[If we reach 100 Power Stones this week, I'll release 10 bonus chapters as a thank-you to everyone's support!]
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Tanjiro's eyes darted upward. Nezuko dangled from a massive tree, spider silk wound tightly around her ankle. His grip tightened around the broken hilt of his sword. He raised it, ready to strike the strand and set her free—only for hesitation to freeze his hand mid-swing.
He remembered too well. These threads were sharper than steel, harder than bone. A careless strike might fail to sever the silk and instead slice into Nezuko's leg. And even if he managed to cut one, countless others bound her body. Cutting them one by one would take far too long.
"No…" Tanjiro's breath shuddered. "If I try that recklessly, I'll hurt her. The real battle is here. I need to survive first."
His eyes lowered. Nezuko's body trembled, blood dripping down her arms, but her spirit was unbroken. She wouldn't die easily—not to these silks, not in this form.
That was enough for Tanjiro to cling to. He swallowed his fear and steadied himself.
A voice broke the silence. Cold, demanding.
"I'll ask you once more," Yukishiro said, his tone like frost splitting rock. "Is there a man named Imiya Kishi among the Twelve Kizuki?"
The sharpness in his voice startled Tanjiro. He turned to see Yukishiro facing the pale demon boy. Both stood rooted to the ground, their fury cloaked beneath chilling composure. The air grew heavy, as though the mountain itself held its breath. A clash was inevitable.
And then—the demon struck.
Rui's pale fingers twitched. With a piercing whistle, a strand as fine as hair cut through the cold air, lancing straight toward Yukishiro's chest.
Yukishiro shifted. His Nichirin blade flashed, deflecting the silk to the side as his body slipped past it with fluid grace. A flicker of white mist followed, and suddenly his figure blurred.
"Ice Breathing… First Form—Phantom."
In an instant, Yukishiro's body vanished from sight.
Tanjiro's breath caught. The young swordsman's figure reappeared beside Rui, too fast for the eye to follow. Snow-white steel stabbed from four different angles, as if several phantoms had attacked all at once.
But every strike was caught. Rui's web formed a cage before him, thick layers of silk intercepting each blade with metallic shrieks.
Yukishiro landed lightly, retreating back to his original position.
Tanjiro stood frozen, astonishment painted across his face.
It was too fast—faster than even his nose could fully track. His gaze fell to the ground and widened. Footprints, faint but visible, traced across the earth.
Yet they weren't normal—they were etched in frost. Wherever Yukishiro stepped, the ground froze.
"He's moving so fast the cold itself lingers behind him…" Tanjiro realized, awe mixing with fear.
Rui sneered. He spread his hands wide, summoning ten threads at once.
They twisted together, writhing like venomous serpents, striking at Yukishiro from every angle.
Trees, rocks, even the earth itself split wherever the threads touched, carving deep grooves into the mountain.
Yukishiro inhaled. His breath fogged in the night air.
"Ice Breathing—Second Form: Falling Snow."
Cold erupted outward. Frost spilled from his body, blanketing grass and stone alike in white. Tiny ice crystals drifted down like gentle snowflakes, their beauty masking lethal intent.
Mist coiled around him, expanding into a veil of white. Each time Rui's threads pierced the fog, a gust of icy wind rose, slowing their speed, diverting their path.
Step by step, Yukishiro advanced through the blizzard. Rui's hands twitched faster, threads striking in a frenzy. But still, the gap between them narrowed—five meters, then three.
Rui's eyes narrowed in frustration. His threads tangled tighter, weaving a web around the fog.
The encirclement shrank, compressing, sealing the mist in an unbreakable cage.
At last, Rui pulled sharply with both hands.
The cage contracted. Threads slashed inward, cutting through the fog like blades.
A cruel smile twisted his lips. "That's it. Shredded to ribbons—like all the others."
But then—his smile faltered.
There was no resistance. The threads met no flesh, no bone. Only empty air.
His eyes widened.
Danger prickled at his neck.
"Ice Breathing—Fusion Technique: Phantom—Swift Ice Spike."
The voice came from above.
Rui's head snapped up. His eyes widened as the night exploded with movement.
Yukishiro's figure fractured into dozens, phantoms shimmering in every direction. Each held a snow-white Nichirin Sword, each lunging forward at impossible speed. Blades rained down upon Rui from all sides, faster than thought, sharper than death.
For the first time since becoming a demon, true fear surged through Rui. The instincts that had long lain dormant in his immortal body screamed at him.
"This one is different…"
If those blades struck, even he would suffer.
Blood burst from Rui's fingertips. It sprayed across the threads, soaking them scarlet. The silks quivered, alive with his essence.
A cage of blood-red threads wove itself instantly around him, sealing him in. The spikes of Yukishiro's technique clashed against it, every blade halted just short of piercing flesh.
The crimson web trembled violently, but held.
Yukishiro's blade quivered, his face hard as ice. Even "Swift Ice Spike," his sharpest technique, could not break through.
Through the blood-stained threads, Rui's eyes glared. Cold. Merciless. Just a glance sent shivers crawling over Yukishiro's skin, like ants biting into his flesh.
"You'll die here," Rui said, voice dripping venom. He raised his left palm slowly, deliberately. "You stink bug."
At his command, the cage unraveled outward. Countless crimson threads surged like waves, spreading, lunging for Yukishiro.
Yukishiro's breath caught. His body blurred again, "Phantom" carrying him through the storm. He twisted, spun, cut—his blade flashing to intercept as many threads as he could.
But these silks weren't like the transparent ones. They were faster. Sharper. Hungrier.
Wherever they struck—ground, stone, trees—everything was shredded, splintered into fragments. The night filled with the sound of cutting, tearing, devouring.
Tanjiro's heart pounded as he watched. Yukishiro was being pushed back, hemmed in. Even with his cold air freezing the wounds the threads inflicted, blood still seeped through. He was cornered.
"No…he won't last."
Gritting his teeth, Tanjiro surged forward. "I'll help him. Even if I can't win—I can share the burden."
He knew Rui's threads couldn't be cut. The transparent silks had already broken his blade. These blood-red ones were even worse. But he couldn't stand by. He had only one option left—his strongest technique.
He drew a deep breath. His muscles tensed, lungs burning. He forced every ounce of strength into his broken sword.
"Full Concentration…" His voice rang across the clearing. "Water Breathing—Final Form!"
His feet slammed against the earth, body spinning like a whirlpool. Water roared in his ears, surging with his heartbeat.
"Ninth Form: Flowing Dance—Life Flow!"
He rushed Rui, spinning faster and faster, the broken sword sweeping arcs of water through the night.
Rui sneered. He flicked his hand. From his right palm, five crimson silks shot out like spears.
Tanjiro roared, swinging.
His blade met one.
And shattered.
His strongest strike—everything he had—failed to cut.
The silk didn't yield. Instead, the remaining four pierced his body in rapid succession. Pain exploded across his chest, his stomach, his limbs. He gasped, blood spraying as his body was hurled to the ground.
"Tanjiro!" Yukishiro shouted, his icy composure cracking.
Rui loomed over Tanjiro, hands curling into claws. His cold eyes glittered.
"Overconfident insect," he hissed. "You were allowed to crawl this long. But now—it ends."
His hands clenched.
"Blood Demon Art: Engraved Prison!"
The crimson silks converged, weaving a lattice of death that sealed the forest in a blood-soaked cage.