Chapter 199: Re-encountering Akaza
The grotesque, disembodied eyeball belonging to Nakime was discovered lurking at the rear of the village, staring unblinkingly from the rugged path that led up toward the mountain mines.
This specific mine was the lifeblood of the Demon Slayer Corps. Its peaks pierced the cloud line, bathing the exposed rock in harsh, unfiltered sunlight all year round. Only the Scarlet Crimson Iron Sand and Scarlet Ore harvested from this sun-drenched earth could be forged into a Nichirin Blade capable of decapitating a demon. Yet, even with the vast wealth and centuries of influence wielded by the Ubuyashiki family, they had only ever managed to secure this single, perfect location.
Because of this geographical necessity, the hidden route between the Swordsmith Village and the mining site was relatively fixed. No matter how many convoluted detours and illusions were woven into the forest to mask the village's true location, the physical distance could only be stretched so far.
Unfortunately, Nakime's reconnaissance capabilities as an Upper Rank demon were simply too oppressive. Despite the careful precautions taken by the resident swordsmiths, her scattered familiars had caught onto the faintest of clues, tracing the supply lines all the way back to the hidden sanctuary.
Watching the heavy, blood-orange sun dip dangerously close to the jagged mountain peaks, Akira and Kanae exchanged a sharp nod. There was no need for words; they immediately split up to cover more ground.
The residences of Kanamori and the village head lay in the same direction. Kanae moved with the swift, silent grace of a butterfly, darting off to retrieve her own freshly forged blade while simultaneously warning Chief Tecchin Tecchikawahara of the impending slaughter.
Upon hearing the grim news, the Chief didn't hesitate. He struck the emergency bells, initiating an immediate, full-scale evacuation. The vast majority of the villagers responded with practiced efficiency, abandoning their forges and gathering near the hidden village entrance exactly as instructed.
The term "vast majority," however, existed solely because of one glaring, stubborn exception—Haganezuka Hotaru.
At that exact moment, inside a cluttered, heavily scorched workshop, Akira was locked in a literal wrestling match with the masked swordsmith over a bare Nichirin Blade.
Time was bleeding away by the second. Akira had kicked the sliding door off its tracks, marched straight into the room, and ruthlessly snatched the cold steel right out of Haganezuka's calloused hands while the man was mid-stroke on the whetstone.
It wasn't that Akira enjoyed being rude, nor did he want to skip a proper explanation. But Haganezuka, when fully immersed in the sacred art of sword polishing, entered a trance so deep that a bomb could go off beside his ear and he wouldn't flinch. In the original timeline, even having his flesh torn open by Gyokko hadn't been enough to break his concentration.
Therefore, Akira opted for the pragmatic approach: steal the blade first, shatter the man's hyper-focus, and explain later.
Before the first word could even leave Akira's mouth, Haganezuka snapped. The swordsmith lunged across the room with terrifying, explosive speed, his hands hooked like claws as he tried to rip the weapon back.
"You disrespectful brat! Give it back!" Haganezuka roared, his hyottoko mask vibrating with manic fury. "I haven't finished the final polish!"
The sheer velocity of Haganezuka's tackle was absurd. For a man who didn't fight demons, his raw agility easily eclipsed that of many veteran Demon Slayers who had trained in Breathing Techniques for years. Akira's eyes narrowed, his body swaying backward just a fraction of an inch to let the crazed smith grasp empty air.
"The village has been compromised. Demons are coming," Akira stated, his voice calm but carrying a heavy, authoritative weight. "I need this blade to hold the line. Once the battle is over, I will return it to you."
"Really?" Haganezuka froze, his breathing ragged. He seemed to barely regain a shred of his sanity, though his fingers still twitched violently, looking ready to pounce the second Akira lowered his guard.
"I swear it," Akira replied smoothly, stepping back toward the ruined doorway. "The Chief is already organizing the evacuation. The enemies arriving tonight will be Upper Ranks, and there will definitely be more than one. You need to pack up and run. I'm taking the sword."
Not wasting another breath, Akira spun on his heel and darted into the twilight.
"You better stay alive to give that back to me, you hear me?!" Haganezuka's furious, desperate shout echoed into the evening air. Akira merely raised a hand in acknowledgment, his eyes already fixed on the darkening tree line.
He needed to return to the exact coordinates where he had crushed Nakime's first eyeball. If he could systematically blind her familiars along the perimeter, he could severely cripple her ability to open spatial doors directly inside the village, buying the civilians precious time to escape.
As he sprinted through the dense woods, Akira's mind raced, rapidly calculating the roster of monsters he was about to face.
The first arrival was a guarantee: Akaza.
The Upper Rank Three was Muzan's most fiercely loyal enforcer, and more, he already knew Akira was a threat. If the sun hadn't still been lingering in the sky an hour ago, Akira had zero doubt that the battle maniac would have physically held Nakime by the throat, forcing her to open a portal to his exact location.
During their last encounter, Akira had played a frustrating game of pure evasion, dodging and defending without ever committing to a lethal strike. That calculated cowardice had infuriated the prideful demon. Worse, Akaza's failure to secure his objective that night had undoubtedly earned him a brutal, agonizing punishment from Muzan. All that festering humiliation and burning hatred would be aimed squarely at Akira's head.
Akira half-expected that the moment Akaza materialized, the demon would ignore every other living soul in the valley and charge him like a rabid dog.
As for the backup? There would definitely be backup. Muzan was arrogant, but he wasn't stupid. After Akaza's previous failure against Akira, the Demon Lord wouldn't send him in alone.
Douma was off the table. Based on recent intelligence gathered from the Eternal Paradise Cult, the sadistic Upper Rank Two was currently swamped. The only thing capable of keeping that cynical, lazy monster away from his plush temple was a direct, absolute mandate from Muzan—specifically, the endless, desperate search for the Blue Spider Lily. In Muzan's eyes, the total annihilation of the Demon Slayer Corps was a trivial side-quest compared to obtaining the flower that would conquer the sun. He wouldn't pull Douma off that task for a mere blacksmith village.
Kokushibou was a terrifying wildcard. The six-eyed Upper Rank One operated with a massive degree of autonomy. Because he had remained loyal and actively aided Muzan centuries ago when Tsugikuni Yoriichi had nearly sliced the Demon Lord into ribbons, Muzan rarely forced Kokushibou into menial assassination missions. Akira could only pray to whatever gods were listening that the ancient samurai wasn't casually taking a midnight stroll through these particular mountains. If Kokushibou showed up tonight, it would be a swift and brutal 'Game Over'.
With Nakime lacking direct offensive capabilities and the Upper Rank Six siblings rotting in hell, the only logical candidate left to accompany Akaza was the cowardly, weeping terror of Upper Rank Four.
Hantengu.
Squish.
Akira's boot came down hard, grinding another scuttling, fleshy eyeball into the dirt. He kept his Transparent World active, his vision piercing through the dense foliage to map the skeletal structures of the trees and the pulsing, demonic energy of Nakime's spies. He moved like a phantom, systematically slaughtering the eyes before they could transmit clear visuals of the fleeing villagers.
As the tactical board settled in his mind, Akira felt the tension bleed out of his shoulders. A faint, dangerous smirk touched his lips.
Nearly two years ago, surviving Akaza had been a desperate, skin-of-his-teeth gamble. But tonight? Tonight was different. The roles of predator and prey had shifted.
He continued his silent purge until the distant sounds of the village fell completely silent, signaling that the evacuation was well underway.
Above him, the last sliver of golden light was swallowed by the horizon.
Night had officially fallen.
A mile away from the village borders, the air warped and tore open. Akaza and Hantengu materialized simultaneously, dropping onto the forest floor.
Because Akira had been so ruthlessly efficient in blinding the surveillance familiars, Nakime had been entirely unable to lock onto a coordinate closer to the settlement.
Akaza straightened up, his bare feet sinking into the cold earth. He glared at the distant, darkened rooftops and clicked his tongue in deep annoyance.
He didn't even bother looking down as he addressed the pathetic, trembling lump of flesh cowering beside his ankles.
"Akira is my prey," Akaza growled, his golden eyes burning with a sick, eager light. "Leave the rest of that trash to you. Don't let those weakling swordsmiths disturb my fight, and don't let a single human escape."
He cracked his knuckles, the sound like snapping branches in the quiet woods. "This is Lord Muzan's command."
Without waiting for the weeping demon to acknowledge him, Akaza's knees bent. The ground beneath him shattered into a crater as he vanished, launching himself forward at supersonic speed.
Miles away, Akira felt the shift in the atmosphere. He calmly deactivated the Transparent World. Instead of hiding, he deliberately released his grip on his own aura, letting his dense, heavy fighting spirit flare out like a roaring bonfire in the pitch-black night.
He was a beacon. And the moth was already hurtling toward the flame.
"Eeeeek... As you command, Lord Akaza..."
Left behind in the crater, Hantengu whimpered into the dirt. He maintained his hunched, pathetic posture, his bony limbs trembling violently as he began to crawl toward the village. Despite his agonizingly slow appearance, his grotesque body flickered and vanished into the shadows in the blink of an eye.
The forest canopy violently parted. A shockwave of displaced air tore through the clearing, kicking up a massive cloud of dust and dead leaves.
When the debris settled, Akaza stood tall, his muscular, tattooed body coiled with explosive kinetic energy. A feral, ecstatic grin stretched across his face as he locked eyes with the lone swordsman standing casually in his path.
"We meet again, Akira."
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