Kokushibo tilted his head slightly, anger showing in all six eyes.
"That Akaza—he promised to challenge me, and yet he let humans cut him down!"
Opposite Kokushibo, Gyomei Himejima, Muichiro Tokito, and Tanjiro all wore solemn expressions, not daring to relax in the slightest.
Their bodies bore many small cuts, left by Kokushibo's swordwork.
They had finally witnessed the strength of Upper Rank One, the strongest demon under Muzan.
Forging his own bone and flesh into an indestructible blade—that was Kokushibo's Blood Demon Art. Simple and direct, yet with his Moon Breathing it unleashed overwhelming destruction.
After venting a few words on Akaza's death, he turned toward the three.
Cloud-and-mist Marks on Muichiro's face, a rocklike pattern on Gyomei's wrists, and flame markings on Tanjiro's brow.
"So this age has produced Marked swordsmen again? What a pitiful lot.
And this sensation… the three of you can even see the Transparent World. It seems the Corps truly has gathered much talent this time—no wonder you dare challenge Lord Muzan."
Gyomei hefted his flail, the links rattling with a metallic clatter.
"Our resolve to slay Muzan has nothing to do with strength! It is precisely because you cannot understand that, that you shed your human heart and became a demon!"
Kokushibo leveled the grotesque katana in his hands, veined with flesh and studded with eyes. "A 'human heart' is a thing without meaning."
Tanjiro bristled and was about to speak when Muichiro suddenly cut in.
"Well, it's only natural you don't understand. The moon and the sun are different after all. The moon can only reflect the sun's light; it will never shine by itself like the sun."
Muichiro had a peculiar gift; the spacey boy seemed especially adept at poking certain people's sore spots.
Kokushibo had cast off the name Michikatsu Tsugikuni and his standing in the warrior clans. He had abandoned everything human—his entire life—to become a demon.
The one thing he could not let go of was his obsession with his brother, brilliant as the sun.
Born of the same mother and into the same world, Kokushibo could not even comprehend his own brother.
Just like their Breathing styles: no matter how strong Moon Breathing was, it had been born as an imitation of Sun Breathing and could never compare to it.
As Muichiro said, radiance does not belong to the moon; the moon only reflects a sliver of the sun's light.
Though his expression did not change, all three immediately felt Kokushibo's aura shift.
"Moon Breathing: First Form: Dark Moon: Evening Palace!"
In the blink of an eye he was upon his sharp-tongued descendant, blade cutting down.
Where his edge swept, countless crescent slashes chased in its wake. That was the uniqueness of Kokushibo's Moon Breathing—an uncanny swordcraft that made defense all but impossible.
"Mist Breathing: Third Form: Scattering Mist Splash!"
Muichiro's blade dragged a trail of vapor, meeting Kokushibo's strike.
The crescent slashes churned the mist into ripples, then dissipated without a trace. Even so, several cuts opened on Muichiro's arm and shoulder, and a shallow line marked his face.
Kokushibo's six eyes opened a fraction. "As expected of one of my blood. However diluted the lineage, you are excellent—smooth yet powerful technique. Praise is due."
Muichiro said coolly, "I have nothing to do with you, who became a demon."
"Mist Breathing: Second Form: Eight-Layered Mist!"
Speaking, he loosed another haze-laden flurry, several slashes falling together toward Kokushibo.
His praise had been sincere; to wield such polished technique at that age was worthy of wonder.
It did not mean the boy could contend with one who had honed the sword for centuries.
Just as Kokushibo moved to counter, a vicious wind roared past his ear—a massive flail head smashed down.
In the Transparent World, Gyomei had seized the perfect timing, but even beset from two sides, Kokushibo did not waver.
"Moon Breathing: Fifth Form: Moon Spirit Calamitous Eddy!"
There was no visible swing—only a ring of slashes blooming outward.
Muichiro's cuts were knocked aside, and even Gyomei's flail was batted away.
Crack… crunch!
Kokushibo glanced at his blade—fissures spidered out across it, and the edge shattered into fragments.
Gyomei's weapon was a hand axe and spiked flail joined by a long chain. The entire set, chain included, was forged of refined sun-steel.
A blade of Kokushibo's own flesh could not bear such a heavy blow.
Just then, Tanjiro dropped from above with a falling cut.
"Hinokami Kagura: Beneficent Radiance!"
In an instant Kokushibo's blade regenerated to its original shape, rising to catch the flame-wreathed edge.
But the moment the blades met, the pupils of all six eyes narrowed at once.
The edge in Tanjiro's hand was turning from obsidian black to a slow, spreading red.
And as the crimson crept along the steel, Tanjiro's blade began to bite into Kokushibo's.
"A Red Blade…?"
With only that mutter, his own sword split—and Tanjiro's cut traced across his chest.
Kokushibo fell back several paces, fixing a hard stare on that blade like metal fresh from the forge.
Four centuries had passed; at last he saw someone draw a Red Blade again.
On the other side, Gyomei scraped his axe against the stone at his hip, and its edge flushed red.
Muichiro also ran a piece of stone along his blade, turning it into a Red Blade as well.
Aside from Tanjiro—even Kyojuro Rengoku, who used Flame Breathing—could only intermittently ignite a Red Blade.
So Charles had made them these Red Stones: rub them along the edge and the natural energy in the blade would stir, producing a temporary Red Blade state.
Though inferior to Yoriichi's naturally awakened Red Blade, it was more than enough in battle.
Because of Sun Breathing's special nature, Tanjiro was the only one who could maintain a Red Blade steadily.
Kokushibo ignored the descendant who had nettled him and looked to Tanjiro instead.
Memory stirred. Four hundred years ago, he had complained to Yoriichi that no Corps swordsman could reach the realm the brothers had, that their art would be lost.
The expressionless Yoriichi had smiled then.
"Brother, you think too much of the two of us. We are only passersby in the long history of humanity. Somewhere in this world, a child whose gifts surpass ours may be being born.
I daresay they too will reach the realm we did. There is no need to fret. Let us simply accept the end of our lives with grace. Is that not a most delightful thought, Brother?"
Veins swelled on Kokushibo's face. After four centuries, Yoriichi's words had come true. The boy who carried on his every teaching stood before him, while he—having become a demon—had left nothing.
He tore open his ruined clothing, baring a powerful torso. The blade Tanjiro had cut also regenerated, warping into a branched, alien sword.
"Come then! Let me put an end to this sickening farce!"
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/Mutter
Every 100 Power Stones = 1 extra chapter on Saturday.
Every 5 reviews = 1 extra chapter on Saturday.