In the courtyard behind Kyogoku House, Giyu was practicing with his Nichirin Sword, his every motion clean and precise.
The hem of his black kimono fluttered in the wind as he swung repeatedly, each strike cutting through the air with such speed that faint afterimages trailed behind him. Every swing perfectly split the invisible flow of wind itself.
Ever since becoming a demon, his body's affinity with the Breathing Styles had reached an unprecedented level—especially with Wind Breathing. Techniques that once demanded extreme physical exertion could now be executed with a mere flick of his wrist. His oxygen intake efficiency far exceeded human limits, and his speed and reflexes had multiplied several times over.
"Lord Mushiki! Bad news!"
The hurried footsteps and trembling voice of a samurai responsible for the front hall shattered the quiet. His face was pale with fear as he stumbled toward Giyu.
"A blond man just came to the front hall," he gasped, "and in one go he reserved the three most beautiful courtesans in the house. But… it's been an entire hour, and none of the girls have come out. There are strange sounds coming from the room!"
"Blond?"
Giyu froze, a cold light flickering in his dark-blue pupils. He didn't need to think twice—he already knew who it was.
"Which room?"
"Room One!"
Before the words left the man's mouth, Giyu had already vanished.
It wasn't teleportation—just the extreme limit of Wind Breathing. His black kimono whipped through the corridor like a slicing gust. In only two breaths, he stood before Room One.
The door was ajar, and from the crack seeped a dense scent of blood mixed with a sweet undertone—Douma's unmistakable scent.
Giyu pushed the door open. The sight before him made his pupils constrict sharply.
The walls and floor were painted with blood. The three courtesans lay in pieces across the tatami, their lifeless remains scattered.
At the center sat Douma, golden hair flecked with blood, twirling a severed arm in his hand. His usual empty smile stretched across his face as crimson droplets rolled down his fingers, glimmering in the lamplight.
"Oh my, if it isn't Mushiki," Douma said cheerfully, tossing the arm to the floor with a soft thud. "You came just in time. The girls here taste exquisite—much sweeter than my followers. Shame they're so delicate, though. Hardly enough to fill my teeth."
Giyu said nothing. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, and pale-blue ripples shimmered faintly across the blade.
He could feel it clearly—Douma's demonic aura was denser than before. He'd devoured many lives since their last encounter.
"Cat got your tongue?" Douma chuckled, stepping closer with a glint of mockery in his eyes. "You've done such a fine job managing this district. Don't tell me you've been fattening these girls up just to feast on them yourself?"
Still silent, Giyu sent a message through the Muzan cells within him. Requesting blood duel position exchange with Upper Moon Two, Douma.
Moments later, Muzan's cold voice echoed in his mind. Approved.
The instant the approval came, Giyu moved.
His blade flashed—a strike so fast that even Douma's grin hadn't yet faded when the sword was already at his neck.
Douma's pupils shrank. His fingers instantly summoned shards of ice, forming blades that intercepted the strike. The same blades then shot back toward Giyu's chest like spears.
"Water Breathing, Tenth Form: Constant Flux!"
Blue light burst outward like waves, each flowing cut shattering the ice blades into fragments.
Giyu closed the distance, sliding his sword along the icy edge straight toward Douma's wrist. The strength behind his grip made Douma's arm go numb, nearly tearing the weapon from his hand.
"My, such power! Impressive, Lord Mushiki."
Douma's mocking tone remained, but his body moved quickly. He jumped back and clasped his hands together.
"Blood Demon Art: Crystal Child!"
From the ground erupted countless ice spikes, rising like a forest of frozen spears that lunged toward Giyu. Each was coated with a thin frost—touching even one meant instant frostbite.
Giyu didn't dodge. His sword spun rapidly, unleashing a gust of razor-edged wind. "Wind Breathing, Third Form: Clear Storm Wind Tree!"
A swirling storm erupted around him, shredding the ice spears into glittering shards that scattered harmlessly to the ground.
Even after unleashing multiple techniques in succession, his breathing remained steady, his expression calm. Not a drop of sweat formed on his brow.
That was the advantage of a demon—so long as he wasn't decapitated, he could fight endlessly.
"How fun!" Douma exclaimed, eyes gleaming with excitement. He swept his hand outward. A chilling mist spread, filling the entire room.
"Blood Demon Art: Frozen Lotus Bodhisattva!"
From within the mist, dozens of ice sculptures of serene Buddhas rose slowly, each holding a frozen sword that thrust toward Giyu all at once.
The fog made visibility nearly zero. A normal person wouldn't even see the attacks coming. But Giyu's demon eyes could clearly trace every movement within the haze—the shimmer of each ice blade, the rhythm of each swing.
"Hinokami Kagura, Third Form: Raging Sun!"
Orange flames erupted along Giyu's blade, their scorching heat tearing through the freezing mist. The ice-crafted Buddhas that filled the room melted instantly upon contact, collapsing into streams of water that hissed against the floor.
Seizing the brief opening, Giyu shot forward like an arrow loosed from its string. His blade cut through the air in a brilliant arc. "Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash!"
The blue light cleaved cleanly across Douma's chest. He hadn't expected the attack—his chest split open to the bone, black blood spraying across the floor.
"Hahaha! Lord Mushiki, you're far stronger than you ever were as a human! How does it feel? Being a demon suits you, doesn't it?"
Before Giyu could respond, the wound began to close, flesh knitting back together at a speed visible to the eye.
That was the cursed blessing of a demon's body—healing that made death a distant threat. Douma's grin only widened as he formed new blades of ice in his hands and lunged again.
The sound of clashing steel filled the room like a barrage of gunfire. The tables, screens, and walls around them shattered, sliced apart by shockwaves of wind and frost. Deep slashes and jagged icicles covered every surface.
Giyu moved with mechanical precision, shifting seamlessly between forms—Water Breathing for defense, Wind Breathing for speed, Flame Breathing to melt the ice, and Sun Breathing to strike. Every blow was deliberate, merciless, and aimed to kill.
Douma darted forward suddenly, his left hand locking around Giyu's wrist while his right hand thrust an ice blade toward his heart.
Giyu's pupils shrank. His left arm twisted violently, shoving Douma back as his sword flashed downward—cutting off his own trapped wrist without hesitation.
Black blood splattered across the tatami, but before a single drop could hit the ground, his severed wrist regenerated, a new hand forming as smoothly as water filling a cup.
"Regeneration really does come in handy," Giyu said flatly, gripping his sword once more with his restored hand and lunging forward again.
Their movements blurred through the wrecked chamber, golden arcs of the Nichirin blade crashing against Douma's icy blue techniques. Sparks and frost intertwined, scattering fire and mist as the battle reached its peak.
Giyu could tell that Douma's strength was far beyond that of a normal Upper Moon. His ice-based Blood Demon Art wasn't just wide-ranging—it froze the very air, restricting movement itself. If not for Sun Breathing's natural advantage over demons and his own limitless stamina, he'd have already fallen behind.
Douma, too, was beginning to show surprise. The Upper Moon Six before him wielded four different Breathing Styles with effortless mastery, combining them with demonic power that enhanced his speed, strength, and regeneration to terrifying levels.
This wasn't the clumsy imitation of a demon who had forgotten humanity—this was control. Precision. Power that was beginning to rival his own.
"My, my… Lord Mushiki," Douma said with a mocking smile, though a trace of tension flickered in his eyes. "Are you hiding something else up your sleeve?"
Giyu didn't answer. He simply raised his blade, the golden glow along its edge growing brighter with every passing second. He knew what he had to do—not only to maintain Muzan's trust, but to finish Douma here and now.
In his left palm, faint blue vapor began to swirl, spinning faster and faster until it formed a miniature vortex of water.
It was the hybrid technique he had created after becoming a demon—a fusion of Water Breathing and Blood Demon Art. His secret weapon. One he had never shown to anyone before.
"A Blood Demon Art?" Douma's grin faltered slightly as his eyes narrowed.
Giyu didn't speak. He simply leveled his left hand toward him and pushed forward, the spiraling water surging to life.