The moment Kokushibō—the fearsome former Upper Moon One—stepped into the heart of the ravine, a suffocating tension swallowed the battlefield.

Behind him, his personal army of demon warriors moved in unison, silent and deadly.

In front of him stood over three hundred swordsmen from the Demon Slayer Corps, their Nichirin blades catching the dying light of sunset, casting reflections of pure resolve. Every warrior had the same look in their eyes: they were ready to die.

Kokushibō merely smirked.

It was a twisted grin—equal parts disdain and divine confidence.

"With just you lot..."

His voice was low, yet razor-sharp, slicing through the stillness like a blade.

"You think you can stop me?"

He raised his voice just slightly—not from arrogance, but certainty.

"Hand over the Blue Spider Lily now... and perhaps I'll consider sparing your miserable lives."

But there was no response.

No fear.

No hesitation.

Just silence.

A silence so heavy it felt like mockery.

Kokushibō's eyes narrowed. His fingers curled around the hilt of his living blade—Kyokokukamusari, a demonic katana that pulsed faintly like a creature bound to his soul.

But just as he began to draw it, his gaze locked onto one figure in the front line.

A young man. Calm, alert.

Standing with unwavering eyes.

Kamado Tanjūrō.

No—what truly caught Kokushibō's attention were the earrings.

The Hanafuda earrings dangling by his cheeks.

His expression shifted.

"So… this is your final card?"

His voice sharpened as he spoke directly to Tanjūrō:

"You there, the one with the scar on your forehead... are you a descendant of Yoriichi Tsugikuni?"

Tanjūrō didn't answer. He merely shook his head.

"I see," Kokushibō muttered. "But even if you were... so what?"

"You think a mere descendant can rival the real thing?"

For a brief moment, a memory surfaced.

Tachibana Kyūjō.

That human… who nearly ended him.

Fragile body, terrifying spirit.

Kokushibō had impaled him—through the lungs. There was no way he could've survived.

"There's no way he's alive..."

Kokushibō shook the thought from his mind and, in a single, fluid motion, unsheathed Kyokokukamusari and vanished—blitzing straight toward Tanjūrō like a streak of moonlight.

"Heir to the Sun Breathing... let me test your worth."

"Moon Breathing, First Form – Dark Moon, Evening Palace!"

His blade howled through the air, cleaving reality itself with suffocating pressure.

But Tanjūrō didn't flinch.

He'd awakened the Transparent World. To him, Kokushibō's movements were as clear as day.

The moment the strike came, he moved.

He pulled an axe from his hip—not a sword—and spun with perfect balance, redirecting the force as he countered with a strike of his own.

"Sun Breathing – First Form: Dance (Enbu)!"

The axe and the demonic sword collided—hot flame crashing against cold void.

A shockwave tore across the field, light and shadow clashing in a storm of sparks.

Kokushibō's eyes narrowed.

"An axe? You would use Sun Breathing… with a farmer's tool?"

To a warrior like him, it was insulting.

Even Kyūjō—both his rival and the only human he ever respected—once said it:

A swordsman who uses an axe isn't a swordsman… he's mocking the art of the blade.

His rage ignited.

"I'll tear you apart, you disgraceful mockery of Yoriichi!!"

And then—

The ground shook.

Behind Kokushibō, the demon army surged forward, charging into the ranks of the Demon Slayer Corps.

But they didn't get far.

A giant figure stepped forward, halting their advance like a mountain that refused to yield.

Himejima Gyōmei—the Stone Hashira.

Chains clinked between the massive axe and flail in his hands as he faced off against another approaching monster—Akaza, Upper Moon Three.

"You," Gyōmei said softly, voice like stone dragged through gravel.

"Are my opponent."

He closed his eyes, and in that breathless moment, he whispered:

"Namu Amida Butsu…"

— — —

At the Cliff's Edge

High above, near the command outpost built from hastily assembled wooden planks, Tachibana Kyūjō sat alone with one thing in front of him:

The Blue Spider Lily.

The legendary flower. The bait.

"So, Kagaya," Kyūjō muttered, watching the battlefield below.

"You really think he'll show?"

His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp, alert—not because he feared losing.

Far from it.

He knew exactly how strong he was now.

Even if two Yoriichis descended from heaven tonight, he wouldn't lose.

His only concern?

That the real enemy might not show up.

"Muzan's a coward," he said bluntly. "If he thinks this is a trap, he'll run and hide for another hundred years…"

But Ubuyashiki Kagaya, ever serene, simply smiled.

"Have faith in your instincts, Kyūjō. We've done our part. The rest... is in the hands of the heavens."

And almost as if the heavens had been listening—

Kibutsuji Muzan arrived.

Without a sound, he appeared in the middle of the ravine, flanked by every member of the Twelve Kizuki.

The pressure he exuded was suffocating, spreading like nightfall over the entire field.

His gaze landed on Kokushibō—still in mid-combat with Tanjūrō.

"Tch… Still not done?"

The entire battlefield froze.

Human and demon alike held their breath.

Because the arrival of the Demon King meant one thing:

Everything was about to change.

The senior swordsmen of the Corps exchanged glances. They understood Kagaya's strategy. The plan was simple—hold out until this very moment.

Now, all they had to do… was wait for the signal to retreat.

Even the younger slayers, those too green to fully grasp the stakes, knew to obey without hesitation.

Sanemi Shinazugawa, notorious hothead and wild card of the Corps, hadn't even been included in this operation.

Because right now, there were only three true forces standing in this war:

The Demon Slayer Corps

Kokushibō, the former Upper Moon One

Kibutsuji Muzan, the King of Demons

Kokushibō and Muzan locked eyes.

Everyone else vanished from their vision.

Only each other existed now.

This was where the real battle would begin.

Whoever won… would claim the Blue Spider Lily.

But at that exact moment—

Tachibana Kyūjō disappeared.

He erased his presence completely—his breath, his aura, his footsteps. Nothing remained.

Like a shadow swallowed by shadow.

His gaze locked onto a lone figure:

Nakime, the demon woman with the biwa, keeper of the Infinity Castle's teleportation gates.

Kyūjō moved without sound. Slipping between cracks in space itself.

Down below, Muzan's voice rang out, laced with venom.

"The Blue Spider Lily… it's with him, isn't it?"

"Give it to me. Now."

Still, no one moved.

No one responded.

Muzan's lips curled into a sneer.

"If I don't get that flower tonight…"

"Then you all die. Every single one of you. Not just here—I'll erase all of Tokyo from the map."

His mask finally dropped.

No more fake kindness. No more godlike composure.

This was the real Kibutsuji Muzan—a monster wearing human skin.

The killing intent that radiated from him drowned the entire battlefield. Even the most hardened slayers clenched their jaws in defiance.

Because they knew—he meant it.

And then—

Something changed.

The wind shifted.

Not a breeze. Not a gust. But a pull.

As if the air itself had been sucked away, stolen from their lungs for one terrifying instant.

For the demon slayers trained in Breath Styles, the sensation was even sharper—like someone had ripped the rhythm from their hearts.

It passed just as quickly.

But then—

A thunderclap shattered the heavens.

Not ordinary thunder.

It shook the soul.

Rattled bones.

Turned the sky into a drum of judgment.

Kokushibō's eyes flew wide.

"That sound…"

"No mistake…"

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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