Run?
Oboro's words pierced Muzan like a thorn driven straight into his heart.
The steps he had just taken backward froze instantly.
Why should I run?
He had hidden in the shadows for so long, hunting down inheritors one after another solely to seize the power of the soul…
Wasn't all of this preparation for exactly this moment?
At this thought, Muzan's expression twisted into one of pure malice.
Before his eyes, the aged figure merged with the blurry silhouette he had observed through his perception all this time.
"The one who should run… is you."
Muzan could clearly sense that the vitality flowing through Oboro's flesh and blood was in a state of severe decline.
Judging by a normal human lifespan, he did not have much time left to live.
In such a state, how dared he still stand before him?
The moment he spoke, walls of living flesh erupted vertically from the ground on all sides of the floating platform where they stood.
Countless bone spikes, sharp as spears, protruded from the surface, ready to shoot out and pierce Oboro through and through.
"The power of the soul… is no longer yours alone to possess."
Seeing the old man's expression shift slightly, Muzan sneered, filled with pride and self‑satisfaction.
"Is that so?"
Oboro lifted his gaze. As his deep and profound eyes met Muzan's, they seemed to transform into a black hole of terrifying suction power.
It felt as though his very soul was about to be ripped right out of his body.
In that split second, terror surged through Muzan's heart.
No one understood the sheer horror of what he was witnessing better than Muzan himself—he who had only just recently come into contact with the power of the soul.
To Muzan's sight, within the old man's body—frail and barely alive—resided a disproportionate force: the very aura of his soul.
This indescribable spiritual pressure was not being actively released or exerted upon him. Oboro had merely lifted the veil covering his soul, simply displaying it for Muzan to see.
The sensation was overwhelming…
It was as if Muzan, believing victory was within his grasp and having picked up a crude musket, had suddenly realized his enemy was a fully equipped army armed with advanced weaponry.
"How is this possible? How can a human soul… be this strong? How could a ridiculous human body ever contain such a soul?!"
This disparity was far beyond the metaphor of "a small cart being pulled by a large horse"…
Muzan felt as if he had fallen into an ice cellar.
His mind went utterly blank.
He looked down in a daze. For the first time since he became a demon, his legs began to tremble uncontrollably…
This physical reaction of pure fear… why could he not suppress it?!
He truly could not understand… After mastering soul power, Muzan had come to realize one fundamental truth: the body is merely the vessel of the soul.
Oboro was human. Even if he had pioneered this power of the soul, he should still be limited by his physical form—his strength should never have reached such heights…
Whereas Muzan was the Demon King. It was this belief alone that had given him the courage to stand against Oboro.
But now, what he was witnessing completely overturned his understanding.
The difference in magnitude between their souls was astronomical…
If his enemy merely focused his will and released his spiritual pressure, Muzan—standing so close—would never be able to withstand it.
His soul would be instantly erased, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.
"Since arriving in this world… you are the first person to truly witness what I am capable of."
Oboro spoke at last.
Since arriving in this world?
These words caused Muzan's pupils to contract violently.
Suddenly, the old man before him seemed shrouded in infinite mystery.
"Who… exactly are you?!"
Muzan ground his teeth, forcing himself to remain calm.
"The soul is a profound and complex field of study. For you to grope your way across the river by feeling the stones and reach this level… I must say, you have done remarkably well."
Oboro smiled.
Regardless of other factors, Muzan's attainments regarding the soul—while not even at the threshold of true mastery—already placed him head and shoulders above almost every other being in this world, who were incapable of even perceiving the existence of the soul.
"I am… quite satisfied."
Oboro nodded slowly.
Up until now, the demons spawned by the inheritors had relied on sheer willpower to evolve.
Through devouring one another, they absorbed each other's powers, their flesh and blood merging, until a single body could house multiple consciousnesses.
Much like Teshima‑ka and the others who had once raided the Shogunate, their Blood Demon Arts were no longer limited to a single type or attribute.
Gradually, they began to show signs of atavism, drawing ever closer to Muzan's own existence.
If this trend continued, the ultimate evolutionary endpoint for every inheritor would be to become another Muzan… or perhaps even surpass him.
This was merely an elevation of power levels, not the sprouting of a new branch on the skill tree of their existing system.
But Muzan had achieved exactly that.
Oboro glanced at the towering walls of flesh surrounding them, and at the hard, sharp bone spikes protruding outward…
At the very least, in the "original story," Muzan had never possessed such abilities.
During his final battle with Tanjiro and the others, Muzan could divide and multiply his cells or alter their structure to change his physical form… but those transformations were always limited to his own body.
Now, however, he was able to utilize blood and cells, projecting and manipulating them in the space outside himself.
This was no longer simply a technique similar to a Blood Demon Art.
Every variation of a Blood Demon Art relied entirely upon physical energy and biological function.
But now… he was actually able to wield the power of the soul.
Drawing power from both the soul and the flesh and blood… It was exactly like how Oboro, in his past life, had developed the Nen abilities of the Soul category.
He had brought the concept of soul power into this world, and Muzan had discovered it, studied it, and mastered it.
This method bore traces of the power system from that higher world…
He had touched the threshold of something far greater.
Using the will of the soul to alter the capabilities of cells…
If this technique could be passed down and perpetuated among demons—much like how the Art of Breathing had become the foundation of the Demon Slayer Corps—then… this power would evolve into something far more terrifying than any Blood Demon Art.
Although Muzan was the Demon King, in the original story… at least from Oboro's experience and perspective, his strength had remained confined to the level of a "human."
Oboro had directly bestowed the Art of Breathing upon the Ubuyashiki clan.
But he could not simply hand over the power of the soul to demons. He could have granted it to a certain inheritor, but the effect would have been poor.
The reason lay in the fundamental difference between the two factions. The demons were too scattered and divided; even the inheritors were far from united…
Under such circumstances, the moment a demon possessing soul power died, everything would be lost—resulting in a waste of Oboro's own soul essence.
That was why, the moment Doma and Kokushibo had appeared before him…
Oboro had instantly noticed how "different" these two Upper Ranks were.
It was obvious that Muzan had already distributed fragments of his own soul among them.
Muzan… was the "embryo" Oboro had chosen and reserved from the very beginning.
Every plan, every move Muzan made was already within Oboro's calculations and judgment.
In this way, the one who would consume his own soul energy would be Muzan, not Oboro himself.
Oboro's soul was overwhelmingly powerful to Muzan, yes… but in the higher world it originated from, it was not quite so terrifying.
In fact, he had already weakened it to its current level just to make the journey through time and space.
His purpose in traveling to other worlds was precisely to allow his soul to grow and mature once more, nurtured by the Supreme Will of the universe.
This was practically manifested through the functions of the System.
That was why Oboro cherished every fragment of his soul deeply.
Even after striking a deal with the Will of this world—Demon Slayer—he would never sacrifice his own interests purely out of selflessness.
The reason why the World Spirit "Little Tree" had begged him for help…
Was because he possessed the power of a higher world.
To elevate the entire power system of this world, it was absolutely necessary to rely on him to share the principles and powers of that superior realm.
It was the only fundamental method to raise the strength level of this world.
The Art of Breathing. Soul Power. Combat Techniques.
To the Demon Slayer Corps and the Kamado clan went the Art of Breathing.
To Muzan went the power of the Soul.
To Gyutaro, as a designated disruptor, fell the burden of mastering and spreading Combat Techniques.
Given enough time and placed within the right environment—the correct overall context… these three types of power were guaranteed to expand and flourish.
Nurtured by the wisdom of generations, they would evolve endlessly.
They would become like rain and fertilizer, nourishing every "seed" growing in this world.
Through his behind‑the‑scenes manipulation, Oboro had already altered the very fabric of society.
Because of the existence of demons, countless ordinary people had developed methods to defend against them.
Not to mention the official armies, who had already begun organized hunts against demons…
The vast majority of the population had now qualified to receive and master these three powers.
Otherwise, there would have been no point in him wandering for years, selecting targets and using Experience Cards, eventually earning himself the title of "Deity."
The day when the power of the Soul, the Art of Breathing, and supreme Combat Techniques spread and became common knowledge throughout the world of Demon Slayer…
Was the day this world would leap forward and be promoted to the rank of a Higher World.
This was the great game Oboro had been playing all along.
Connecting every dot and line into a complete picture.
This… was his true plan.
Now, the general situation was settled and secure.
All that remained… was to leave it to the passage of time.
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