Crackling lightning danced gently across Kyūjō's body, sending ripples of energy echoing through the silent night. Then, in the blink of an eye, his figure vanished.

From the edge of the clearing, Kokushibō narrowed his six crimson eyes, carefully observing the fight.

"This level of control…"

"Perfect mastery over the body…"

"Has he truly entered the Transparent World at such a young age…?"

His gaze sharpened, and for a brief moment, a flicker of killing intent passed through his expression.

On the battlefield, Akaza drove his fist through the air, landing a strike that sent a deafening shockwave thundering through the space in front of him.

But there was no target.

"Thunder Breathing, Fourth Form: Distant Thunder – Modified!"

Blue and yellow lightning surged along Kyūjō's Nichirin blade.

Now standing over ten meters away, he drew his sword and swung it from a distance—sending a bolt of lightning flashing toward Akaza like a beam of light tearing through the night sky.

Akaza's instincts, honed over centuries of combat, screamed at him in warning.

Don't let that lightning touch you!

"Destructive Death: Air Type!"

In an instant, Akaza thrust both hands forward and slammed the air with clenched fists.

His punches compressed the air in front of him, generating two shockwaves that blasted out like cannonballs—crashing directly into Kyūjō's lightning slash.

A dull, muted boom echoed across the battlefield.

The lightning arc shattered instantly, torn apart by the twin shockwaves. But Akaza's attack didn't stop there.

Still brimming with force, the twin projectiles surged forward—racing toward Kyūjō.

The ranged Thunder Slash had failed.

But Kyūjō didn't flinch. He stared at the approaching shockwaves, his eyes glowing with curiosity instead of worry. There was even a glimmer of excitement in them, as if he were witnessing something rare and beautiful.

He didn't dodge.

Instead, he calmly raised his blade.

With precise control, he adjusted the angle of his sword—and caught both shockwaves in a single horizontal slash.

The impact slammed into his arms, forcing him to slide backward, dragging furrows in the dirt beneath his feet.

Two long trenches formed behind him, carved by the pressure against his heels.

He looked down at the marks, then gave a small, inward smile.

Now that's an interesting technique.

A method that compressed air around the fist, then launched it as a long-range projectile.

Efficient. Powerful. Minimal energy loss.

There was no denying it—Akaza was a genius.

In this world, Demon Slayers could only kill demons by decapitating them with Nichirin Blades. Because of that, most combat styles had evolved toward close-quarters—practical, straightforward, and lethal.

Demons, however, weren't bound by that same rule. Their Blood Demon Arts (Kekkei Jutsu) often leaned toward flamboyant, wide-range attacks filled with creativity and chaos.

But Akaza was different.

Most of his strength didn't come from magic or blood arts—it came from raw physical ability, from true martial arts mastery.

And that was something Kyūjō could learn from.

Right now, only one technique truly caught his interest:

"Destructive Death: Air Type."

— — —

With eyes gleaming, Kyūjō called out to his opponent—completely straightforward.

"Repeat that last attack. I want to feel it again."

(Kyūjō's inner thoughts: Akaza… hit me harder. Tear me apart—let me understand everything.)

Akaza blinked in confusion, unsure what his opponent meant by that.

But thankfully, as a demon who respected strength above all, he didn't question the request.

"Destructive Death: Air Type!"

"Destructive Death: Air Type!"

"Destructive Death: Air Type!"

— — —

One after another, shockwaves tore through the air.

Kyūjō shut his eyes, evading them with light, flowing steps. He didn't need to see—he was focused entirely on sensation. On the way the air moved. On the precise moment Akaza's fingers curled and struck.

His attention zeroed in on one detail—how Akaza's fingers twitched before each release.

Incredible finger control… like the hands of a sculptor.

— — —

But after six consecutive attacks, Akaza's body began to wear down.

His muscles tore under the repeated explosive forces. If he were still human, he would've collapsed by now.

Even his knuckles—normally the toughest part of his body—had begun to crack. And during his fight with Rengoku, those same hands had stopped a blade without so much as a scratch.

Seeing Akaza pause, Kyūjō opened his eyes again.

His gaze was sharp. Cold. Almost mocking.

Is that all?

That look alone—filled with insult and contempt—was enough to push Akaza over the edge.

His regeneration kicked into overdrive. His breath grew heavy. He stepped back into his stance.

"Destructive Death: Air Type!"

"Destructive Death: Air Type!"

"Destructive Death: Air Type!"

— — —

"So that's how it works…"

After taking and observing over a dozen attacks, Kyūjō finally understood.

The timing. The control. The pressure. The release.

He had broken down Air Type to its very core.

And now, he stood silently. He didn't counterattack. Just gripped his blade calmly and sank into thought.

—About his new technique.

The Flying Slash.

Off to the side, watching both man and demon suddenly fall into a strange stillness, Kokushibō's expression darkened.

Veins bulged on his temples.

"What… are you two doing?"

"Fight seriously!!"

His fury burned white-hot. If he wasn't holding back, he might've struck them both down on the spot.

— — —

Maybe Akaza sensed that wave of killing intent.

Without waiting to recover fully, he slammed his foot into the ground and launched himself toward Kyūjō once again.

But this time—it wasn't Air Type.

It was a technique born from his evolution as a demon. A pure instinctive manifestation of power.

"Destructive Death: Final Form – Blue Silver Chaotic Afterglow!"

His final form.

Once the compass of war was opened, Akaza's body unleashed hundreds of piercing energy trails in all directions—like fragments of light erupting from a single star.

Fast. Wild. Inescapable.

Even Giyu Tomioka's Eleventh Form, Dead Calm, couldn't block them all.

Only someone who had entered the Transparent World, like Tanjiro, had ever avoided it cleanly.

And Kyūjō?

This kind of technique… wasn't enough.

As thousands of deadly streaks rained down toward him, Kyūjō moved with an almost casual grace—his steps light, precise, as if he'd already memorized every trajectory.

He lifted his Nichirin Blade.

A faint vibration hummed along the metal—tiny, rhythmic pulses building in intensity.

And then—

In one motion, he swung.

A sharp whisper followed.

And a moment later—

A translucent blade of energy shimmered into existence. A silver slash, thin and pale like moonlight, streaked across the battlefield.

It tore through the air.

Crossed the entire distance.

And flew straight for Akaza's neck.

Akaza's eyes widened in disbelief.

He recognized this technique instantly.

What shocked him wasn't the power—but the speed at which Kyūjō had learned it.

A flying slash—a style of "empty-blade" combat, released through sheer force and Ki manipulation.

There was no time to dodge.

Akaza crossed his arms, fists raised to shield his throat.

But—

A single, quiet sound split the air.

Shhhk—

The slash passed through.

And kept going.

Akaza's arms—and his head—were severed in an instant, crashing to the ground beside his body.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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