The humiliated Tsukumogami Demon split into dozens of illusions, extending its sharp claws as it lunged at Hakuji.
"Destructive Death: Leg Type – Whirling Sakura Flash!"
But just as the demon was about to reach him, Hakuji's fierce and precise kicks struck multiple times, sending the creature flying.
"It seems that once your real corporeal clone is destroyed, you can't summon another for a while. And as for your other Blood Demon Arts—against someone like me, who can sense fighting spirit—they're completely useless. This time, you really are at the end of the road." Akaza's words dripped with mockery.
The veins on the demon's forehead bulged. "Damn it! Don't underestimate me! I am Upper Rank Three! Blood Demon Art: Twin Murderous Shadows!"
A corporeal clone of Hakuji appeared once again. But what was supposed to rival Hakuji's strength was sliced in half with a single strike.
"Clones forced out like that don't even have half my power. You've run out of tricks."
Hakuji pressed forward step by step, taunting without pause. The Tsukumogami Demon desperately summoned more corporeal clones to block him, but all were destroyed by Hakuji's Nichirin blade, now infused with medicine.
Hakuji sneered at the terrified demon. "To think you relied entirely on your Blood Demon Art… Without it, you're pathetically weak. To end this battle with a fitting conclusion, I'll finish you with the strongest technique I've just mastered."
"Destructive Death: Final Form – Blue Silver Chaotic Afterglow!"
This technique had been awakened after Yōsuke's blood was infused into Hakuji, strengthening his body. Its power far surpassed any of his previous Destructive Death forms, though even now, Hakuji could not fully control it.
Blue light gathered on Hakuji's fist. His figure blurred, flashing like a magnificent aurora streaking across the night sky. In an instant, he appeared before the Tsukumogami Demon.
With a single strike, the aurora's brilliance burst from the demon's chest, illuminating the pitch-black night.
Seeing the dazzling light before him, the Tsukumogami Demon's heart, strangely, fell into calm.
In his human life, he had been a mortician—an undertaker who guided the dead on their final journey.
Having witnessed countless deaths, his heart had gradually grown numb and lost in confusion about life.
If everyone must die, then what meaning is there in living?
Each time he prepared a body, he would ask himself this question.
Though lost, the man still carried a trace of kindness, fulfilling his duties with care.
Until one day.
An old man passed away, and he was tasked with preparing the body. But as he worked, he discovered the old man still had one faint breath of life left.
He immediately reported this to the man's children.
What he received in return was: "Don't bother! He'll die sooner or later anyway. If he lives, we'll have to feed him, clean up after him, take care of him—it's such a nuisance!"
Those words, so cruel and filled with disgust, shook the undertaker's heart to its core. His voice trembled as he asked:
"Isn't he your father? Your own flesh and blood?"
"So what? If he lives, who will take care of him? Better he dies—it'll save us the trouble!"
The old man, with his final breath, passed away unwillingly—taking with him the last spark of kindness within the mortician's heart.
When his blank mind cleared again, he realized he had already slaughtered the old man's children in a bloody rage.
Looking down at his bloodstained hands, for the first time, he felt the void inside him filled. Only in the moment of death, he thought, were emotions truly real.
From that day forward, he hunted humans. He believed that if living was suffering, then he would grant release through death.
At the moment of death, he believed, people would finally confront their true emotions. False emotions had no right to exist.
He massacred an entire village, only to be pursued by the magistrate's enforcers.
No matter how far he fled, he was eventually captured and subjected to haritsuke—a punishment of endless blows to the abdomen with heavy clubs.
Just as he was about to die, Muzan Kibutsuji appeared, slaughtering everyone around him.
The voice of Muzan, devilishly seductive, whispered into his ear:
"Do you want to become a demon?"
With his dying breath, he asked:
"If I become a demon… can I truly free people from life, force them to face their true emotions?"
Muzan, amused, replied:
"Of course. As a demon, you will stand above humanity. Humans are nothing but lowly creatures. Their emotions are mere toys for us to play with."
Thus, he accepted Muzan's blood, becoming a demon who toyed with feelings, cruel and merciless.
Hakuji's Nichirin blade was now at the demon's throat. "Any last words before you die?"
The demon asked the question that had haunted him all his life:
"What is the meaning of living?"
"I don't know the meaning of life," Hakuji answered, "but I have my convictions. I can live for them, and I can die for them. What about you? Do you have a conviction of your own?"
The demon's eyes grew hazy. Looking back on his life, he realized it had been nothing but confusion.
"I… do not."
For the first time, Hakuji looked at him with pity. Remembering his own fateful encounter with Yōsuke, he sighed inwardly.
"If I had met Muzan instead of Yōsuke back then, I might have ended up just like you."
"I hope in your next life… you won't be lost."
With a single swing, Hakuji a severed the demon's head. The body crumbled into ash.
As the last traces of his being scattered, the Tsukumogami Demon looked upon Hakuji and the Demon Slayers behind him. With tears at the corners of his eyes, he whispered with envy:
"How envious I am… I think I've finally found the meaning of life. But I no longer have the right to grasp it."
Thus, Upper Rank Three, the Tsukumogami Demon, was no more.
Hakuji returned to stand beside Kyojuro Rengoku, handing back his Nichirin blade.
Seeing that everyone's wounds had been treated, he remarked with admiration:
"It seems you were well prepared."
Rengoku's shoulder wound, pierced clean through, had been carefully treated—the charred flesh excised and covered with medicine.
Tanjiro's abdominal wound had been staunched, no longer bleeding.
Zenitsu's leg injury was tightly bandaged.
Inosuke's broken arm had been reset.
Tanjiro spoke with gratitude:
"It's all thanks to Shinobu Kocho's medicine. She prepared a full range of remedies, which allowed us to treat the injuries right away."
"So it was young Shinobu. No wonder."
Recalling the serious, unyielding Shinobu, Hakuji's lips curved into a faint smile.
Tanjiro asked curiously:
"Hakuji-san, do you also know Kanae and Shinobu Kocho?"
"Of course. They're disciples of Yosuke-sama. The medicine we applied to Rengoku's blade earlier—the one that suppressed the demon's cells—was developed by Kanae and Shinobu."
Tanjiro was amazed. Whether it was Lower Rank Six, Lower Rank Five, or now Upper Rank Three—every battle seemed tied to Yōsuke. And thanks to Yōsuke, they had survived each time.
"Truly, it feels as though Yōsuke-sama is always with us, protecting us."
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