The moment the kasugai crow circling in the air caught sight of Yosuke's demon crow, its flapping wings suddenly stopped, and it plummeted to the ground.
"Tennoji Matsuemon!" Tanjiro scooped his crow into his arms, calling out its name in worry.
Yosuke cast a sidelong glance at Tanjiro's crow.
"Don't worry. It's just playing dead."
A light breeze brushed past, lifting the hem of Yosuke's haori.
"Tanjiro, this is where we part ways. I have things of my own to do."
Tanjiro bent forward, bowing respectfully.
"Yes, Yosuke-san!"
"Tanjiro, in the battles ahead, try letting Nezuko assist you. Her strength will give you more than a few surprises. As for you, young Zenitsu, and you, the boar-headed boy… do your best."
The power of the Twelve Kizuki was now far beyond what it once was. To better conceal himself, Kibutsuji Muzan had granted even the Lower Moons blood of a concentration far greater than before.
Zenitsu and Inosuke's greatest weaknesses lay not in strength, but in character. Zenitsu could only bring out his true skill when unconscious; awake, he could barely draw his blade—an enormous liability in battle. Opportunities that should have been seized slipped through his hands because of his cowardice.
Inosuke, on the other hand, was reckless to a fault. No matter the difference in power, he would charge headlong, leaving himself open to fatal counterattacks.
In Yosuke's eyes, their temperaments were flaws more pressing than their swordsmanship. But such flaws required the right trigger to change—something that could not be forced or rushed.
"Y-Yosuke-san… why does it sound like you're saying our next battles are going to be… awful?" Zenitsu asked nervously.
"Well… how should I put it? You'll understand when the time comes. Anyway, you're badly injured. Head to the Wisteria House and recover. Until next time."
With a wave of his hand, Yosuke bid them farewell and departed from the demon's mansion.
Through the memories of his demon crow, he had learned that Upper Rank Five, Gyokko, was hunting a Hashira. Which Hashira exactly was unclear.
When Yosuke spread his blood-forged wings and arrived at the battlefield, he finally saw who Gyokko's opponent was.
The genius swordsman who had become a Hashira in just two months of wielding a blade—the Mist Hashira, Muichiro Tokito.
But now, Tokito was in a pitiful state. His Nichirin blade had been broken in half, and a long gash stretched from his shoulder to his chest, bleeding heavily.
Without the Mark, even one Upper Rank required at least two Hashira to fight on even footing. At present, Tokito was barely managing to hold off Gyokko's assault. Defeat was inevitable.
Gyokko had already emerged from his pot, revealing his final, complete form. Under the moonlight, the scales covering his body glimmered with a cold, deadly sheen.
Humans could never compare to demons in endurance. As long as their necks weren't severed by a Nichirin blade, demons regenerated without limit, fighting at full strength without pause.
Humans, however, could not heal on their own. Once wounded, their bodies weakened by the minute, their stamina dwindling the longer the fight dragged on.
Muichiro was at the brink of collapse, his breathing ragged, his face pale from blood loss.
Gyokko, meanwhile, was completely unscathed.
"Heh. Is this really the best the Demon Slayer Corps' strongest swordsmen have to offer? How pathetic."
Even under the weight of his injuries and Gyokko's mockery, Muichiro's expression remained unchanged. Raising his half-broken blade, he declared:
"Mist Breathing, Fourth Form: Shifting Flow Slash!"
A thin mist spread around him. Hidden within it, Muichiro slid forward smoothly, blade slicing toward Gyokko.
Clang!
The strike landed—but Gyokko's scales held firm. Not even a scratch.
Gyokko sneered cruelly.
"Despair! I'll turn your bones into the most exquisite vase! Blood Demon Art—Thousand-Needle Fish Kill!"
From a pot patterned with water plants, he summoned grotesque goldfish, their mouths spewing a volley of venomous needles at Muichiro.
Suddenly, a sinister gust of wind swept through the battlefield, whipping up a cloud of dust that obscured both combatants' sight.
Gyokko stiffened. An aura of overwhelming terror had descended, shaking him to his core.
"Th-this presence… Impossible! Why is he here?!" His warped eyes, set grotesquely on his forehead and mouth, widened in disbelief.
When the dust cleared, Yosuke stood before Muichiro. The poisonous needles meant for him had clattered harmlessly at Yosuke's feet.
Looking into Muichiro's face, Yosuke's expression softened with nostalgia.
"You really do look like her…"
Muichiro's features remained blank, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of confusion.
Yosuke's gaze fell to Muichiro's wounds.
"They aren't fatal, but if you don't staunch the bleeding with your breathing soon, you won't last much longer."
Muichiro's voice was as flat as ever.
"Why are you here?"
Turning his eyes to Gyokko, Yosuke replied coolly:
"Because… the Twelve Kizuki are my prey."
Kibutsuji Muzan had never revealed Yosuke's true power to the Upper Moons. Back during the incident with the Eternal Paradise Faith, Gyokko had felt little pressure, comforted by Muzan's presence.
Now he realized how wrong he had been. Terribly, fatally wrong.
Gyokko trembled, inching backward in dread. Only one thought consumed him—escape.
Yosuke, reading his mind, let out a cold chuckle.
"Run? Do you really think you can? Blood Demon Art—Crimson Domain!"
The plain around them was drowned in blood. From the ground rose countless weapons, all forged from crimson ichor.
"There's no running. Weren't you the one who loved watching despair on others' faces? Don't worry—I'll let you experience the true meaning of despair. And the only way you'll survive… is by defeating me."
When fear pushed past its limits, it twisted into madness.
Gyokko roared wildly:
"Don't mock me! I am Upper Rank Five of the Twelve Kizuki! I won't fall here! Blood Demon Art—Octopus Vase Hell!"
From his pot surged a colossal octopus, large as a house, crashing down upon Yosuke.
Within the Crimson Domain, a katana of blood slowly rose into Yosuke's hand. He gripped it tightly.
"Blood Breathing, Third Form: Tempest-Flame Blood Blade!"
The blade blazed as though wrapped in burning blood. Countless slashes carved through the giant octopus.
In the span of a heartbeat, it was torn apart, its massive body dismembered.
The beast's blood rained down in torrents, spattering across Gyokko's trembling form.