Chapter 197: Human Evil, The Upper Rank First Named Onigumo
The demon was not yet completely dead.
Her body, cleaved cleanly in two by a single, merciless stroke of Yomikiri, lay strewn across the charred ruins of the temple. Black and purple frost bloomed outward from the gruesome bisection, a chilling manifestation of Yao Qi that relentlessly froze every cellular attempt at regeneration.
Yet, the vitality of a demon was far more tenacious than one might imagine—especially a creature that had already awakened a Blood Demon Art.
Her upper torso continued to writhe. Gray-white fingers gouged deep, desperate trenches into the scorched earth. Half of her ruined face remained pressed against the dirt, her single unshattered vertical pupil locked onto the gray-clad figure standing over her.
That trembling pupil reflected a cascade of pale hair, the piercing glow of Crimson Demon Eyes, and the terrifyingly beautiful Nichirin Blade that had just slid back into its sheath with a soft, final click.
What gripped her was fear, pure and absolute.
It was not the fear of death—for demons, the concept of mortality was a vague, distant thing, and their monstrous regenerative capabilities made physical mutilation a mere inconvenience. No, this was a primal terror directed entirely at the existence standing before her.
One slash.
Just one slash.
Her vaunted Blood Demon Art, her lethal poisons, her suffocating vines—before that silver-white arc of light, none of it possessed even the right to exist.
Hikaru crouched down.
A demonic mask obscured his features, leaving only those Crimson Demon Eyes to peer through the narrow slits, coldly evaluating the pathetic mass of flesh struggling to survive on the ruined earth.
"Speak."
His voice was deadpan, chillingly calm.
It was so completely devoid of emotion that the demon's vertical pupil contracted into a needlepoint. In that absolute stillness, there was no anger, no disgust, not even a flicker of interest. It was a terrifying emptiness that instantly reminded her of the supreme entity who had bestowed her with demon blood.
"How could you know..." she wheezed, her voice bubbling with black blood. "How could you know the name of the true Sect Leader!?"
Kisshoin. Also known as Sessyoin.
This wretched creature bleeding out before him was clearly not the true leader of the Tachikawa True Sect, but a pathetic impostor.
Hikaru's crimson gaze lowered, silently waiting for the dying demon to spill her secrets. He was deeply concerned about that name.
Sessyoin.
Sessyoin Kiara.
That was a name belonging to an entirely different reality—an existence inextricably bound to esoteric Buddhism, depraved cults, boundless human desire, and the absolute darkest evils of the collective human consciousness. The very name of this cult—the Tachikawa True Sect—along with the disturbing layout of this stronghold, had already sparked several highly unpleasant associations in his pragmatic mind.
If, in this chaotic, blended world, an entity like Sessyoin Kiara truly existed, then the board was far more complicated than he had initially calculated.
Hikaru did not voice his suspicions. The dying demon, utterly oblivious to the complex calculations running through his mind, simply continued to vomit the truth, driven entirely by her all-consuming terror.
She was afraid. Just as she would tremble before the Progenitor, she trembled now. Her very instincts screamed that this 'demon-slaying swordsman' was somehow even more terrifying than Kibutsuji Muzan himself.
"I'll tell you... I'll tell you everything..." she gasped, her mangled throat producing a wet, tearing sound. "Please, don't kill me... I... I am indeed not the Sect Leader..."
The impostor's face, split grotesquely from ear to ear, twitched in agony.
"I... I only borrowed that name..."
Her voice grew fainter, the underworld-hued frost creeping up her neck, completely paralyzing her regenerative cells. True death was only moments away.
"I was just impersonating her... Lady Sessyoin... She is not a demon... She is human. A living, breathing practitioner of Esoteric Buddhism..."
The clouded depth of her remaining eye turned toward Hikaru, silently begging for a mercy she would not receive.
"But she... she made a deal with Lord Kibutsuji Muzan... I don't know the specifics..."
Hikaru remained silent, offering neither comfort nor condemnation.
"And I..." she choked out, "I was sent here... to use her name, to manage this branch temple... and to collect food..."
Her gaze flickered to the five drained corpses scattered across the courtyard.
"I am... a reserve for the Twelve Kizuki..."
That single sentence caused Hikaru's focus to sharpen to a razor's edge.
The Twelve Kizuki.
He was intimately familiar with the concept—the twelve strongest demons under Muzan's direct command, split into Upper and Lower Moons, serving as the absolute vanguard of the demon faction.
But in this specific era, within this current mixed timeline, he had been certain that the Twelve Kizuki had not yet been established. The organization was originally formed only after Muzan's near-fatal encounter with Tsugikuni Yoriichi, designed specifically to counter the rising threat of the Breathing Styles.
Was it appearing early?
But Muzan hadn't even crossed blades with Yoriichi yet. Another ripple of the butterfly effect?
The fake Kisshoin's voice was barely a whisper now. The ghostly Yao Qi of Yomikiri had carbonized the majority of her remaining flesh; the decay was irreversible.
"The Twelve Kizuki... it was just established... it isn't even complete yet... but the Upper Moons... the head of the Upper Moons... I know who it is!"
Her vertical pupil suddenly dilated to its absolute limit, as if she had just recalled a horror far worse than death.
"The head of the Upper Moons... his codename is... Onigumo..."
Onigumo.
The very instant those syllables hung in the air, Hikaru's killing intent erupted without warning.
A violent surge of Yao Qi blasted outward from his body, crushing the air within a three-step radius. The scorched earth fractured beneath his boots, the withered grass instantly turned to ash, and the oppressive pressure forcefully accelerated the half-dead demon's disintegration.
Spider. Demon.
Separately, neither word was particularly unique.
But combined—they pointed directly to the entity known as Naraku.
Naraku. The ultimate mastermind who orchestrated endless tragedies, constantly plotting from the shadows to seize the Shikon Jewel. Naraku's origin was a crippled human bandit who, consumed by his own dark desires, allowed a swarm of lesser demons to devour his flesh, merging with them to become a terrifying, ever-evolving abomination.
And before that fateful merger, he was just a burned, paralyzed wretch lying in a dark cave.
A man named Onigumo.
If the 'Onigumo' in this world was not merely a coincidence—if Muzan's Upper Rank One was the very same entity destined to become Naraku, altered by the chaotic deviations of this blended reality—then this was a catastrophic problem.
While Sessyoin Kiara was undeniably a terrifying conceptual threat, she was still relatively distant. Her brand of evil, rooted in complex human desires, might not even reach its full potential in this brutal, survival-driven Sengoku era. Naraku, however, was an immediate, lethal threat to everything Hikaru valued.
The fake Kisshoin finally shattered into nothingness, consumed by her own terror, leaving not even a pile of ash behind.
Hikaru slowly stood up. Beneath the pale moonlight, his Crimson Demon Eyes were chillingly absolute. He did not retract his killing intent; instead, the suffocating aura grew even denser.
He turned his head, locking eyes with Rengoku Rengyuro.
"Are there any other traces of demons in the immediate vicinity?"
Rengyuro was forced half a step back by the sudden, oppressive shift in Hikaru's aura, but the seasoned swordsman quickly grounded himself.
"There are," Rengyuro swallowed hard, his grip tightening on his scabbard. "Previous intelligence indicated at least three similar cult strongholds operating in this region, but their exact coordinates remain unknown."
"There is no need to search for them," Hikaru stated flatly.
His gaze had already drifted past Rengyuro, sweeping over the dark hills and the distant tree line. He was looking much further away.
He was looking toward Kyoto.
Onigumo.
Kibutsuji Muzan.
Sessyoin.
The names locked together in his mind, weaving a massive, invisible web that he could not yet fully perceive. But one absolute truth remained.
He needed to accelerate his plans. He had to act before that crippled bandit evolved into an unstoppable monster.
Yoriichi approached from behind, his crimson Nichirin Blade resting casually against his shoulder. His deep red eyes, capable of perceiving the Transparent World, glanced at the empty, scorched patch of earth where the demon had perished.
"That name she spoke..." Yoriichi murmured, his voice quiet but resonant. "...it is weighing heavily upon you."
Hikaru did not bother denying it.
"Onigumo," he repeated, the syllables tasting like ash. "If my calculations are correct, that thing is infinitely more dangerous than Kibutsuji Muzan."
Yoriichi tilted his head, a rare flicker of deep gravity crossing his serene features. He did not fully comprehend the logical basis behind Hikaru's assessment, but he trusted the undead samurai's instincts implicitly. Among everyone Yoriichi had ever met—including the most hardened veterans of the Demon Slayer Corps—no one understood the true nature of demons better than the pragmatic Oni standing before him.
"What do you require of me?" Yoriichi asked.
Simple. Direct. Unwavering.
Hikaru cast a sidelong glance at the legendary swordsman.
"Nothing for now," he replied, finally reigning in his explosive killing intent. His Crimson Demon Eyes returned to their usual, deadpan calm. "But I must return to the village first."
He had been away for nearly a month.
Though he maintained daily contact with Kikyo, constantly monitoring the shrine maiden and the village's perimeter through his blood mist constructs, the sudden revelation of Onigumo's existence changed everything. He could no longer afford to wander the countryside.
Kyoto.
Deep within the winding corridors of an opulent, shadowed estate.
Kibutsuji Muzan walked with measured, predatory grace, making his way toward an 'audience' with the Yokai sovereign, Hagoromo Gitsune.
Following a respectful distance behind him was Onigumo. The former bandit, possessing a pale and elegant visage, suddenly paused, letting out a soft, almost imperceptible gasp.
Muzan stopped, glancing back over his shoulder with cold, crimson eyes.
Onigumo made no attempt to hide the reaction.
"A reserve for the Twelve Kizuki that I had personally selected... has just been destroyed," Onigumo reported smoothly. "The final image transmitted through our connection was, I believe, the flash of a Demon Slayer's Nichirin Blade."
Hearing this, Muzan immediately withdrew his gaze, his interest dropping to absolute zero.
"If it perished at the hands of mere Demon Slayers, it only proves it lacked the necessary qualifications," the Progenitor replied coldly. "Just find a replacement."
However, what Kibutsuji Muzan failed to realize was that Onigumo had not spoken the entire truth.
As the Progenitor of Demons, Muzan possessed the absolute authority to instantly read the thoughts and memories of anyone carrying his blood. Yet, completely unbeknownst to him, that absolute authority had quietly ceased to function on the entity walking behind him.
But Muzan was in no mood to scrutinize his subordinates tonight.
Recently, the rate at which Hagoromo Gitsune was harvesting human resentment had accelerated dramatically., he had just received a promising lead regarding the whereabouts of that elusive flower he had spent centuries searching for.
The convergence of these events filled the Progenitor with a vague, inexplicable premonition.
It was a very good feeling.
And simultaneously, a very bad one.
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