A thousand miles away, north of Kyoto, among the mountains, low clouds pressed down, reducing the peaks to vague silhouettes. Heavy fog rose from the valley floor, carrying the stench of rotting leaves and earth, shrouding everything in a grey-white haze.
On this ridge, where even birds avoided, a man stood.
Elegant kimono, handsome features, his skin unnaturally pale. His red vertical pupils contracted slightly in the mist.
Muzan Kibutsuji.
At his feet, the ground was a mess, shattered rock, scorched earth, and blood. Lots of blood. Not someone else's. His own. Fresh, old, dried, still wet… layer upon layer, covering the ground for several yards around.
He had "died" here many times. Then revived. Then died again. So it went.
Muzan's expression was calm. Not the calm of relief. The numbness of habit.
He suddenly turned his gaze eastward, toward Musashi Province. Too far to see, but he could feel it. The seven "demons" he had sent, all destroyed. They had died cleanly, with no lingering traces.
Yes. The demons attracted to Kaede Village by Tsubaki… were actually deliberately sent by Muzan to investigate that area. After all, one of his demons had died there earlier. He needed to find out what had happened. To see if it was the Demon Slayer Corps.
Those seven demons had been his carefully selected, relatively powerful ones. And now, they were all gone again.
But this time, they had "brought" him interesting information. Their deaths were even connected to the reason he had come here.
Muzan withdrew his gaze and silently turned to face another direction.
At the end of the ridge, the "fog" grew thicker. It was demonic aura. Grey-white demonic aura so dense it was almost tangible, like a natural phenomenon. A cloud that seemed never to dissipate, perched in the deepest part of the mountains.
For over ten miles in every direction, the grass was withered, the earth cracked, even the rocks were squeezed into fine fissures by that oppressive force. Pure crushing pressure from existence itself. Living things dared not approach.
Because at the center of that cloud crouched something.
Seven and a half meters. That was its height in a crouch. If it stood, no one knew. Because in two hundred years, it had never stood.
Its size was absurdly large. Though it had a vaguely human outline, its two thick legs were tucked beneath it, its knees bent backward like a spider's hind limbs. Its wide feet dug into the rock face, using the entire mountain as its seat.
It also had six arms extending from its torso. The top two were thickest, resting on its knees, their knuckles as wide as bowl openings. The middle two were slightly thinner, crossed over its chest. The lowermost two were the longest, hanging to the ground, their fingertips buried in the soil.
What was most terrifying was its face. Or rather, its mask.
A white bone mask covered its entire face. The mask was shaped somewhere between human and spider: a broad forehead, flaring cheekbones, a sharp chin. Its surface was smooth as porcelain, with only three narrow slits left for eyes and mouth. Behind those slits were two masses of greenish-yellow light. Its eyes.
Behind the bone mask, red hair was wild and disheveled.
Tsuchigumo.
According to the framework Shinji had summarized and also according to the rough classifications that some demons in Kyoto like Kidōmaru had developed themselves, Tsuchigumo was a great demon who had undergone at least thirteen transformations, fully completing materialization and entering etherealization.
It was the most exceptional, even the strongest, among the common spider-demon race. In ancient times, as the leader of the Tsuchigumo, it had once been on par with Shuten-dōji and the Great Tengu. A violent, bloodthirsty demon who loved nothing more than challenging the strong.
It had been severely wounded challenging the then-Master of All Demons, and had fallen into a deep slumber.
Now, it had just awakened. And it was still in a hazy, post-sleep grumpiness.
This was Muzan's target. Under the pretense of being a minor demon under Kidōmaru's command, he carried Hagoromo Gitsune's orders, here to request its aid.
For Muzan, it was genuinely interesting. Those who had destroyed his demons were not the Demon Slayer Corps, but the shrine maiden and demon guarding the Shikon Jewel, the same ones who had sent Kidōmaru back in defeat. And the target he was here to request Tsuchigumo to deal with… was the same.
What a coincidence.
However, before this, Muzan had already come many times. Delivered many messages. Died many times. Those bloodstains were from those previous attempts.
Fortunately, Muzan never lacked patience.
As always, in the thick fog of the lingering night, he walked toward that even denser cloud of mist. His pace was unhurried. With each step, the rock beneath his feet issued a cracking sound, not from his own force, but from the pressure of that demonic aura, causing the very earth to fissure.
When he was still twenty yards from Tsuchigumo, he stopped. Experience had taught him that any closer and he would be crushed.
"Again?" A voice came from behind the bone mask. Rough, deep, like the rumble of a boulder rolling down a mountain, compressed into human speech. It carried extreme impatience.
"Lady Hagoromo Gitsune requests that you—"
He didn't finish.
The lowermost two arms, hanging to the ground, moved. With speed that belied their massive size. A huge palm came down.
Bang.
Muzan's body was slammed into the earth. From the chest up, he turned into a cloud of blood mist. His legs remained standing in the pit.
But soon, from the swirling fog outside, another Muzan Kibutsuji appeared and walked in. His kimono was pristine, his features still handsome. He glanced at the legs of his "former self" left behind, his expression unchanged.
"This is the seventeenth time, Lord Tsuchigumo," he said.
"Then why the hell won't you die?" Tsuchigumo's voice was full of irritation.
The green light behind the bone mask flickered. Its six arms moved simultaneously but not to attack, just to express impatience. Still, the sight of all six arms twitching at once was enough to make anyone's scalp crawl.
"You can't kill me, Lord Tsuchigumo," Muzan said.
"I know." Tsuchigumo's middle arms uncrossed from its chest and spread to the sides. The gesture had an almost lazy, shameless quality to it, an eerie contrast to its terrifying appearance.
"That's what's annoying." It shifted its jaw, the bone mask creaking. "A little unkillable thing, showing up every few days to bother me. Two hundred years ago, I'd have chewed you up, bits and all."
"But you've grown weaker, so you can't chew me up now."
"…"
A moment of silence.
Tsuchigumo's upper arms lifted from its knees, its ten fingers interlaced, cradling its chin. That pose, paired with that white bone mask, actually gave off a strangely thoughtful vibe.
"Fine… since you've been so persistent, I'll give you a chance to speak, little thing. What does Hagoromo want this time?"
"The situation in Kantō has changed."
This was the first time in nearly a month that Muzan had been allowed to speak. "It was originally Lord Kidōmaru's responsibility, but now Lord Kidōmaru cannot handle it. So Lady Hagoromo requires you—"
"Kidōmaru?" Tsuchigumo's tone carried obvious mockery. "That little runt who followed behind Shuten-dōji? Wasn't he barely competent? He can't handle it?"
"He had an arm broken by a demon warrior and a shrine maiden working together."
The green light behind the bone mask flared.
"Oh?"
The syllable stretched long. With interest. Not interest in the situation. Interest in "battle."
Muzan noted this.
"That shrine maiden and demon warrior… possess the Shikon Jewel."
All six arms stopped moving. The green light behind the bone mask suddenly blazed bright.
"The Shikon Jewel?"
"Yes."
The air froze. Even the demonic aura spreading for miles stopped moving.
Tsuchigumo didn't speak. It seemed to be thinking. For a long time. So long that Muzan began to subconsciously think he was about to be smashed into pieces again.
Then that rough, deep voice spoke again. Not fury. Not agreement. Just...
"Let me sleep a few more days."
The six arms returned to position. The upper two back on its knees, the middle two crossed back over its chest, the lower two back on the ground.
"In a few days, we'll talk!"
Muzan's vertical pupils flickered. He didn't press. After all, "we'll talk in a few days" was the closest thing to agreement he had received in seventeen visits. Every previous response had been "get lost" or a direct smashing.
Progress.
Muzan turned and walked into the mist.
Behind him, Tsuchigumo's massive form curled back down, its six arms drawing close, like a silent mountain. The green light behind the bone mask slowly dimmed.
But after Muzan had walked far, he thought he heard a faint sound. Muttering.
"The Shikon Jewel… So that thing left by that student of Suzuka? Midoriko…"
"Interesting."