It's said that a first-rate Demon Slayer's blade never stains with blood when slaying demons.
Chika stared at the pool of demon blood splattered before her and sighed. She still had a long way to go—her swordsmanship, though devastating under the blessing of her Breathing, lacked refinement. Power? Plenty. Technique? Still rough.
Tanjiro, watching her fell a demon in one strike, wasted no time following up. He didn't use Hinokami Kagura like his sister, but his Water Breathing flowed just as fiercely.
Not that it mattered—either way, their power was far beyond the demons before them.
"Water Breathing—Flowing Dance! Water Surface Slash!"
The first form enhanced his movement, the second his strike. Yahaba's eyes trembled, unable to lock onto Tanjiro's blur. The boy's blade flashed—a single clean stroke—and Yahaba's head fell.
Haa…
Tanjiro exhaled, the steady rhythm of Total Concentration breathing stabilizing his pulse. He could tell—these demons were far stronger than the ones from Mount Fujikasane. Yet even so… it hadn't mattered.
Such was the power of Total Concentration: Constant.
He wasn't yet strong enough to be called a Hashira, but if this were a few generations ago, this alone would have earned him the title. After all, this era's Hashira were the strongest since the Warring States.
After the fight, Chika and Tanjiro turned back toward Tamayo's mansion.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, a man in a crisp black suit paused mid-step—his hand tightening around the little girl he carried.
Kibutsuji Muzan had just felt it. Two of his personal demons—his direct subordinates—were dead.
If it had been some nameless fledgling, he wouldn't have cared. But these two had followed him here, into this very city. Their presence was near his own. Their deaths were a direct insult.
"Daddy? What's wrong?"
The little girl blinked up at him. Muzan's face softened instantly into a gentle smile.
"Nothing, my dear. Daddy just remembered some urgent work. You and Mommy go home first, all right?"
"Okay! Come home soon!"
He watched them disappear into a carriage. The smile faded. His expression hardened, shadows creeping over his pale features.
He turned sharply down a deserted alley—and in the next instant, his body dissolved into mist.
When he reappeared, it was before the corpses of Susamaru and Yahaba.
A quick glance was all it took. Two Demon Slayers—no, two humans—had done this. His jaw tightened.
"Two against two… and they lost? Useless trash."
He spat the words through clenched teeth.
These weren't random demons—they were his. His personal attendants. Slain, and so close to him. An open slap to the face.
Fury simmered under his cold, perfect mask. His scarlet eyes swept over the scene—then froze.
A single sword mark scored the wall beside the corpses, faintly scorched, as if licked by sunlight itself.
For an instant, all color drained from his face.
No.
It can't be…
"This sword mark… this is—!"
His pupils contracted to pinpoints. His hands began to shake.
He remembered.
The flames. The blade. The man who once stood before him—terrifying beyond words. The one who had carved fear into his very soul.
The Breath of the Sun. Hinokami Kagura. The original Breath.
He'd faced that swordsman centuries ago—Yoriichi Tsugikuni. A single encounter, and Muzan had been utterly crushed, forced to split his body apart and flee like a worm.
If Muzan was the ceiling of the demon world, then that man stood upon the roof itself. Because of him, demons had once been hunted. Because of him, Muzan had tasted fear.
And even now, centuries after Yoriichi's death, the memory still haunted him.
He's dead, Muzan told himself. He died like a human should have!
But staring at that fiery scar on the wall, his conviction trembled.
Could it be—another wielder of the Sun's Breath? Someone who inherited that cursed flame?
No. No, impossible.
And yet… what if?
What if this new slayer awakened the same power? What if he—no, she—unleashed that same light?
A shudder ran through him.
He pressed a trembling hand to the wall, and it disintegrated into ash under his touch.
"Damn it… damn it all!!"
For the first time in decades, Kibutsuji Muzan felt panic clawing at his chest.
He vanished into the darkness—reappearing moments later in the Infinite Castle.
The command he issued sent every Upper Moon reeling through the void.
Normally, such summons only meant one thing—one of the Upper Ranks had fallen.
Akaza, Upper Rank Three, opened his eyes within the shifting chambers of Infinity. His expression hardened.
"Don't tell me… that bastard Doma got himself killed by a Hashira?"
"Hey, hey~ that's rude," Doma's cheerful voice chimed from behind him. "I'm still very much alive."
One by one, they appeared—
Upper Rank One, Kokushibo.
Upper Rank Two, Doma.
Upper Rank Three, Akaza.
Upper Rank Four, Hantengu.
Upper Rank Five, Gyokko.
Upper Rank Six, Gyutaro.
And at the center of them all—
Their master.
Kibutsuji Muzan.