The longsword in Giyu Tomioka's hand gleamed a deep ocean blue from blade to scabbard, its tsuba a stark mix of crimson and black. At first glance, it could have passed for a beautifully crafted but ordinary katana.
But if the Demon Slayer Corps claimed their blades could kill demons, then this one had to be anything but ordinary.
Ren Kuroda's weapon, by contrast, could only be described as battered. The blade itself was mostly intact, but the edge was chipped with uneven scars—so many that it was hard to imagine it could still cut anything at all.
It wasn't that Ren treated his sword poorly. Quite the opposite. As the protector cherished by every villager he'd fought for, Ren took meticulous care with every swing. But no amount of care could change the reality: it was ordinary iron, forged roughly and without the specialized treatment capable of enduring battles against demons.
Demons were naturally durable—absurdly so—and Ren's fighting style demanded extremes: wind-swift speed or fire-like explosive power. Weapons simply couldn't endure that forever.
After cutting down dozens of demons, even Ren's caution couldn't prevent his blade from wearing down to this pitiful state.
Giyu Tomioka regarded Ren with a guarded, solemn expression—barely acknowledging Tanjiro or Nezuko lingering off to the side.
The clash between them had lasted only moments, but Giyu had sensed it clearly: this man was dangerous.
Anyone who could simultaneously disarm him and counterattack, even during a moment of distraction, was a fighter far beyond ordinary strength.
And despite the sword's pathetic appearance, Giyu didn't make the mistake of underestimating him. As one of the Corps' Hashira, he could sense it immediately—the blade, shabby as it was, was stained with the aura of demons.
Ren Kuroda had fought many of them. And he'd done it with this sword.
That alone was extraordinary.
But what alarmed Giyu most was something far stranger: the aura that clung to Ren himself.
"Who are you?" Giyu demanded, his eyes narrowing. "Why do you carry a demon's aura?"
It wasn't fear. It was confusion. In all his years within the Demon Slayer Corps, he had never encountered anyone like Ren.
Demons—ordinary ones or the Twelve Moons—were never rational. They were driven by bloodlust, by hunger, by madness amplified by Muzan's influence.
But Ren Kuroda… Ren was far too calm.
So calm that it was unnatural. Even unnerving.
More than craving human flesh, Ren seemed—bizarrely—to be coveting Giyu's sword.
"Talking won't help you," Ren replied coolly. "If you want to know what I am… defeat me. But if I win—your sword becomes mine."
He stepped forward, drawing his battered blade. Part of him was genuinely curious about the strength of the so-called Demon Slayer Corps. And part of him was simply desperate—he needed a Nichirin Blade. His efficiency hunting demons without one was abysmal.
The moment Ren moved, the snow didn't slow him in the slightest. He accelerated instantly—swift as the cutting wind—closing the distance in a heartbeat.
That burst of speed didn't just shorten the gap; it sharpened the blade.Speed was power. Even a drop of water, accelerated enough, could pierce stone.
The divine wind roared around him—violent, slicing, unstoppable.
The instant Ren drew his damaged longsword, a razor-sharp crescent of wind burst forward with it. For a split second, Giyu Tomioka felt death graze his skin.
But as the Water Hashira, he was not one of those disposable demons Ren had cut down before. As soon as Ren unleashed that blade of wind, Giyu leapt high, twisting mid-air as he drew his own sword.
"Water Breathing, Sixth Form: Spinning Vortex!"
Giyu's body spun violently, forming a whirling vortex of water around his blade—blades of churning, spiraling force that slashed in all directions.
The Sixth Form wasn't just a wide-area strike. It was also an excellent defensive technique.
The spinning water crashed against the speeding wind in mid-air.Ren's wind cut the flow.The water reformed instantly.The forces canceled out with a thunderous impact.
Dozens of slashing marks carved across the snow, the surrounding trees, even the stones.
Giyu landed lightly, expression darkening as he faced Ren anew.
If he didn't know better—if he didn't feel the absence of breathing techniques from Ren—he would have thought he was fighting Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Wind Hashira.
This level of speed and destructive force… achieved with swordsmanship alone?
Impossible.
It only solidified Giyu's resolve.
Ren Kuroda wasn't just a human with a demon's aura. He was monstrously strong. If someone like him ever opposed the Corps, countless ordinary slayers would be slaughtered.
"Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance!"
Giyu's body blurred into a rippling stream of motion. His speed skyrocketed, leaving afterimages slicing across the snow.
Wind howled.Water surged.
Two figures collided across the frozen forest, their movements too fast for the naked eye to follow. Metal clashed in rapid bursts, echoing like a flurry of thunderclaps.
Tanjiro, tending to the injured Nezuko, stared in shock.
He knew full well he didn't belong in a battlefield like this.
But Tanjiro Kamado was too kind—far too kind—to abandon the man who had saved both him and his sister. Even if Ren was frightening. Even if Giyu disapproved.
If he ran, Ren might die.
So Tanjiro stayed, teeth clenched against the fear, hoping—praying—to find some way to help.