The time limit on the cards is based on reality... The reason the flesh isn't permanent is because once separated from the main body, it loses its vitality.
Furthermore, Upper Ranks are merely secondary carriers derived from Muzan's blood; their strength is inferior. They can never compare to the original source.
Oboro studied the card in his hand.
Saying this, he raised the cleaver again and sliced off another piece of flesh from Michimaru.
Instantly, it transformed into a card.
Within minutes, the mighty Upper Rank Five had been carved up like livestock. Large portions of his body were missing.
The wounds slowly began to regenerate... but without his conscious control to accelerate it, the process was agonizingly slow.
"This is actually a great way to farm cards."
Oboro's eyes lit up.
In such a short time, he already held over twenty cards of "Demon Flesh", all with identical effects.
In other words, if he used these on others, he could turn them all into demons.
Just as he prepared to cut again, a notification sounded in his mind.
Limit reached. Maximum conversion allowed for this resource type.
The system's capabilities are still limited right now, mostly due to my soul's current state... after all, this is my first journey to another world. If I can perfectly realize my 'Supreme Will' this time, my understanding and spirit will evolve.
Perhaps I can even negotiate with the 'World' itself to upgrade the system and unlock more functions." Oboro thought to himself, formulating a plan.
He stored the cards away.
Looking up, he saw tears streaming down Michimaru's blank face.
His mind was fully awake; he was just paralyzed and unable to move.
He could hear every word and feel every cut.
Crying?
Oboro smiled slightly.
One wouldn't expect an Upper Rank to weep like this.
But Oboro could hear the wailing of Michimaru's soul...
What he was doing had unlocked memories from his human life.
Even the reason why he became a demon.
Oboro saw it all.
Michimaru had been a demon for about two hundred years. He had been turned shortly after the start of the Edo period, an era that seemed prosperous on the surface.
But reality was different. Since the Sengoku era, chaos never truly ended; it merely transformed into smaller conflicts and strife.
Even now, rebels and bandits were everywhere.
Back then, life was even crueler. When the Shogunate was established, they were busy cleaning up the mess left by centuries of war.
People starved. Families were torn apart.
Michimaru had once been a normal man. He had a wife, a child, and a happy home.
He was a hunter and a butcher. He sold game and meat, earning just enough to live comfortably.
Then one day, a feudal lord and his army marched into his village. The nightmare began. The soldiers consumed everything, forcing the villagers to supply them with endless food and luxury goods.
If the villagers failed to provide, people were killed as an example. The lord publicly declared that the villagers were mere commoners, and serving his needs was their honor and duty.
The army stayed and stayed, draining the village dry until people were forced to eat grass and bark.
Then one night, Michimaru was dragged before the lord. They knew he was a butcher with skilled hands.
They ordered him to kill and butcher humans. Because the lord wanted fresh meat.
Michimaru had no choice. If he refused, his wife and son would be killed immediately.
And so... every day in a dark hut, he dismembered living people. The lord demanded freshness, so the killing was done by his hand.
Michimaru became numb. A machine.
He processed the young, the old, until the village population dwindled away.
Until one day, the face on his table was familiar.
It was his wife.
Michimaru couldn't remember the act itself. He just worked mechanically.
He told himself it was to protect their son.
But in the end, his son wasn't spared either.
Finally, the day came when the lord prepared to leave. Michimaru went to bid farewell, and saw the feast on the table. Sashimi. Plates of raw meat.
Seeing that, something inside him snapped.
He knew. That was his son.
He attacked, but a single man was powerless against armed samurai. He was beaten down, and the lord mocked him. As the swords raised to behead him, a figure appeared.
Muzan...
Later, as a demon, Michimaru learned the truth: that lord was actually a criminal rebel wanted by the Shogunate. In those chaotic times, commoners were truly like sheep. There was no law, no justice.
No one would come to save them.
They prayed to gods for miracles, but none ever came.
"A tragic story indeed... But that obsession and resentment served you well after becoming a demon. Muzan certainly knows how to pick his followers." Oboro commented.
Michimaru was crying because the pain was identical.
Just like those villagers, he was now the one being carved up piece by piece.
This was the death he feared most.
Identity, Hunger, Godhood... these were the themes etched into his soul.
In this world of Demon Slayer, the environment was naturally shaped to breed conflict and suffering, allowing the power system to flourish. Things were never meant to be easy.
Muzan was just one of the seeds planted by the world itself. The world pushed fate toward tragedy to create drama and growth.
It was a pity. The truly valuable seed should have been Yoriichi Tsugikuni... but the fruit had withered before it could fully ripen.
"You are merely an interesting specimen. Since I cannot convert your entire being into a living card... you are of no further use to me. As Upper Rank Five, your physical strength is acceptable... but your spirit is far too weak. If your will were stronger, I might have been able to extract your Blood Demon Art and convert it into a Skill Card, rather than just an item card. What a pity..."
Oboro turned his back and began walking away down the path.
"With your level, you might struggle to keep your position among the Upper Ranks."
"When you see Muzan, tell him this... Don't bother trying to find me. Whether he gets to meet me depends entirely on my mood."
"I hope... you're still alive a hundred years from now."
His calm voice echoed in Michimaru's ears.
Oboro knew that the roster of the Upper Ranks remained unchanged for over a century in history, but changes were coming. Doma would rise, and Gyutaro would eventually claim his place.
Unless necessary, Oboro had no intention of killing Upper Ranks or Pillars. Their strength was vital to both sides.
To alter the world's power system, he needed balance. Only when both sides were strong and clashed would true power be born. It was better for "seeding" and "fertilizing". Now was not the time to interfere carelessly.
He had already planted two seeds: one with the Kamado family, and one within the Demon Slayer Corps.
As for Muzan... he would wait.
Several minutes later, Oboro's figure vanished completely.
Michimaru's muscles began to twitch. His eyes cleared.
Control slowly returned to his limbs.
CRACK!
The moment his hand could move, he punched his own head into mush.
It regenerated instantly, fresh and new.
He panted heavily, swallowing hard.
"I'm alive...?"
He had fully expected to be eaten.
As demons, if that man had consumed him, he would have absorbed the power of Muzan's blood and become vastly stronger.
But that opportunity... the man hadn't even cared.
"An incomprehensible level of strength..."
"Did he say... soul?"
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