The Kingdom of Alabasta preserved three sacred sword-dances accompanied by song.
Of these, the one that most captured Rengoku's attention was, naturally, the "Twin-Sword Hymn of the Sun God."
Though he himself was not a dual-blade swordsman, the very symbolism carried by the Sun God compelled him to dwell on the music.
The cadence of the melody was certainly different from the Japanese-style tunes of kagura. Still, as he replayed each rise and fall of the notes in his mind, Rengoku began, from the break of dawn, to trace those rhythms with his sword.
Sometimes his steps were graceful, sometimes fierce.
At times he danced lightly with rapid footwork, at others he stood firm, weight heavy and unshaken.
The right hand struck faster and faster with blazing offense, while the left hand shielded and defended.
His body spun, his blades cleaved in every direction, each stroke infused with his will and spirit, each strike following the pulse of the song he remembered.
When the Sun God's Hymn ended, he immediately transitioned into the War God's Triumphal Dance.
He sheathed Shusui and focused his spirit entirely into Enrin Kitetsu, channeling the dance of the War God. Unlike the mixture of elegance and intensity that defined the Sun God's hymn, this was sheer boldness given form—a sword dance steeped in victorious pride.
It evoked the image of a great general returning from battle, towering and indomitable, carrying himself as though none could resist his strike, as though his power was absolute.
Last came the Dance of the God of Resurrection.
Thus the three sword-dances and their accompanying songs unfolded, each with its own style and direction:
The God of Resurrection: the fierce joy of rebirth.
The Sun God: reverence toward the supreme divine.
The War God: the triumphant vigor of a returning warrior.
Could one of these hold the clue to Hinokami Kagura?
Rengoku did not yet know.
So he repeated them again. And again.
If it would not reveal itself, he would pursue it until it did.
His dawn sword-dance lasted until the moon had faded, until the sun rose, until the sleepless elders stirred awake and the rooster crowed in the courtyard.
....
"Kyojuro, this time let me—"
Hancock, fresh from her morning wash, rushed to his campsite. What she found was Rengoku immersed in the sword-dance, utterly entranced.
It was a state of pure absorption, so deep that even if cannon fire rained around him, he would not falter.
"Kyojuro..."
Even for a man like him, his body was drenched in sweat. This was the kind of exertion one only produced during the relentless training of Breath of the Demon Slayers.
"Ungh—"
"Shhhhp—!"
"Shhhhaaa—!"
"Hhhhuuuhp—!"
Her ears confirmed it: multiple breaths, layered and interwoven.
He was performing the Breath of the Demon Slayer through the medium of the sacred sword-dances.
"Kyojuro..."
Was it not said that a man shines most beautifully when fully devoted to his purpose?
That was exactly the man before her now.
Hancock stood silently, observing from a distance.
Normally she would have rushed close, touched his hand, spoken to him, sought to indulge her desires. But this time—this time she only watched.
His crimson eyes glimmered like gems. Sweat traced his face, sparkling like jewels.
The sword in his grip was a weapon of death, yet in his hands he looked less like a killer and more like a mighty guardian deity. Every sweeping movement seemed less like violence and more like the flourish of a gladiator displaying his magnificence.
Each flowing stroke linked seamlessly into the next. He looked like a swan gliding across a lake, like a peacock proudly spreading its plumage.
Ah… how could the world possibly hold another man this beautiful?
"Aahhh...♡"
Her whole body flushed.
Now she understood what the black panther of Amazon Lily, denied its prey, must feel—panting, hungry, trembling.
To have such a man, so close, so perfect, and yet be unable to throw herself into his arms—it was unbearable.
She rubbed her arm, trying to restrain herself, but her body disobeyed. The heat coursed through her until instinct overtook thought, and even her physiology betrayed her.
No... not here... not now...
Hancock squeezed her thighs together in a desperate attempt to resist, writhing at the sheer tension of it.
The man she loved was pouring his soul into his art before her eyes—and here she was, reduced to this state.
Shame burned her cheeks. But desire flooded her still deeper.
By the time the sun had risen fully, she knew she would need a change of clothes. Perhaps even another bath.
Was this what people meant when love reached its most extreme—when it boiled over into pure instinct?
Hancock, who had never truly loved anyone outside of blood ties, found herself both embarrassed and strangely fascinated by this side of herself.
Had she known it would be like this, she would have asked old Nyon to teach her more about "love."
She could no longer resist her body's instinct.
Before the sight of that man, radiating such unearthly beauty, the Pirate Empress surrendered herself wholly to her impulses.
Even as her undergarments soaked through until they were heavy and damp, she didn't care.
Her eyes saw no one but Rengoku.
....
Though only half a day had passed since dawn, the Twin-Sword Hymn of the Sun God was no longer a dance of dual blades. In Rengoku's hands, it had become a single-sword dance.
The deeper one stood in the realm of martial mastery, the more one's understanding adapted to one's own condition. A single blade was enough.
For nearly eight hours, he repeated the three sacred dances—this time woven together with the Breath of the Demon Slayer.
At last, he sensed it: a key.
Continuity.
That was the true nature of these dances.
Every motion flowed seamlessly into the next, each strike graceful and deliberate, as if calculated.
When his teacher had first shown him the dances, there had been filler movements between forms. Now, through endless repetition, Rengoku had shed them. Only the clean, continuous motions remained.
And as he realized this, a fragment of memory surfaced from deep within: a glimpse of the Notes of the Flame Hashira, once half-seen behind his father's back.
"The sword of the Sun Breathing swordsman was so smooth and flowing, it could be mistaken for a dance. Each strike flowed like water..."
"His blows were dazzling, yet every cut joined seamlessly into one whole, as though..."
"Such was the way the Sun Swordsman attacked, unceasingly..."
The rest had been hidden by his father's body, but this much was enough.
The first hypothesis—that Sun Breathing had originally been kagura—was wrong.
The second—that Sun Breathing could become kagura, its forms so fluid and natural that they joined as one continuous dance—was far closer to the truth.
Every strike, merging into one.
Forms One through Nine, linked together without pause...
Kagura.
A kagura was a ritual dance to call down divine spirits, to let them ride within the dancer's body, until the body itself became the vessel of a god.
In Kamado's hands, such a kagura had been sublimated into swordsmanship.
But if "Hinokami Kagura" truly meant the Kagura of the Fire God, why had no trace of it remained within the inheritance of Flame Breathing? Surely Rengoku would have at least heard whispers of it.
No—the "Hi" of Hinokami was not fire. It was the sun.
The Kagura of the Sun God.
The dance of the Sun Swordsman.
With that shift in perspective, all doubts vanished.
"I know not what history lies hidden in that kagura, Kamado boy... but if it is you, you will surely defeat Kibutsuji Muzan and end that endless struggle!"
The memory of Tanjiro on the Mugen Train flashed before him.
If that boy could destroy Muzan, then Rengoku himself must likewise bring this age of pirates and evil to an end.
"Forms One through Nine... how fitting. The dance begins with the charging strike of Unknowing Fire and ends with the finishing blaze of Purgatory. Both surging forward... both driving through..."
At that moment, a new kagura was born.
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