Soul!
Ever since the moment Mirenmaru came into contact with Oboro, these two words had been weighing heavily on Muzan's mind.
He had a vague feeling that the secrets surrounding that man were inextricably linked to the soul.
Why was it that after turning humans into demons, Oboro's creations could completely ignore the control exerted by Muzan's own blood?
Far more than how Oboro achieved such transformations, this was the question that truly consumed him.
Were it not for this inexplicable anomaly, every single successor would have bowed to his absolute will—just like all the demons under his command.
These past centuries had been nothing but frustration and humiliation for Muzan. Successors hunted him relentlessly, while the Demon Slayer Corps searched for him everywhere. He dared not show his face anywhere. But what he feared above all else was Oboro.
The Ubuyashiki clan had long since grasped parts of Oboro's true intentions—and Muzan had seen it too. He had spent years gathering every scrap of information related to Oboro.
And today… he had finally succeeded.
Within the Infinity Castle, Upper Rank One Kokushibo, Upper Rank Two Doma, and Upper Rank Three Akaza stood gathered. Nearby sat Nakime, her fingers resting upon her biwa.
Under their watchful eyes, Muzan drove his fingers straight into the skull of a captured successor.
Blood trickled from the victim's brow; their body convulsed violently. Muzan, however, simply closed his eyes.
Deep within his consciousness, he once again beheld that familiar, hazy figure—the power of Oboro's soul, lingering in the successor's blood.
A mere fragment of his will, yet present nonetheless.
Gazing directly at Oboro's shadow within the sea of his mind, Muzan felt an overwhelming, terrifying pressure. Even this broken remnant struck him with the same force and dread he had experienced the very first time—enough to make him tremble with fear.
But this time, he did not flee. He did not retreat back to reality and sever their mental connection.
For after countless attempts, Muzan had finally come to perceive his own form of consciousness—his very soul.
It had taken him a full hundred years to reach this point. From the days when he could only observe Oboro's soul, too terrified to even move a finger, to now, where he could stand firm and meet its gaze with calm resolve.
Before this, Muzan had no true concept of what a soul was. By his reasoning, it ought to be related to one's spirit or will—something he could deduce intellectually, but never truly sense or grasp.
Without perceiving its form, he had no way to strike at Oboro's will.
Through endless trial and error, he had finally forced open this mysterious door. Unlike the first time, when the experience had been nothing more than vague images floating in his mind, Muzan could now gather his scattered consciousness into a distinct shape: the manifestation of his own soul. He had learned to cast aside the physical sensations of his body and descend into a deeper dimension of existence.
Over the past century, he had searched every corner of the world, seeking methods and knowledge. He had studied biology extensively, seeking ways to strengthen and refine his spirit.
He had not yet developed a complete system of cultivation, but he was no longer the ignorant novice he had been.
Every encounter with Oboro's soul, no matter how agonizing, had brought him profound insights.
And the more he understood this power, the more obsessed he became. For he realized just how formidable the soul truly was.
It was a force far more transcendent and powerful than anything his own blood could achieve.
He even suspected that the power of the soul… did not belong to this world at all.
Souls had always existed, yet they remained intangible and elusive. No one in this world had ever truly unlocked or mastered their potential.
He had lived longer than Yoriichi Tsugikuni—over a thousand years. If anyone could claim to understand the origins and evolution of this world, it was him. He would acknowledge no equal.
His curiosity toward Oboro grew with every passing day.
How had this man come into being?
And how had he discovered and mastered such power?
"I have had enough of your eyes…" Muzan hissed, his scarlet eyes fixed on the phantom before him.
He still could not make out Oboro's features, but the familiar weight of that gaze sent veins bulging across his forehead.
This time… he was finally able to fight back.
With those words, the fingernails on his right hand elongated instantly into sharp, deadly points. He slashed them directly toward Oboro's lingering will.
Swish!
A flash of light cut through the air. In an instant, Oboro's soul was torn to shreds, dissolving like smoke and mist until nothing remained.
"Hahahahaha—!"
Watching the last of Oboro's influence vanish, Muzan felt a surge of triumph unlike anything he had ever known.
For a brief moment, his usual cold and sinister composure shattered, replaced by unrestrained laughter.
"You may have created a method to cultivate the power of the soul and kept it hidden… but you never should have provoked me. There is far more I am capable of than you could ever imagine. At the very least—from the perspective of biological evolution—I am the perfect being in this world."
Muzan spoke softly, his voice trembling with exhilaration.
Oboro had underestimated him.
He was the progenitor of all demons—the ultimate life form, unlike any other creature. What others could not achieve did not mean it was beyond his reach.
Even without guidance, he had found a way to touch the soul… and slowly, but surely, make that power his own.
"It is time you paid for everything."
As the words left his mind, Muzan's consciousness returned to his body. He opened his eyes in the real world and pulled his fingers free from the successor's skull.
The body crumpled to the ground.
Muzan glanced at it indifferently. The next second, the corpse swelled grotesquely, bursting apart like an overfilled balloon.
With Oboro's will erased, the successor—now nothing more than a demon—was completely at Muzan's mercy.
With but a single thought, he could force the cells within their body to multiply endlessly, until they tore themselves apart.
In the distance, the three Upper Ranks watched, each with a different expression.
Akaza looked utterly shocked.
He had gone to great lengths to capture this successor, even sustaining injuries in the process. He knew exactly how powerful and dangerous this foe had been.
Moreover, as loyal subordinates, the Twelve Kizuki were well aware that for years, Muzan had seemed completely powerless against the successors.
Now… that balance had been shattered.
"Something very interesting is about to happen," Doma murmured, a faint smile playing across his lips.
He and Kokushibo, their bodies having fully recovered over time, had finally broken free from the Blood Demon Art Oboro had once implanted deep within their brains. They remembered now—the nightmares they had endured.
Muzan turned slowly to face them.
Under the weight of his gaze, even Kokushibo felt his breath catch in his throat. For a split second, it was as if a storm of ferocious, deafening roars echoed all around him, sending his spirit reeling.
It was an auditory hallucination… born entirely from the crushing pressure of Muzan's will.
Akaza and Doma, meanwhile, froze instantly, their limbs rigid as stone statues. Even their thoughts seemed to grind to a halt.
Lord Muzan… has changed. He is unlike anything we knew before.
"That god, Miketake… ah, yes… he is still alive," Muzan whispered, a smirk curling his lips. "I will meet him. He possesses something I find… extremely interesting."
Others might not know who the legendary God Miketake was—but they certainly did.
As he spoke, massive fleshy bulges erupted from the shadows surrounding Kokushibo, Doma, and Akaza.
Dozens of tendrils shot forward like needles, piercing straight into the necks of the three Upper Ranks and pumping vast quantities of blood into their bodies.
"I bestow upon you once more… my spiritual power, woven together with my very cells. Rise from the ashes, reborn… and find him."
Muzan spoke each word slowly, his tone cold and absolute.
As the blood flowed into them, the three demons' eyes glazed over. Their faces twisted into grotesque masks of agony; Akaza and Doma convulsed uncontrollably.
Countless veins emerged across their skin, writhing like snakes beneath the surface.
Muzan sought not only the secrets of the soul that Oboro had mastered.
There was something else… something he had desired above all else, for as long as he could remember: The Blue Spider Lily.
Because… that man, Oboro… surely knew exactly where it was.
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