Demon Progenitor Development Project

The sound of metal clashing was endless.

A man dressed in ordinary servant's clothes, with an unremarkable face, the kind you wouldn't remember if thrown into a crowd, is perfect for a suicide squad.

He was the leader of this group of assassins. Although he couldn't compare to Shugo's Dojigiri Yasutsuna, he still wielded a fine sword.

Incidentally, this Dojigiri Yasutsuna was originally kept in the imperial palace, but later ended up in the treasure trove of the Fujiwara Kita family.

Seeing his sword blocked, the leader of the assassins pulled a short wakizashi from his clothes with his left hand, which was not holding a sword. Ignoring the sharp blade that was inches away, he charged straight at his target's chest.

This is not how someone who wants to live should fight.

Shugo raised his foot and kicked the other person's knee.

With a height difference of fifty centimeters, it's especially easy to kick.

This powerful kick sent the man crashing to his knees.

Taking advantage of the opponent's unsteady stance, just as Shugo was about to swing his sword forward and kill him, he suddenly felt a chill run down his spine and dodged to the side.

Looking up again, not far away, a suicide soldier was drawing an arrow from his quiver.

Hiiragi:……

In less than a few seconds, the leader of the assassins had already stood up and stepped forward again to entangle Shugo.

The assassin who was shooting arrows merely nocked an arrow on the bowstring as a formality, but hesitated to release it.

Gan!

Having nearly cursed out loud, Hiiragi began to act hesitantly and cautiously.

These elite assassins were extremely difficult for the Fujiwara Hokuke samurai to resist, as the sudden attack caught them off guard.

In particular, these suicide squad members fight by trading one life for another.

Shugo had to deal with the leader of the assassins in front of him while also keeping an eye on the archers. In such an intense battle, taking too long meant he was bound to make a mistake.

An arrow, timed perfectly, hurtled straight toward Shugo's chest.

"Young master, be careful!" An old servant rushed forward and blocked the cold arrow.

A scream rang out, then silence fell.

Shugo's mindset began to waver.

Some assassins, having dealt with their opponents and gained some free time, turned their attention to him.

Facing a combined attack from multiple enemies, Shugo was overwhelmed.

The blade tore through the skin, drawing blood, and also ripped open the transmigrator's proud heart.

Even in ancient times, pampered modern people remained pampered, and Fujiwara no Shugo lacked a fighting spirit.

A pang of pain welled up in my heart.

Real combat is indeed completely different from regular practice; there will be bloodshed, injuries, and... even death.

Since transmigrating, this is the first time I've faced a life-or-death battle. There's no one to watch over me, no safety net; losing means death.

There is great terror between life and death.

Hiiragi realized that he had been affected by his mindset and had performed poorly, so he suddenly gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Muzan, we're all cowards.

People are afraid of death.

But he was unwilling to give up. The plan was nearing completion, and success was just around the corner. How could he possibly fall here?

Shugo gripped his sword tightly, a hint of ruthlessness flashing across his face.

Shugo desperately squeezed out oxygen, swinging his sword faster and faster than ever before, the blade whistling as he kept his attention on the archer.

The assassin's blade pierced through flesh and blood, only to be jammed by the hard bones.

Ignoring the pain, Shugo endured the excruciating agony, his adrenaline surging, and precisely plunged the blade into the chest of the assassin in front of him.

Before he could even draw his sword, the next strike was already upon him.

Shugo raised his foot and kicked the short assassin away, encouraging himself as he did so:

I am taller, more robust, and stronger than these assassins.

Shugo tensed his muscles and delivered a horizontal slash, severing the sword in the assassin's hand.

Shugo hardened his heart, and a moment later, when the other nobles hurriedly arrived with blood-stained samurai, they were shocked to see that it was a Kanpaku (chief advisor to the emperor) covered in blood.

"Hurry up and save people!"

At the same time as the assassination on the outskirts of Kyoto, at the Fujiwara residence in Kyoto.

Princess Kisaragi continued her feasting and revelry as usual.

A group of assassins quietly sneaked into the backyard and quickly rushed towards the location of Princess Kisaragi, passing by one wooden house after another.

Muzan, who happened to be passing by: ??

Muzan noticed his strange physical condition and went to the training ground that Shugo usually used.

When he was a child, he would come here to watch Shugo practice swordsmanship and exercise.

Muzan walked up to an iron stake covered in sword marks, many of which were almost half a finger deep.

Muzan raised his hand and pinched...

The iron piles groaned under the strain.

Muzan, having withdrawn his hand, looked at the nearly broken Special Pile and smirked.

After trying out various exercise equipment, Muzan was quite excited.

He not only recovered from his illness, but he also became stronger.

He couldn't be in the sun, and the food tasted strange. Thinking about this, Muzan couldn't help but feel depressed.

The breakfast he usually eats is the same one he always eats, and it smells delicious. But today it tastes strange and makes him want to vomit, while it tastes normal to everyone else.

Moreover, he wasn't even full; he was just eating for nothing.

Muzan picked up the parasol that was placed to the side and prepared to leave.

They bumped into the group of assassins who were charging forward as soon as they stepped outside.

Suicide squad members: ...Kill!

Muzan: ? ? ?

The fate of a group of fully armed humans facing the progenitor of demons is obvious.

The beautiful courtyard was covered with a blood-red carpet.

"So, my blood has this effect?" Muzan watched thoughtfully as the monster before him, its skin turning bluish-purple and its limbs mutated, devoured the corpse like a wild beast.

Muzan frowned as he watched.

Could it be that?

A strange thought suddenly occurred to him. Muzan abandoned the terrified corpse of the assassin and subconsciously looked at the corpses scattered on the ground, his throat bobbing.

His pupils, which had involuntarily turned crimson, were fixed on the blood-soaked wound.

Sensing the signal from his brain, Muzan's expression suddenly turned ugly. If this got out, he would definitely be regarded as a demon and be hated by everyone.

Especially Hiiragi.

It must be kept secret.

Muzan secretly made up his mind.

*

The assassination attempt in the suburbs was also coming to an end.

After this incident, the other nobles lost their interest in hunting and all headed back home, driving very fast.

The nobles who were dependent on the Fujiwara Kita family looked apprehensive.

Most of those assassins came disguised as servants.

Not all nobles remember their servants as well as Shugo does.

The nobles: We're doomed!

Shugo sat inside the violently shaking car, having his wounds bandaged by a doctor.

Shugo tried to calm his breathing, recalling the feeling of his first life-or-death battle.

"hiss--"

The doctor carefully removed the arrow, disinfected it with garlic juice, and began to suture the wound.

"Alright, stop circling around me, go take a look at him." Shuugo glanced at the excessive medical resources on their side.

Only one doctor, who looked somewhat young, was treating the old servant who had been shot with an arrow.

When the battlefield was being cleaned up, the old servant was found to be alive, so Shugo ordered his men to carry the old servant into his oxcart.

At least the place was covered with animal hides and silk, which were soft and shock-absorbing, a kind of treatment befitting a savior.

After all the doctors left, only a clever little servant remained to attend to him.

The old servant was badly injured, and the doctors looked troubled.

After hearing the diagnosis, Hiiragi remained silent for a moment before approaching the nearly fifty-year-old servant.

"Matsuaki, is there anything you want?" Shugo asked.

"My grandson is ten years old, lively and adorable. He always gives me gifts when he receives them... I really want to watch him grow up..." The old servant rambled on and on for a while, not really saying anything.

Hiiragi did not interrupt him; the words of an old man on his deathbed were kind.

"So, you can help me, right?" The old servant was panting heavily, his eyes filled with hope, and he struggled violently.

Shugo took a few steps closer, trying to soothe him.

In an instant, a brilliant light burst forth from his arms.

The bright silver blade reflected Shugo's astonished face.

He tried to dodge, but the excruciating pain from his wound slowed him down by less than a second.

But that one second is the difference between life and death.

Shugo's vision went black as he thought to himself.