Disclaimer: Demon Slayer is not mine. This fanfic is a translation.
Enjoy Reading!
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"Ow, ow, ow…" Saburo's expression was pained as he clutched his rear. The recoil from the hunting rifle had knocked him straight to the ground.
He was too old. He struggled twice but couldn't get back up. Finally, he simply stayed seated on the ground, his hands trembling as he began reloading the next bullet.
"Sigh… just a little longer. Give me a bit more time."
He muttered softly under his breath.
Perhaps it was adrenaline, or perhaps something else, but Saburo's heart wasn't trembling or tense as he had imagined it would be.
Instead, he grew increasingly calm.
Click.
He loaded the bullet into the chamber and raised the hunting rifle again, aiming it at the enraged Muzan before him.
"Grandpa is coming right now."
His finger on the trigger trembled slightly.
"Die."
Muzan's eyes were bloodshot. His sharp fangs were tightly clenched. Veins bulged across his hideous face.
Shing!
He swung his arm violently, a whip-like strike faster than the speed of sound arcing directly toward Saburo.
However,
Thud, thud, thud!
An extremely urgent sound of footsteps came from the bushes beside Saburo.
A figure in a divided haori approached rapidly.
Whoosh—Shing!
Giyu burst through the bushes, angling himself as he landed in front of Saburo.
He raised his utterly calm eyes.
In his dark pupils, the disheveled Muzan and the incoming whip strike were reflected.
The sharp bone whip gleamed in the moonlight, already inches away.
The blocking technique he had once witnessed surfaced in his mind.
Using the remaining momentum from his dash, he smoothly drew the Nichirin blade from his waist.
Clang!
A bright spark burst forth abruptly in the pitch-black night. The Nichirin blade clashed with the bone whip, deflecting the attack with an uncanny technique that absorbed and redirected the force.
"What?!" Muzan froze, instinctively jerking his neck back. The familiar sound of clashing metal rang in his ears.
That was the sound nearly every Upper Moons had heard frequently before their deaths.
In an instant, a flood of memories from the dead surged into his mind. Countless figures in dark red haori wielding Nichirin blades overlapped with the blurred, swaying vision before him.
In his field of vision, the scattered sparks slowly dispersed. The corner of the spiky-haired man's mouth across from him faintly emitted white vapor.
The tall, sharp tip of the Nichirin blade reflected the moonlight, glowing faintly red.
'Again?!'
In the fleeting moment of Muzan's shock, the bushes beside him shook violently a few times.
Several figures, each gripping a Nichirin blade, burst out from the bushes!
They quickly landed around Muzan, surrounding him tightly!
When Muzan came to his senses, a group of swordsmen had already encircled him.
"Huh?!" He turned his head in shock to look around. Several sharp gazes were fixed on him, trying to tear him apart.
He had been ambushed!
'Those persistent Demon Slayer Corps bastards!'
His crimson pupils reflected the figures around him.
But at the same time, the still-frightened Muzan felt a sliver of relief. He hadn't run into that ghost-like man who kept haunting him.
"Saburo-san." Giyu looked up, both hands gripping his sword hilt, his gaze unwavering.
"You've done more than enough. Please leave the rest to us."
His eyes remained fixed on Muzan inside the encirclement, and without turning his head, he spoke to the dazed Saburo behind him.
"Thank you."
"…Oh." Only then did Saburo release his finger from the trigger.
Saburo recognized the kid. He still vividly remembered what had happened at Tanjuro's house last time.
He guessed that the gun and bullets he had probably also came from the young man's request before him.
Saburo took a long, deep look at the Hashira surrounding Muzan, breathing heavily.
His gaze unconsciously swept over the young faces of Giyu's fellow swordsmen.
A complex and heavy sigh rose in his heart.
They were all just teenagers.
There was no time for sentiment, though.
Saburo knew well that his aged self would only be a burden if he stayed. He quickly used the gun as support to stand up and, looking back every few steps, walked away into the distance.
Another sigh rose in his heart.
If his grandson were still alive… he would be about the same age as those hashira.
Giyu kept his attention on the rear until Saburo had walked far enough that his figure could no longer be seen. Only then did he turn his focus back.
Arranging for someone to launch the first wave of resistance, this was Oyakata-sama's plan.
The Ubuyashiki family's ability to see the future had been maximized here.
But the Master's original plan had been for him to come here personally and carry out the fighting against Muzan himself.
Kagaya understood that his death would be the best medicine to ignite the morale of the Demon Slayer Corps members.
Everything he had done before had been preparation for the moment of his death, to set everyone's hearts ablaze.
However, before this plan could be implemented, his body had already deteriorated to the point where he couldn't walk long distances. The risk of dying on the way was even greater, so he was forced to abandon the plan, a decision he deeply regretted and felt great shame about.
After that, the responsibility for carrying out this plan was entrusted entirely to the idle Water Hashira.
Giyu pushed aside his distracting thoughts.
Everything was proceeding according to Kagaya's plan.
After personally slaying the Hand Demon and speaking with his master, he had already resolved the knot in his heart.
Now, there was no hesitation left in his mind.
Giyu glanced at his companions beside him.
Tengen had an unfamiliar iron forehead protector strapped to his arm. His expression lacked the usual excited smile he wore when fighting demons; instead, it was eerily stoic.
Shinobu had just witnessed Doma's death. Her expression was serene, betraying no emotion.
Obanai seemed to have found something he particularly wanted to protect recently, making him exceptionally motivated.
Sanemi had apparently run into his younger brother a while back. Though he didn't know exactly what had happened, he had become much more calm than before.
He withdrew his gaze.
Gyomei and Shinjuro, who weren't present, were the same.
Everyone had broken through their past traumas caused by demons in their own ways.
What Muzan was now facing were Hashira whose hearts had been liberated and whose minds were clear and unburdened.
Giyu concentrated his breathing. Only now, in this situation, could he calm his mind and take the time to observe the Demon King.
To witness with his own eyes the root cause of the Demon Slayer Corps' thousand-year cycle of hatred.
Muzan was gasping for breath. Two fist-sized bloody holes in his body gushed blood. One arm was missing. Numerous penetrating wounds covered his entire body. He seemed too weak to even heal his injuries anymore.
Muzan suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, cautiously observing his surroundings.
Though the Hashira's encirclement had caught him off guard, once he calmed down a little, he could still find a weak point to break through.
That weak point was the path behind him, the only road leading to the mountaintop.
The Hashira surrounding him made no move to attack, as if their sole purpose was to trap him here—
Muzan's pupils abruptly contracted.
'These human bastards were stalling for time!'
"CAW!"
A Kasugai crow flapped its wings and landed unhurriedly on a tree behind the Hashira. Its crimson eyes remained fixed on Muzan.
Muzan looked up in shock and met the gaze of the bird with the human's eyes.
The Hashira surrounding him seemed to receive some kind of signal.
"Hiss!" A sound like massive bellows inhaling rose.
Click.
White vapor seeped from the corners of the Hashira's mouths. Their faces were obscured, leaving only their white eyes reflecting the faint glow from the ground.
The next step of the plan...
...was to drive Muzan up to the mountaintop.