Chapter 187: Gokui: Cloud Cutter
On the mountain path several miles away, Hikaru finally let his hand fall from the hilt.
A crisp click echoed through the silent woods, clean and absolute.
The moment Onikiri slid fully into its sheath, the heavens above remained fractured. The invisible, jagged tear spanning the distant night sky had yet to mend. Sliced dark clouds drifted sluggishly, attempting to close the wound, but the pale moonlight seized the opportunity, bleeding through the fissure to bathe half the mountain ridge in a ghostly silver glow.
He lowered his gaze to his open palm.
Slashing a target from several miles away naturally yielded no physical blood splatter. Yet, he knew with absolute certainty that the demon had been erased from existence.
This was the Sword Intent he had finally grasped.
It stood in stark, violent contrast to the philosophy of Kamiizumi Nobutsuna. Where the Sword Saint sought emptiness, Hikaru's path was one of Fullness.
He crammed everything he possessed into the strike. Every artifact he had relentlessly grinded to its maximum favorability, every physical transformation violently integrated into his demonic flesh, every discarded fragment salvaged from the scrap heaps and nurtured with bizarre affection—he stuffed it all into the steel of his blade. He poured the very existence of an Oni Samurai who had clawed his way out of a mountain of corpses into that single swing.
Filled to the absolute brim.
He poured his essence until the metal groaned, unable to carry another drop. He filled himself until his own body became the ultimate vessel, allowing the overflowing pressure to naturally detonate and bloom outward.
Extreme. Radical.
The Ultimate Intent.
This was his Sword Intent. It lacked the pure, unyielding belief of a human swordsman. Instead, it mirrored the direct, greedy posture of a demon facing the world—a ravenous desire to possess absolutely everything, coupled with an even more violent urge to butcher anything that dared stand in his way.
Facts proved that demons truly could possess 'Intent'. Even if the path was infinitely more grueling than it was for humans. Even if Hikaru had to rely on his system to force his way to this precipice.
It was possible.
That single slash was his first time executing a strike with true Sword Intent, yet the sheer devastation spoke for itself. The split clouds and the demon reduced to fine ash were ironclad evidence. He could execute a target from leagues away.
This technique deserved a proper name. Gokui: Cloud Cutter.
The Onikiri forged under this principle acted as the perfect vessel. It was a flawless demon blade capable of shouldering the entirety of Hikaru's monstrous power. It wasn't merely an evolution; as long as the weapon belonged to him, it would swallow his power whole and project it into reality.
To a certain extent, it had become a peerless weapon, standing on equal footing with the legendary Tessaiga.
It made perfect sense why so many Great Yokai obsessed over maintaining a human form, desperately seeking to forge a 'demon blade' of their own. A weapon acting as a physical carrier for Intent allowed a demon's Yao Qi to bloom with absolute perfection.
The weapon resting in Hikaru's grip had achieved exactly that. Tessaiga likely operated on the exact same logic.
Ahead of him, Yoriichi abruptly halted his frantic sprint. His boots dug into the dirt, kicking up a spray of loose soil as he whipped his head around to stare at Hikaru.
The red-haired swordsman rarely allowed his emotions to surface, but right now, those deep crimson eyes were blown wide with undisguised shock.
Through the lens of his Transparent World, Yoriichi had witnessed the impossible. In that fleeting fraction of a second, Hikaru's 'Intent' had violently shattered the constraints of the physical body, cleanly bypassing the barrier of space itself.
It was a terrifying realm that even Yoriichi had not yet fully stepped into.
True, the technical refinement of Hikaru's Intent wasn't incredibly deep. In terms of sheer philosophical depth, it fell short of veteran Sword Saints like Nobutsuna. But in terms of raw, towering height, it lacked absolutely nothing.
, Hikaru's foundation was monstrous. As an undead entity, a demon commanding the Yao Qi of the Ninth Transformation, the force he unleashed was never just Sword Intent. It was the crushing, suffocating weight and physical strength of a Ninth Transformation anomaly.
Only by forcing Intent, Qi, and physical power to detonate simultaneously, overflowing the vessel, could it be crowned as Goku. The absolute limit.
"Sir..." Hikaru broke the silence, casually smoothing out the wrinkled edges of his cuffs.
His voice was a flat, calm drawl, betraying none of the intense satisfaction bubbling in his chest. To casually flex his power in front of Tsugikuni Yoriichi—the undisputed, legendary pinnacle of the Demon Slayer world—brought him an immense, quiet thrill.
"That demon is dead." He paused, letting the wind rustle the leaves. "Although your house couldn't be saved... your wife is completely fine."
Those last four words acted like a severed puppet string. The suffocating tension locking Yoriichi's muscles vanished, instantly replaced by a desperate, explosive urgency.
"Let's go!"
Without wasting another breath, Hikaru moved. Purple lightning cracked violently beneath his boots as Thunder Muscle activated at maximum output. The air popped with the smell of ozone. He blurred into a streak of violet light, his demonic physiology allowing him to outpace even Yoriichi's supreme Breathing Style.
The two tore through the dense mountain forest, shattering branches and leaving a trail of displaced wind. A treacherous trek that would take an ordinary man hours was violently compressed into less than thirty seconds.
When they finally breached the tree line and entered the small mountain hollow, the devastation matched Hikaru's exact description.
The quaint wooden cabin had been obliterated. The thatched roof was entirely gone, and three of the four walls had been reduced to splintered kindling. A few lonely, scorched pillars stubbornly jutted toward the sky. A massive, terrifyingly smooth trench had been gouged directly into the earth, the soil around it blackened and glassy. The heavy stench of burnt wood and scorched earth choked the air.
"Uta!" Yoriichi's voice cracked as he threw himself into the smoking ruins.
Tucked away in the corner of the sole surviving wall, Uta was curled into a tight ball, shivering beneath a thick, dust-caked quilt. Her hair was a tangled mess, her face drained of all color, and her eyes wide with lingering terror—but she was breathing. There wasn't a single drop of blood on her clothes, nor a scratch on her skin.
"Yoriichi..." The moment her eyes locked onto her husband, the dam broke. The resilient woman who had refused to scream or cry in the face of a flesh-eating monster finally collapsed into heavy, wracking sobs.
Yoriichi dropped to his knees, pulling her desperately against his chest. His large, calloused hands trembled uncontrollably. The peerless swordsman who viewed the world with the calm detachment of still water was gone, replaced entirely by a terrified husband who had narrowly avoided losing his entire world.
Hikaru remained at the edge of the ruins, keeping his distance to give them space. He looked down at the massive trench, quietly analyzing the catastrophic physical scar left by his own strike.
'Master... I... I did it...'
The timid, echoing thought bypassed the system panel entirely, whispering directly into his mind. It was the raw, nascent voice of the blade itself. It lacked proper speech, but the meaning was clear—its blade soul had successfully formed.
Hikaru's thumb gently stroked the wrapped hilt of his weapon. This was his demon blade, Muramasa. It couldn't take human form just yet, but it had awakened a soul. It possessed self-awareness and the durability to shoulder his apocalyptic power.
This was the true nature of his Sword Intent. Unreasonable destructive stats, an impossible attack range, and a complete disregard for the laws of physics. This was the ultimate, violent art of a yokai.
High above, the fractured clouds finally stitched themselves back together, swallowing the moonlight and plunging the mountain back into darkness. Yet, the shadows did not last long. A faint, warm glow began to flicker through the trees.
Beneath the brim of his bamboo hat, Hikaru's Crimson Demon Eyes narrowed slightly, the pupils contracting into thin, dangerous slits. He sensed them before he heard them.
A second later, the chaotic, rapid crunch of boots against dry leaves echoed through the forest. It was a coordinated group. A squad of figures burst through the dense foliage, stepping into his line of sight.
They wore uniform, pitch-black attire, with medium-sized paper lanterns swinging from their belts. The stark white character for 'Metsu' was emblazoned across their backs, and long swords hung securely at their hips. They were panting, clearly exhausted from a frantic, high-speed pursuit.
The Demon Slayer Corps. They had finally arrived.
They were too late to catch the shadow of the demon, but if Hikaru hadn't intervened, their tardiness would have resulted in a tragedy.
Leading the pack was a man wearing a dark crow mask, his lean frame wrapped in a tight-fitting black haori. His movements were sharp and efficient, completely unhindered by the rough terrain. Flanking him were two younger swordsmen, a man and a woman who looked to be in their early twenties. Despite their heavy breathing, they maintained a rigid, disciplined posture, their footsteps surprisingly light.
Hikaru ignored the slayers, his demonic gaze locking instantly onto the weapons at their waists.
The metal possessed a highly peculiar luster. Having spent days hammering iron alongside the legendary blacksmith Totosai, Hikaru immediately recognized that this faint, absorbing sheen couldn't be polished out of ordinary steel. It was the unique, sun-drenched signature of ore that had bathed in daylight for years.
Forged from scarlet ore, absorbing the absolute power of the sun directly into the cutting edge. This was the first time Hikaru had laid eyes on one in reality, but he knew exactly what it was.
A Nichirin Blade.
A faint smirk touched his lips. The very thing he had been hunting for had just delivered itself right to his doorstep.
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