"Kuwajima-senpai, I'm surprised you came out of seclusion."
"Hahaha, Urokodaki, don't underestimate me. I may have lost a leg, but it hasn't affected my ability to hold a Nichirin blade!"
Outside the simple wooden house, two figures, one tall and one short, sat guard.
A crutch rested next to the old man on the left.
Where his right leg should have been was a wooden prosthesis.
Under his white hair and beard was a weathered, stern face, marked by several hideous scars.
A yellow-sheathed Nichirin sword, almost as tall as he was, stood upright beside him.
He was the former Thunder Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps, Kuwajima Jigoro.
The old man on the right, wearing a red Tengu mask, exuded the calm, deep temperament of still water.
He was the former Water Pillar, Urokodaki Sakonji.
Because of this final battle, these two legendary swordsmen had given up their retirement as trainers, taken up their blades once more, and now guarded the last line of defense: the command center of the new lord, Ubuyashiki Kiriya.
Crows constantly flew overhead, reporting the tense, minute-by-minute changes on the battlefield.
The anxiety of the Kakushi members rushing back and forth was visible in their eyes.
The Corps' thousand-year nemesis, Muzan Kibutsuji, was only miles away.
All the Upper Moons and all the Hashira were locked in a brutal, final battle.
From time to time, a crow would land and announce another heart-wrenching report:
"Mizunoto, Ono Shun, killed in action!"
"Kanoe, Shimada, killed in action!"
"Kinoto, Natsume Yuuko, killed in action!"
Every name represented the passing of a young life.
Sacrifice was inevitable.
As long as Muzan could be killed tonight, it would all be worth it.
....
Inside the wooden house, a small figure stared at a battlefield map that dwarfed him.
The immense pressure of the entire war, the constant reports of death, all rested on the shoulders of eight-year-old Kiriya.
Even Yushiro, standing guard beside him, was in awe of the child's unnatural calm and strength.
On a small bed in the corner, Nezuko Kamado slept peacefully, her even breathing the only sound of peace in the entire area.
In the dim light, the small fangs in her mouth seemed to have... disappeared.
Outside, the two old masters spoke in low tones.
"Urokodaki, your disciples are excellent," Jigoro said, a trace of worry on his face.
"The Water Hashira and the Wave Hashira are truly outstanding. In comparison, I worry for my own." He thought of Zenitsu and his perpetually nervous face.
'Can that boy truly stand tall when it matters most?'
"You are too kind, Kuwajima-senpai," Urokodaki replied, his voice steady beneath the mask.
"Giyu and Sabito are where they are today because of their own hard work. And I have heard from Tanjiro… your disciple, Zenitsu, possesses a truly great power."
Just as they were speaking…
Twang!
A faint, eerily penetrating sound of a biwa string suddenly rang out directly over the wooden house.
Jigoro and Urokodaki stopped mid-sentence.
In the same instant, both men were on their feet, their movements impossibly swift for their age.
"The scent of a demon!" Jigoro stood balanced on his one leg, his yellow-scabbarded blade already half-drawn, a visible crackle of lightning flashing along the steel.
Urokodaki's gentle aura vanished, replaced by the dangerous, crushing pressure of the deep ocean.
His blade slid silently from its sheath.
The space in front of the wooden house rippled and twisted like water.
Two figures materialized from thin air.
The first was the gray-skinned smiling demon, Kamaro.
The second was a terrifying, unfamiliar figure in a dark suit and wide-brimmed hat.
When he raised his head, he revealed a face almost identical to Muzan's.
It was the Demon King's brother, Kamaro's true master—Shokyu.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Kamaro was the first to speak, his voice frivolous.
"What a touching scene. Two retired old masters, still fighting for the younger generation."
Shokyu ignored him.
His gaze passed over the two former Hashira as if they weren't there, his eyes penetrating the very walls of the cabin.
An unconcealable light of curiosity and greed flashed in his eyes.
"The new lord of the Ubuyashiki clan… and that special girl who overcame the sun, Nezuko Kamado," Shokyu's voice was gentle, yet it held an undeniable, oppressive weight.
"I do not wish to waste time."
He slowly raised a hand and pointed at the wooden house.
"Give me the girl. The feud between the Demon Slayer Corps and my brother has nothing to do with me." His tone was calm, as if he were merely demanding an item that already belonged to him.
"Otherwise, there will be many more corpses here."
Swish.
The cold, murderous intent made the air freeze.
Jigoro stomped his one leg, the ground shaking slightly.
His Nichirin blade was now fully drawn, golden lightning crackling around his body, illuminating his determined, angry face.
"What an Idiot!" the old Thunder Hashira's voice boomed like thunder.
"If you want to touch that child, you will have to step over my dead body first!"
Urokodaki remained silent, but the aura of water around him surged like a tsunami.
He bent his knees slightly, holding his blade in the opening stance of his most powerful form.
The two retired masters, long past their prime, were now rekindling the dormant, volcanic strength of their youth.
To protect the hope behind them, they would shed every last drop of their blood.