a withered hand clutching a dagger, aiming to drive it into Chu Fan’s heart.

Chu Fan did not so much as flinch—the blade passed through his body, or rather, through a mass of flame.

“You wear such fine clothes, yet you’re not a sorcerer?” The demon, having failed in its ambush and finding its hand gripped by overwhelming force instead of plunging into flesh, uttered a shocked cry.