The mountain forest was as silent as a desolate graveyard. Rengoku Mujuro pressed on through the dense, tangled undergrowth, carrying both Nan Niyi and Izumi Kiyowa on his back.
He had, of course, overheard the conversation between the two behind him.
If anyone had told him before meeting Izumi Kiyowa that a Breathing Style could be modified in a matter of seconds, even a man as good-natured as Rengoku would have frowned at such a claim. After all, Breathing Styles were profound and esoteric arts, refined and built upon by generations of geniuses. Especially for an ancient lineage like the Rengoku family, which had produced Hashira for nearly every generation, their respect for and understanding of Breathing Styles far exceeded that of the average slayer.
But after Kiyowa's arrival, Rengoku had to admit that the Breathing Styles they viewed as lofty and unreachable were, in the boy's eyes, as simple and transparent as a children's primer.
Refinement, innovation, development... for Kiyowa, these were as easy as turning over a hand.
Rengoku could only offer a helpless, silent smile. He felt no jealousy, only a profound sense of awe at Kiyowa's extraordinary talent. On the contrary, he felt a deep, heartfelt joy that such a figure had been born into this era.
Kiyowa's existence destined the demons for decline.
Once the boy truly came into his own, even if he couldn't kill Muzan outright, he would dominate an entire era, forcing every demon back into the dirt for a hundred years! And in those hundred years, how many thousands would be spared from the demons' claws because of him? How many families and ordinary people would live out their lives in peace?
This, Rengoku thought, is the ultimate meaning of slaying demons.
Hearing the Roaring Hashira's breathing gradually stabilize against his back, Rengoku knew Kiyowa had succeeded. He had truly modified a version of Thunder Breathing—a style that had remained unchanged for centuries—in just a few heartbeats.
As Nan Niyi followed Kiyowa's rhythm, she felt the internal energy that usually rampaged through her veins like a wild beast suddenly take on a life of its own. It became gentle, nuanced, and precise, flowing toward her most severe injuries with surgical accuracy. She could clearly feel the muscle fibers around the horrific puncture wound in her abdomen begin to contract and close under the influence of subtle electrical stimulation.
The rate of her bleeding was visibly slowing!
Watching this, a massive weight finally lifted from Kiyowa's heart. In this era, as long as there was no massive hemorrhaging, a Hashira's inhuman constitution meant they would likely survive. But if the bleeding hadn't stopped...
As her consciousness began to return, Nan Niyi felt the cold, crushing despair of her life force draining away being forcibly halted.
"This... this is nothing short of a miracle..."
Shock and disbelief filled her eyes. Thunder Breathing, regarded for centuries as a weapon of pure offense, had actually developed the capacity for physical recovery under Kiyowa's refinement. Though the effect was not as pronounced as Flower Breathing or Water Breathing, it was undeniably a healing effect—a unique method of restoration specific to Thunder Breathing that used electric-like currents to stimulate the body's vitality.
What stunned Nan Niyi even more was that this modification was perfectly tailored to her own body. Before her, almost every Roaring Hashira had been male. Natural physiology meant that men were generally better suited for the explosive, high-impact nature of Thunder Breathing. Though she was loath to admit it, Nan Niyi knew her own execution of the style often felt obstructed in certain areas.
But Kiyowa's version fit her body perfectly.
At this point, she no longer knew how to describe the youth. A genius? A miracle? No... perhaps it wasn't an exaggeration to call him a god walking among men.
Rengoku Mujuro sensed the Roaring Hashira's breathing grow stronger and steadier. His spirits lifted, and he pushed his legs even harder.
It's working!
With both the Roaring Hashira and Little Kiyowa fighting so hard, how could he, the only one uninjured, afford to fall behind?
With that thought, Rengoku's speed surged again. Dust kicked up beneath his feet, but before it could even settle, it was scattered by the gale-force wind of his passing. However, the way the dust scattered seemed slightly off, as if two different currents of wind were pulling at it simultaneously.
Rengoku allowed himself a small smile. Just as everything seemed to be moving in a positive direction, the brilliant moonlight fell upon a stagnant pool of water ahead.
Plop... glub, glub...
An unsettling, eerie sound—like bubbles bursting in mud—suddenly echoed from the moonlit puddle.
Rengoku skidded to a halt, instantly bringing his Nichirin Blade up in a defensive guard, his eyes as sharp as a hawk's.
The unremarkable puddle by the roadside began to churn as if boiling. Then, a strangely shaped porcelain pot slowly rose from the water.
The pot was adorned with twisted, grotesque fish patterns. On either side of the porcelain, there were smears of fresh blood and bits of human tissue still clinging to the surface. Even from a distance of ten meters, Rengoku could feel a revolting, supernatural aura emanating from it.
With a sickening clack, a demon crawled out from within the pot. Its skin was a deathly, pallid white, and its eyes and mouth were completely transposed. Short, stubby arms like those of a human infant sprouted all over its body. Upon seeing Rengoku and the others, those tiny arms clenched together, and the two hands closest to its face cupped its disgusting cheeks.
A distorted, high-pitched laugh that made the skin crawl rang out:
"Ah-la-la~ It seems my, Gyokko's, luck is quite good indeed!"
Gyokko's shrill, eccentric voice echoed as his greedy gaze swept over Rengoku and the two people on his back.
"No... I shouldn't say it's luck. It's simply that you foolish Demon Slayers are too stupid! Very few people burn Wisteria flowers at night, you know and certainly not in such massive quantities. With even a sliver of a brain, one would realize you'd be coming this way. Still, thanks to your idiocy, I was able to find you so easily. As a reward, I shall make your deaths truly artistic At the very least, I'll replace that hideous hair color of yours with fish scales..."
Gyokko had only finished half his sentence before his figure vanished. Unlike Akaza, he didn't care for honorable duels; to him, that was a fool's choice. Every one of his kills was an "artistic burial."
Facing the sudden, incoming swarm of razor-sharp fish-bone needles, Rengoku Mujuro's voice rang out, loud and clear:
"My mother always said my hair color was beautiful!"
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Demon Slayer: Starting by Snatching Daki(103 Chapter- Ongoing)
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