"Don't let me catch you again, you piece of filth!" Sanemi growled. He turned to survey the village behind him, which had been gnawed into a ruinous mess by the fish monsters. A flicker of anxiety crossed his eyes.
The swordsmiths of the village were unarmed and utterly defenseless against these products of a Blood Demon Art. He had to clear out the remaining monsters as quickly as possible.
Meanwhile, Muichiro, still carrying Kotetsu, had reached Kanamori's location.
Kanamori was covered in wounds, being driven into a corner by a massive fish monster. With a practiced motion, Muichiro unleashed a clean strike.
Clang!
The porcelain pot shattered with a crisp sound as the dark energy dissipated. Deprived of its source, the fish monster's body instantly began to collapse, melting into a puddle of foul blood that seeped into the soil.
Muichiro sheathed his blade and turned toward Kanamori, who was slumped on the ground. His voice remained flat. "You're Kanamori. Where is my sword?"
"In that small shed just ahead," Kanamori replied, pointing toward a nearby building.
Muichiro nodded and sprinted toward the shed.
Just as the three of them were about to arrive, a porcelain pot suddenly rolled out from the tall grass.
Muichiro's pupils shrank. Almost instinctively, he shoved Kotetsu behind him while his other hand gripped the hilt of his Nichirin Sword. The sound of the blade grating against the scabbard was startlingly clear in the silent forest.
"My, my. To think you'd notice me. You must be a Hashira!" Gyokko's voice echoed from within the pot.
The pitch-black vessel suddenly levitated, and dark mist began to churn and overflow from within. It enveloped the three of them in an instant, the damp, fishy stench making Kanamori cough uncontrollably.
"Is that dilapidated shed really so important? What are you trying to do, sneaking around over here?" Gyokko emerged from the pot, his head wobbling. The flesh and skin of his neck twisted at a grotesque, unnatural angle—a sight that made one's skin crawl.
"So ugly..."
The two words fell through the air like a tiny, ice-tipped dagger, precisely stabbing Gyokko where it hurt most.
The smile on his face froze. His already hideous features twisted into something truly horrific. He glared at Muichiro as if he intended to swallow him whole. "What did you say?!"
Muichiro repeated himself tonelessly, his voice carrying a hint of genuine, clinical distaste. "I said, you're ugly."
"You understand nothing of art! I will tear you into a thousand pieces and turn you into the most exquisite masterpiece in my collection!"
Gyokko's roar exploded alongside a surge of black mist. Countless spectral fish monsters thrashed within the fog, the cold glint of their scales blinding. He manifested dozens of fist-sized pots, their openings all swiveling toward Muichiro simultaneously to fire a dense barrage of black water needles.
The needles carried a corrosive stench; the moment they hit the ground, they hissed and burned deep pits into the earth.
Muichiro didn't stop. He flicked his wrist, his Nichirin Sword carving a crisp arc through the air, but it struck only emptiness.
No sensation of a hit. He stared at Gyokko, who had blinked to the rooftop, a flash of understanding in his eyes.
I see. He can move between the pots.
On the other side of the battlefield, Giyu Tomioka held Aoi Kazama as they evaded Urogi's assault. His toes tapped against a crumbling wall, and he used the momentum to leap back several meters.
"Water Breathing, Tenth Form: Constant Flux."
The clear ring of the blade cut through the piercing sonic waves. A layered, cascading flow of sword-light bloomed like a never-ending tide, sweeping toward Urogi.
The manic glee on Urogi's face vanished. He hadn't expected this seemingly gentle Water Breathing technique to possess such overwhelming piercing power. In a panic, he curled his body inward, using his taloned arms to shield his vitals.
Slash!
Urogi bared his teeth in agony. The frequency of the sonic waves erupting from his throat spiked sharply, turning into a screech so shrill it felt as though it would shatter a person's internal organs.
"What are you standing around for?! Help me!" Urogi roared down at Karaku, who was watching from below.
"I know, I know. Stop screaming so loud, you're making me deaf." Karaku waved his fan impatiently, sending a massive shockwave directly at Giyu's face.
"Wood Breathing, First Form: Variation!"
Aoi utilized the tension of her vines to narrowly pull herself and Giyu out of the shockwave's wake.
"Wood Breathing, Second Form: Verdant Leaf Whirl!"
Aoi's voice was sharp. The withered vines clinging to the ruins suddenly underwent a violent growth spurt. Green sprouts burst from the wood, instantly transforming into thick, powerful lash-vines. They whipped through the air with a sharp whistle, lashing out at both Karaku and Urogi.
Caught off guard, Karaku's wrist was ensnared by a vine. His fan flew from his hand, and he let out a roar of shock and fury. "What the hell is this stuff?!"
"Nezuko!"
Tanjiro's shout echoed from the nearby shed. Hearing it, Aoi's heart tightened. She caught a glimpse of the shed out of the corner of her eye but didn't dare lose her focus for a second.
Suddenly, the door to the shed was blown open. Tanjiro charged out, his Nichirin Sword wreathed in brilliant, crimson flames.
"Tanjiro!"
Before Aoi's cry could even fade, Tanjiro had already leaped into the air. The crimson fire on his blade spread like a wildfire, slashing toward Karaku's neck.
In that instant, through Karaku's eyes, Tanjiro's silhouette overlapped with the memory of that man. It was another swordsmith wielding a Nichirin Sword, one that burned with the same scorching, primordial heat. Terror, cold as ice water, doused Karaku's entire being, making him tremble.
A second later, his head was severed.
Tanjiro didn't stop there. "Hinokami Kagura: Sun Halo Dragon Head Dance!"
The crimson light of the blade transformed into a winding dragon of flame. Carrying a heat wave that felt as though it would incinerate everything in its path, it surged toward Sekido and Urogi.
Aoi noticed that the scar on Tanjiro's forehead had been overtaken by a red mark. The pattern resembled flickering flames, glowing with an eerie, supernatural light under the moon.
The heads of the three demons were sent flying by the dragon's wake. Black blood sprayed across the ground, instantly charred into black scars by the sheer heat.
Tanjiro stumbled as he landed, the mark on his forehead gradually fading, leaving only a faint red trace. He panted heavily, his sword-hand trembling. "One more..."
He turned toward Genya's position, only to find to his surprise that Genya had already decapitated the final demon.
"Great... were they all cut at the same time?" Tanjiro leaned on his sword, his voice carrying a note of relief.
As long as the heads were severed simultaneously, their ability to regenerate should be completely neutralized.
Hearing him, Genya turned his head. The curve of his lips was cold and hard. His canine teeth had elongated into sharp points that glinted with a deathly chill, and a faint, demonic crimson had bled into his eyes.
Tanjiro's pupils shrank. "Genya, why are you..." His voice cut off. His nose twitched—he could smell a faint, demonic scent coming from Genya, yet it was tangled with the warmth of a human body. It was a terrifyingly complex aroma.
Aoi was about to step forward to check on them, but her path was blocked by Karaku—who was still standing despite being decapitated.
No black blood flowed from his severed neck. Instead, coils of purple-black mist swirled around the wound, connecting to his fallen head and slowly pulling it back into place.
"!!!"