The night at that moment was still deep and heavy. The hour was halfway through the third watch. The wilderness stretched vast and boundless, yet seemed to have frozen solid. There was no wind. The moon was gone.
In that instant, within Shinji's perception, it was as though a map of the entire realm had blazed to life. From the Kantō to the Kinai. From the northern provinces to Kyūshū. A scattering of stars. Dense and innumerable.
Gazing up at the six-meter Shura projection towering at the center of it all, Kibutsuji Muzan knew, this opponent was not lying. Because he, too, could feel it.
Through his own dominion over all demons, through his perception of every fragment of flesh and blood he had ever cast across the land, he could feel that everything connected to the existence called "Kibutsuji Muzan" was now shrouded beneath the suppressing weight of that power called the Earth Barrier.
And because, his desire for survival was intensifying. When did one feel the urge to survive? Only when facing the threat of death. The Demon King's pupils contracted with savage intensity. Every hair on his body stood on end. But, Muzan clenched his jaw. The terror within his slit-pupiled eyes was crushed back down by rage.
He rapidly regained his composure. Kibutsuji Muzan had survived five hundred years. He had never relied on brute force to do so. He relied on caution. On paranoia. On always, always having a contingency.
"And what of it?" he spoke. His tone had shifted back from fury to cold sharpness. "You have indeed marked me. You have indeed seen every piece of my flesh. But you stand in Musashi Province. Your miko, she is also in Musashi Province. You can suppress all demons from a distance. But can you, across a thousand kilomrtres, annihilate every demon across this entire land? From this Kantō to the central provinces, to the capital region, to Shikoku, to Kyūshū—"
Perhaps he could not. Shinji possessed the Soul-Chasing BowArm Transformation. Once he locked onto a soul, his strike was certain. But certainty was not synonymous with lethality. Across such vast distances, no matter how potent the strike that pierced through, even if it landed, its force would have diminished to near nothingness.
Yet, before he could finish, Muzan stopped himself once more. The Demon King's slit pupils abruptly contracted. He had remembered something. The Demon Slayer Corps. And their Hashira. All seven Hashira, had been dispatched toward Kyōto.
He had believed that was the Corps falling for his ruse. That the invalid Ubuyashiki had been deceived by the false intelligence and sent his pieces straight into his hands. But if—if that was not a deception? If the Hashira being sent to Kyōto was also part of the plan?
"It seems you've realized," Shinji's voice boomed from within the Bone Thunder Shura.
"The members of the Demon Slayer Corps are right now in the place where you have hidden the most demons, the most of your flesh. The Kyōto region." His demon eyes stared at Muzan through the gaps of his mask. His tone was flat. "Every piece of flesh you have left behind. Every demon you have ever created. I have marked them all. Their positions are exposed. And the Demon Slayer Corps, they hold Nichirin Blades in their hands. And they have, to varying degrees, learned the Breathing Techniques. Breathing Techniques. Combined with blades that carry sunlight, forged specifically to slay demons. That is enough."
Muzan's expression, at last, truly changed. From cold sharpness, to blank emptiness. "In my plan, those Hashira in Kyōto were never sent to find you," Shinji spoke his final words. "They were sent to cleanse the field."
Muzan did not speak again. He stood rooted to the spot, his feet pinned by the Earth Barrier. Dozens of clones fell silent simultaneously.
That silence was more terrible than any roar. Because it was the silence of a monster who had lived for five centuries, realizing, for the very first time, that he might truly die.
At the same moment. At least several hundred kilometer away. The headquarters of the Demon Slayer Corps.
The main hall of the Ubuyashiki estate. Rikiya stood at the center of the hall, his left hand bracing against the shoulder of the attendant beside him. His frail, sickly body trembled faintly from sheer emotion. He could not see. But he felt it. The precognitive ability passed down through the Ubuyashiki bloodline screamed in that instant.
The power that had pierced through heaven and earth from the southeast, the suppression net formed by the fusion of Shinji's and Kikyō's powers. And what was even clearer, was another sensation. The sensation of bloodline.
The Ubuyashiki family shared the same blood, the same origin, as Kibutsuji Muzan. This curse had shortened their lives generation after generation. But it had also granted them a faint perception of Muzan and the demons he created. Normally, this perception was so vague as to be nearly meaningless.
But now, the instant the Earth Barrier suppressed all demons across the land and forced them into the open, that bloodline perception was amplified a hundredfold.
Rikiya saw.
Directions.
Which direction demons were struggling. Which direction the struggles were most violent. Which direction had already fallen silent. All of it flooded into his perception.
"They are exposed," Rikiya's voice trembled. He was overcome. "All of them. Exposed." The attendant beside him was startled by his sudden movement. Rikiya released her shoulder. On his face, half-consumed by the creeping purple decay, an indescribable expression surfaced. It was not joy. It was release. Five hundred years.
"Send the order—" Rikiya's voice no longer shook. It was calm. Even carrying a thread of gentleness. As though speaking words he had waited far, far too long to say. "All members of the Demon Slayer Corps."
Outside the hall, dozens, hundreds, of Kasugai Crows took wing simultaneously. Their pitch-black wings blotted out half the night sky. Their golden eyes gleamed like stars beneath the moonlight.
"Tell them...." Rikiya's voice carried across the entire estate. "The demons have nowhere left to hide. Open your eyes. Go. Hunt them. Cut them down. Cut down… every last demon. Across this entire world."
The crows' harsh cries tore through the sky as they scattered in every direction. But in truth, the speed at which the Kasugai Crows could relay the message was far slower than the speed at which Shinji's soul-locking web had already spread.
The Demon Slayer swordsmen across the land, those on patrol, those resting, those traveling, likely did not even need to wait for the crows to arrive. Because they could see for themselves. In the dark of night, demons that had been utterly concealed would suddenly burst forth, trailing white smoke, struggling out from beneath the earth, from caves, from ruins.
Howling, yet unable to move. Like signal beacons flaring to life in the darkness. Any Demon Slayer swordsman passing by with a Nichirin Blade could not possibly miss them. And could not possibly let them go.
Rikiya stood alone in the empty main hall. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the window lattice, falling upon his plain white kariginu. He closed his clouded, blind eyes. Five hundred years. It was, at last, about to end.
Kyōto. Within the stone passageways at the periphery of the underground palace. The Seven Hashira had been lying in wait for days.
The original plan had been to encircle and kill Muzan once he was lured out by the false intelligence. What they had gotten instead was a single decoy. They were preparing to retreat. Then the ground beneath their feet lit up. A gentle light seeped up from deep within the soil and spread along the rock walls of the passage, illuminating the entire underground corridor as though it were broad daylight. The bald, burly man looked down at his feet. "This is—" He never finished. From the darkness ahead came howls. Not one. Many. Those demons originally hidden in every corner beneath Kyōto—those planted here by Muzan as flesh backups or peripheral pieces—were all forced out by this light rising from the earth. Their feet were pinned to the glowing ground. They could not move. Their skin steamed with white smoke. Their regeneration plummeted. They howled, but could not break free. Like overturned insects, limbs flailing, yet utterly unable to go anywhere.
The bald man stared at the scene before him. His mouth opened. Then closed. He drew his blade. "Move."
The Seven Hashira moved as one. Nichirin Blades left their sheaths. Seven arcs of blade-light, each a different hue, blazed to life within the underground passages of Kyōto. They advanced toward the demons forced into the open by the barrier, exposed within the light. The bald man charged at the very front. His massive Nichirin Blade swept horizontally. Driven by the newly grasped Breath of Stone, it carried a force so raw and brutal it bordered on savagery. The three demons pinned to the ground before him were bisected at the waist in a single stroke. The severed surfaces were scorched black. Carbonization spread. The sunlight properties of the Nichirin Blade activated the instant they touched the demons' flesh, incinerating the very foundation of their regeneration. The demons didn't even have time to scream before they crumbled to ash.
The braided girl followed close behind. Her pale pink blade traced arcs through the corridor—bright and fluttering like the dance of a butterfly. As a Hashira of this era, her style was the polar opposite of the bald man's. Every stroke landed precisely on a demon's cervical spine. One strike, one kill. So clean not a drop of blood was spilled. The remaining five Hashira each took a direction, advancing into the labyrinthine depths of the passages that coiled beneath Kyōto.
This was a city. An inverted city, sprawling beneath the outskirts of the capital region, a maze of tunnels and chambers. By all rights, it should have been heavily guarded, filled with hundreds upon hundreds of demons. But now—those demons were pinned to the glowing ground by the Earth Barrier. Their skin steamed with white smoke. They bared their jagged fangs and howled—yet could not move even half a step. Like insects skewered to a specimen board. And wherever the Nichirin Blades passed, ash swirled through the air. The number of demons beneath Kyōto far exceeded all expectations. Muzan had hidden vast quantities of flesh backups here, shrouded beneath Hagoromo Gitsune's yōki. From the deepest passages to the hidden side chambers, ashen-white figures were being forced out everywhere. But under the barrier's suppression, their regeneration had plummeted. Demons that once required a Hashira and multiple lower-ranked swordsmen coordinating together just to encircle and kill—could now be handled by a single person. The Seven Hashira carved a bloody swath through the underground corridors of Kyōto and back again. In less than half an hour—the matter was settled.
At the same moment. Across the entire land. On a mountain road in Iyo Province, Shikoku, a young female swordswoman carrying a Nichirin Blade on her back was traveling through the night. The ground beneath her feet suddenly lit up. A gentle light seeped from the soil, illuminating the grass by the roadside ahead. Within that grass, a demon was pinned flat against the ground, its limbs locked in place by the glow. Its ashen skin trailed thin wisps of white smoke. The instant it saw the swordswoman, its clouded, jaundiced eyes filled with terror. Terror of that light spreading across the ground. And even more—fear of the Demon Slayer Corps member who had suddenly appeared before it. The swordswoman froze for two seconds. Then, decisively, she drew her blade. The blade fell. Ash scattered to the wind.
In an abandoned shrine somewhere in Mutsu Province, three demons were forced out of their cellar by the light and driven into the courtyard. They huddled at its very center, shoving at one another, yet none could flee. Two passing Demon Slayer swordsmen exchanged a glance. They drew their blades and stepped forward.
Deep in the mountains of Kyūshū, an old demon that had hidden for over a decade was wrenched from its lair by the light and beheaded on the spot by a swordsman who had rushed over at the news.
Across the entire land. From north to south. From east to west. Even near the headquarters of the Demon Slayer Corps, it was the same. Chō, who had only just awakened—still regretting that she hadn't been able to bid farewell to Shinji, her de facto teacher—was immediately drawn by the scent of demons outside. Countless Demon Slayer swordsmen from the headquarters poured forth in full force. No matter how near or far. All the demons marked, suppressed, and exposed by the Earth Barrier—were like maggots unearthed from beneath a stone and thrust into the sunlight. Nowhere to flee. Exterminated one by one.
Kōzuke Province. The wilderness. Kibutsuji Muzan felt it all. The sensation was vivid. It was as though his fingers were being snapped off, one by one. Every demon slain. Every backup of his flesh destroyed. In his perception, they all turned to nothingness. The direction of Kyōto was the most concentrated. The efficiency with which the Seven Hashira moved simultaneously was terrifying. The hundreds upon thousands of demons he had hidden there were being eradicated at a rate of several with every passing breath. The other regions were progressing in lockstep. The Demon Slayer swordsmen might have been scattered—but the Earth Barrier had marked and exposed every demon. It was the equivalent of drawing a living map for every member of the Corps. The demons—were dwindling. At a rate he could feel with terrible, piercing clarity. Dwindling.
Fear rose from depths Muzan had not touched in five hundred years.