The alley fell into a deathly silence.
Drip…
Drip…
On the rough, weathered wall, puddles that had frozen solid were rapidly melting under the sudden heat.
Faced with the boy's calm—so calm it was almost merciful—questioning, the Swamp Demon found he didn't even have the strength to open his mouth and argue back.
But it wasn't because of shame… it was instinct. Or rather, it was fear carved into the deepest part of his soul by the true owner of the blood that flowed through his veins.
Yes… something in the very depths of his cells was screaming, warning him not to move, not to speak, not even to breathe.
As if the slightest twitch would cause the "sun" right in front of him to melt him away without mercy.
"D-damn it…"
His teeth began to chatter violently, clicking and grinding.
That sensation of being looked down on like an insect—of having his life and death no longer in his own hands—finally crushed the last of the demon's taut nerves.
"Don't look at me with those eyes… you bastard!!"
A shriek so warped it barely sounded human tore through the air.
If he couldn't escape underground, then he'd fight!
The Swamp Demon's humanoid form shattered in an instant, splitting into three.
All three bodies sprang at once, claws carrying a hopeless, desperate killing intent, striking from three blind angles—left, right, and above—at Yoriichi.
"Die! Die! Just die already!!"
The violent aura rushed straight at him, yet Yoriichi's face did not change in the slightest.
He only let out a soft sigh.
A creature that understood neither love nor the value of life.
Everything it did was simply to amuse itself… how pitiable, how empty.
In the next moment, the boy's thumb gently nudged the guard.
There wasn't even a trace of killing intent. Born with the "Selfless State," Yoriichi was like air—until the instant the blade reached you, you couldn't sense him at all.
Time in the alley seemed to freeze.
The two girls cowering against the wall only felt their vision blur.
They never saw the path of the blade leaving its sheath.
They saw only a light.
A flawless arc of crimson—like the first sliver of sunrise breaking over the horizon at dawn—casually cleaving through the pitch-black night.
Sss—
There was no crisp ring of metal meeting metal—only the faint sound of an extreme heat slicing through something as easily as butter.
Those three shadows of a demon, attacking from different directions, didn't even get the chance to brush the edge of the boy's clothing before they stiffened in midair.
Then—
Three heads slid slowly down along that crimson line.
"Ugh… ah…"
The Swamp Demon's vision spun, then plummeted.
Even as his head hit the ground, he still didn't understand what had happened.
It was too fast.
So fast that pain couldn't catch up to the speed of death.
But what followed wasn't the familiar sensation of regeneration.
It was a scorching heat, erupting from the severed surface and spreading like wildfire.
"So hot… my body… it's burning…"
The Swamp Demon stared at his torso in terror.
Where blood should have been spraying, the broken neck now glowed like burning charcoal—red sparks flickering.
The wound wasn't healing. It was breaking down, collapsing piece by piece.
That sword… the power left behind by that Crimson Blade was devouring his cells with tyrannical force, burning Muzan's blood to ash!
In the final second before his consciousness sank into darkness, through a rapidly blurring view, the Swamp Demon looked toward the figure that was slowly sheathing his blade.
That back wasn't tall—if anything, it looked slender.
Yet in the demon's eyes, it was an insurmountable mountain, a blazing sun he couldn't bear to face.
"So that's how it is…"
A thought—absurd, yet terrifyingly real—suddenly surfaced in his fading mind.
"The boy Muzan-sama has been searching for… the one with the earrings… it's him…"
"But Muzan-sama's goal was never to have them kill him…"
"He's just… afraid of this guy."
The night wind swept through.
The three demon corpses on the ground, along with their last resentful malice, crumbled into ash and scattered into the winter air.
As the Swamp Demon's final dust dispersed, that suffocating pressure in the alley finally receded with it.
Yoriichi slowly slid his blade back into its sheath.
Click.
A soft sound—like a signal—releasing time to flow again.
But the surviving girl in the corner didn't feel even a trace of joy at the demon's disappearance.
Her face was deathly pale. She was curled up against the wall, trembling violently.
The hellish scene from moments ago had already shattered her mind; she was still trapped in fear.
Until her gaze caught a scrap of cloth lying not far away.
It was the brand-new kimono her dearest friend Satomi had worn for the first time today.
"Sa… Satomi?"
The girl clapped a hand over her mouth, letting out a stifled, disbelieving sob.
In that instant, grief finally overwhelmed fear. She stumbled toward the spot where the demon's split body had vanished.
"Satomi! Satomi!"
She fell to her knees beside the scattered clothing, both hands clutching the torn fabric as she cried out until her voice shredded.
Just minutes ago, her friend had been laughing with her, talking about where they would go tomorrow to buy new ribbons.
Now there wasn't even a bone left behind.
The wreckage on the ground proved the nightmare hadn't been an illusion.
Yoriichi watched in silence.
Only now, his clear red eyes carried a more complex shade.
No matter how fast the blade… no matter how transcendent the swordsmanship… some things, once lost, could never be brought back.
That helplessness—he understood it better than anyone.
Without a word, he stepped closer, bent down, and picked up a butterfly hair ornament dusted with grime.
It was the piece the Swamp Demon had been toying with and showing off.
He took a handkerchief from his chest and carefully wiped away the bloodstains.
"I'm sorry. I came too late."
His voice was quiet, yet it carried a soothing power that broke through the girl's grief.
She lifted her tear-swollen eyes, looking up at the swordsman who had saved her life.
Behind him was the hazy moonlight. His face held no murderous aftertaste from slaying a demon—only sympathy as he looked at her.
He stepped forward and held out the cleaned ornament with both hands.
"I can't bring her life back," he said softly, "but at the very least… please take her home."
Then, even more gently: "Don't leave her keepsake in a place this cold and dark."
With trembling hands, the girl accepted the ornament, still warm from the heat of his palms.
The instant her fingertips touched it, the fear and sorrow she'd been holding back finally found a way out.
"Wah… th-thank you… thank you…"
Clutching her friend's keepsake, she pressed her forehead to the icy ground and sobbed her gratitude toward Yoriichi.
He didn't speak, only lifting a hand as if to gently pat her shoulder in comfort.
And then—at the most solemn, heavy moment—
Grrrrr—!!
A long, unmistakable growl of hunger suddenly exploded through the dead-silent alley.
"…"
The girl's crying cut off. With tears still on her face, she looked up in confusion.
The boy who had just seemed like a merciful god now stood there with deadly seriousness, one hand pressing his stomach, brows tightly furrowed—like he'd encountered an enemy even more troublesome than a demon.
"My apologies," he said.
His expression was still composed, but his tone held a rare trace of embarrassment. "I used too much energy rushing here, and…"
Traveling through the night, awakening the Crimson Blade, unleashing the Breath of the Sun—on a fifteen-year-old body that wasn't fully grown yet, it was finally catching up.
Right now, his stomach felt like a black hole.
"Um…"
Looking at the stunned girl, he hesitated, then asked with earnest seriousness, "Is there anywhere nearby that's still serving food at this hour?"
The girl froze for several seconds before hurriedly wiping her tears, then answered timidly, "M-my family runs an udon shop. If you don't mind… please, let me treat you!"
…
At the same time—
Far from the clamor of the human world, within a separate dimension—the Infinity Castle.
Between upside-down pavilions and inverted corridors, Nakime sat at the center. The monotonous, chilling notes of her biwa echoed through the vast wooden passageways.
And deeper within those layered structures, inside an elegantly furnished study—
Kibutsuji Muzan, dressed in a meticulously tailored suit, sat gracefully on a leather sofa.
In his hands was a thick medical book in a foreign language, long fingers poised to turn the page.
In posture and expression alike, he was the image of a refined, learned gentleman.
Until—
"Hm?"
His pale hand halted in midair.
Those plum-red, slit-pupil eyes narrowed, a flash of displeasure cutting through them.
Just an instant ago, he had sensed a portion of the blood he'd distributed vanish completely.
The direction was… the northwestern town.
"The Swamp Demon… dead?"
Muzan closed the book, irritation sharpening his cold voice. "With a Blood Demon Art that convenient for hiding and escaping, and he still got killed by a demon slayer… useless trash."
To him, the life or death of a demon not even worthy of the Lower Moons was meaningless.
He couldn't even be bothered to investigate the cause. He simply assumed the Swamp Demon's greed had exposed him, and a Hashira had happened to cross paths with him.
Unconcerned, he picked up the book again, ready to continue reading.
And then—
In the very next second, his body trembled faintly.
"This is…"
An intensely abnormal sensation surged along the dying thread of the Swamp Demon's cellular link, crossing the distance of space and stabbing straight into Muzan's nerves.
It wasn't the icy helplessness of death.
It was… heat.
As if magma had been poured directly into his body—a terrifying high temperature that felt capable of incinerating everything, striking in an instant!
Muzan clutched his arm. There was no wound, yet he felt a vivid, soul-shaking phantom pain all the same.
Then, the Swamp Demon's final visual imprint before death detonated in his mind like lightning.
In the darkness—
A crimson arc, like the sun itself.
And—
A hanafuda earring bearing the image of the sun, swaying slightly in the firelight.
"!!!"
Crash!
As if he had seen something impossible, the heavy book in his hands was crushed to powder. He sprang up from the sofa.
The elegant composure on his face twisted into something ugly and feral. Cold sweat drenched his back in an instant.
"Impossible…"
Muzan stared into empty air, his breathing ragged and chaotic.
That fear.
That fear engraved into every cell of his body—fully awakened.
Unlike last time, this time he had truly, unmistakably felt what the Swamp Demon encountered in his final moment.
"That red-haired brat… what the hell is going on?!"
Muzan roared, hysteria tearing at his voice.
Then, as if trying to convince himself, he muttered, "Just a coincidence… just the kid imitating some Breathing Style… just that damned Nichirin Blade happening to be red…"
But… could there really be that many coincidences?
After all, that burning sensation traveling through the blood couldn't be faked.
That wasn't ordinary flame.
That was, without question, the taste of the "sun."
Could it be… that after four hundred years, someone capable of inheriting the Breath of that man—of the man named Tsugikuni Yoriichi—had finally appeared?
No. He couldn't delay any longer.
No matter what, he had to confirm that bastard's identity as soon as possible.
Should he… have "him" take a look?
If it were that one—if it were Kokushibo, Upper Rank One—surely he could effortlessly—
The thought had barely formed when Muzan's body stiffened.
A face with six eyes—one that resembled the nightmare of that man far too closely—abruptly surfaced in his mind.
"No… no."
Large beads of cold sweat rolled down his forehead and splattered onto the floor as Muzan immediately rejected the idea.
Not only because he doubted Kokushibo's loyalty, but because… he didn't want to see that face right now.
Just imagining it appearing before him made the phantom pain at his old wound flare even worse.
And besides—if that man truly returned, or if his heir had appeared… would Kokushibo turn on him?
After all, they had once been brothers…
"Nakime!"
Muzan forcibly gathered his thoughts, snapped his head up, and his sharp, icy voice echoed through the Infinity Castle.
Twang!
The biwa rang out in hurried reply, answering her master's summons.
"Bring Susamaru and Yahaba to me. Now. Immediately!"
Muzan turned, those blood-red eyes tangled with pure killing intent.
And if one looked closely, buried deep within them was a trace he couldn't fully hide—
Panic.
"Send them to the northwestern town. Find the demon slayer wearing the hanafuda earrings!"
"No matter what it takes… kill him!"
"This time, I will confirm with my own eyes… whether that nightmare has truly returned!"
-------
My : pat*eon*com/RuneA
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