Chapter 178: Mass Layoffs in the Infinity Castle
The moment Obanai slithered into the fray, the entire rhythm of the spar violently shifted.
Though limited by his smaller stature and lacking the sheer brute force for a direct, head-on clash, the Serpent Hashira possessed an absolute mastery over the battlefield's tempo. He moved exactly like his namesake—a venomous snake coiled in the shadows, waiting for the perfect fraction of a second to strike. His wooden blade lashed out from impossibly tricky angles, biting at Giyuu's defenses time and time again.
Giyuu's stoic defense held firm for a time, his wooden sword weaving a tight net around him. Yet, anyone watching could see the inevitable tide turning. As Obanai and Sanemi's impromptu cooperation grew terrifyingly seamless, the breathing room between their relentless strikes vanished. The Wind Hashira's ferocious frontal assaults pinned Giyuu down, while Obanai's serpentine thrusts choked out his evasive space. It was only a matter of time before the Water Hashira's flawless guard cracked.
However, the end came far more abruptly than anyone anticipated.
The wooden training sword in Giyuu's grip simply could not endure the staggering kinetic force of a high-intensity clash between Hashira. With a sharp, echoing crack, the weapon splintered and snapped cleanly in half just as it met Sanemi's ferocious downward swing.
Caught entirely off guard by the sudden weapon failure, neither Sanemi nor Obanai could halt their momentum. Mid-swing, they frantically wrenched their wrists, shifting the trajectories of their strikes at the very last millisecond to avoid crushing Giyuu's vitals, pulling back as much raw strength as their muscles allowed.
Two heavy wooden impacts cracked against Giyuu's body—one from the front, one from the back—sending him stumbling forward, momentarily dazed as he stared blankly at the jagged hilt still clutched in his hand.
Both attackers immediately froze, lowering their weapons. Neither had any intention of pressing the advantage to beat a defenseless man. To them, landing a solid, punishing blow was more than enough to vent their simmering frustrations. Continuing to pummel an opponent who had lost his only means of resistance was beneath them.
More, in their minds, Giyuu's earlier aloof comments were born of sheer arrogance—a belief that he was somehow superior to the rest of them. Now that they had thoroughly knocked him down a peg, they assumed he wouldn't dare mock them to their faces again.
Watching from the sidelines, Akira merely let out a quiet, amused sigh. 'You guys... are still way too naive.' He knew Giyuu's socially inept nature better than anyone; this beating wouldn't fix a misunderstanding, it would only cement it.
While the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters was busy staging a scene of 'righteous discipline,' a far more gruesome performance was unfolding deep within the twisting, gravity-defying architecture of the Infinity Castle.
Four demons knelt upon the tatami mats. There was the new Lower Moon One, Enmu; the new Lower Moon Two, Rokuro; Lower Moon Five, Kamanue, who had recently scraped his way up from the sixth seat; and Kyogai, the original Lower Moon Six, who had once been stripped of his rank for insufficient strength only to be reinstated.
This was the very first time these four Lower Moons had ever set foot inside the Infinity Castle. Aside from Enmu, who sat perfectly still with an obedient, almost euphoric smile plastered across his face, the other three demons darted their eyes around in sheer panic.
One moment, they had been hunting in the human world. The next, a single, sharp twang of a biwa had echoed in their ears, dragging them into this impossible, shifting labyrinth. Confusion and mounting dread clawed at their chests.
Ever since they had carved their way into the ranks of the Twelve Kizuki, they had long forgotten the bitter taste of fear. Yet now, an inexplicable, suffocating pressure radiated from the very marrow of their bones, leaving their demonic instincts screaming in terror.
Only Enmu, who had been granted an audience with the Demon King in the past, understood exactly what was happening. The moment he arrived, he knew this space belonged to their absolute master.
His assumption was flawless. High above them, standing upon an inverted wooden platform, Kibutsuji Muzan gazed down with eyes as cold and crimson as fresh blood. He watched the pathetic, trembling creatures below him, his expression an emotionless mask of utter disdain.
To see them panicking like lost, frightened children simply because the scenery had changed... The fact that these pathetic, sniveling cowards were the very Twelve Kizuki he had personally elevated made a dark, venomous rage boil beneath Muzan's skin.
His fury only deepened as he reflected on their recent track record. Over the past century, the Lower Moons had been slaughtered one after another, dropping like flies. Some had even been humiliated and decapitated by ordinary Demon Slayers who hadn't even reached the rank of Hashira.
But the true catalyst for this sudden gathering—the spark that had ignited his murderous intent—was the death of Rui.
Rui had once been a frail, bedridden boy, plagued by severe illness since birth. Looking at that fragile human child, Muzan had seen a fleeting reflection of his own miserable mortal past. Driven by a rare, twisted sense of kinship, he had offered Rui his blood, transforming him into a demon and granting the boy a meager sliver of his otherwise nonexistent affection.
He had even broken his own absolute rule for the boy. Rui was the only demon permitted to gather and cohabitate with others of his kind, all because the child harbored a pathetic, lingering desire to play 'family.'
Following the deaths of several previous Lower Moons, Muzan had personally bestowed even more of his blood upon Rui, elevating him from Lower Moon Five straight to Lower Moon Three. Had he not feared the boy's cells would violently rupture from the sheer concentration of power, Muzan would have pushed his rank even higher.
Yet, despite all that favor, despite the high expectations placed upon his small shoulders, Rui had been slaughtered. And not by a seasoned veteran, but by a mere child of a Swordsman who had barely lived a fraction of Rui's life.
Staring down at the unsightly, trembling wretches groveling on the tatami, Muzan came to a cold, calculated conclusion. These Lower Moons served absolutely no purpose other than acting as stepping stones for the Demon Slayer Corps to pad their achievements. They had no reason to exist.
With a mere thought, the architecture shifted. The platform Muzan stood upon slowly descended, grinding against the wooden beams until he was close enough for the demons to finally notice his presence.
Though the majority of them had never laid eyes on his true form, the instant Muzan entered their field of vision, the Lower Moons slammed their foreheads against the floorboards. They didn't consciously recognize the man before them as the Demon King, but the suffocating, god-like aura radiating from his flesh commanded their bodies to submit instantly.
"I am deeply disappointed in all of you," Muzan's voice echoed through the vast, empty space. It was soft, yet it carried the weight of a falling guillotine.
"The title of the Twelve Kizuki was originally a gift. A mark of my recognition."
He took a slow, deliberate step forward. "Yet, for over a century, the Upper Moons have remained entirely unchanged. Meanwhile, you Lower Moons have been replaced countless times over."
"Perhaps the very existence of the Lower Moons was a miscalculation on my part. A flaw in my design. If that is the case... then from this moment forward, the Lower Moons shall cease to exist."
As he delivered his cold monologue, the terrifying pressure crushing the room magnified tenfold. At that moment, every demon present realized with absolute, horrifying clarity that the man standing before them was none other than Kibutsuji Muzan.
Hearing their own death sentence spoken so casually, sheer panic erupted in their minds. Their demonic instincts flared, their brains working in frantic overdrive as they desperately searched for any possible excuse to survive.
Only Enmu remained perfectly still. He maintained his flawless kneeling posture, not uttering a single word. There was no terror of impending death in his heart; instead, a sickening, euphoric warmth spread through his chest. The thought of being personally slaughtered by Muzan's own hands sent shivers of absolute ecstasy down his spine.
Bound by the curse in their blood, Muzan could read their frantic inner thoughts as clearly as an open book. However, the moment his mind brushed against Enmu's twisted, masochistic fantasies, even the thousand-year-old Demon King felt a wave of deep disgust. He immediately severed his mental connection to the Lower Moon One, blocking out the repulsive noise.
Just as Muzan raised a hand, preparing to erase the failures before him, Rokuro—clinging desperately to his rank as Lower Moon Two—broke the silence.
"Lord Muzan! I still have value!" he pleaded, his voice cracking with terror. "If you just grant me a little more of your blood, I swear I can defeat the Hashira! I will crush the Demon Slayer Corps for you!"
Muzan's crimson eyes slowly shifted, locking onto the groveling demon. "Are you... attempting to dictate my actions?" he asked, his tone devoid of any warmth.
Before Rokuro could even open his mouth to stammer out a defense, a grotesque, barbed tentacle of shifting flesh and bone erupted from the shadows. It lashed out with blinding speed, wrapping around Rokuro's head and swallowing his entire upper body in a spray of crimson. The crunch of shattering bone echoed loudly in the silent castle.
Kamanue, who was kneeling mere inches from the fresh blood splatter, felt his breath hitch. Further away, Kyogai began to sweat profusely. Both demons desperately squeezed their meager brain capacities, frantically trying to formulate a reason—any reason—why they deserved to live.
On the other side of the fresh corpse, Enmu merely closed his eyes, a blissful flush creeping across his pale cheeks.
Ignoring the disturbing Lower Moon One entirely, Muzan shifted his piercing gaze down to Kamanue. The sheer, oppressive weight of those slit-pupiled eyes bore into the demon's skull, causing Kamanue's entire body to convulse with uncontrollable tremors.
"To be paralyzed by fear over such a trivial sight," Muzan murmured, his lip curling in disgust. "What an absolute piece of trash."
Hearing his master's final judgment, Kamanue opened his mouth, managing to choke out only a single, pathetic syllable before the horrific flesh tentacle whipped downward, crushing his skull against the floorboards and devouring him whole.
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