"It's over."
Shinjuro Rengoku's rough voice still carried a lingering warmth.
The yard was a complete mess.
The night wind blew across his still-burning Flame Hashira haori, causing sparks to flutter and disappear in a flash.
This is a rare respite after a fierce battle.
It was heavy, yet it carried a hint of human warmth.
But the next second, a deathly silence descended.
Shinjuro Rengoku's hand, which was resting on Obanai Iguro's shoulder, tightened suddenly, his knuckles turning pale.
Giyu Tomioka gripped the hilt of his sword with his right hand as well.
The two simultaneously locked onto the all-consuming aura emanating from the darkness.
That was the oppressive feeling of an ancient behemoth.
The once gentle moonlight was rapidly losing all its warmth, turning pale and cold.
"So"
A melodious and peaceful voice drifted from the void.
Every word was clear and perfect, yet it was so cold that it lacked any warmth that a living person should have.
It sends chills down your spine just hearing about it.
Are you two the only ones who came here?
The words had barely left his mouth.
In the center of the courtyard, atop the highest eaves of the main hall, a slender figure materialized from illusion.
He was already standing there.
Only now has that "invisible" veil been removed, allowing mortal eyes to behold it.
It also forces ordinary people to confront that deep-seated fear.
The bright moon hung behind him, becoming nothing more than a background.
He was tall and wore a dark purple snakeskin kimono with a simple black haori over it.
His aura is intimidating.
On that bloodless face, what was most captivating were the three pairs of vertically arranged golden eyes.
The six golden eyes rotated slowly, each with its own independent rhythm.
The three people in the yard were locked up separately.
As far as the eye could see, the air seemed to hum softly, as if it were about to shatter at any moment.
A simple, ancient-looking longsword hung at his waist, its hilt shaped like a twisted crescent moon.
"That's really disappointing."
Kokushibo's six golden eyes were fixed on Shinjuro Rengoku.
That gaze pierced directly through the burning battle aura surrounding the Flame Hashira, carrying undisguised contempt.
He tilted his head slightly, his tone flat, utterly indifferent as if looking down on ants.
"Have the 'Pillars' of the Demon Slayer Corps become so rare?"
"Can only two be attracted at a time?"
"Or do you think that just the two of you can handle 'Upper Rank'?"
Every word struck the hearts of the three men with a heavy blow.
Shinjuro Rengoku's jaw trembled uncontrollably, but he clenched it tightly, refusing to yield an inch.
The veins on his forehead bulged out one by one.
The resentful look in my father's eyes when he died in battle.
The oath he made upon assuming the position of Flame Hashira.
To protect humanity, and to pass on the Flame Breathing.
And there's that young son at home, Kyojuro.
When he looked up at me with his little face, his eyes were bright and innocent, full of admiration, and his smile was pure and warm.
Fear was like a cold tide, instantly engulfing him and threatening to devour his reason.
No refunds.
Absolutely no refunds.
Shinjuro Rengoku roared inwardly.
Behind him were children who had just been rescued from the clutches of demons.
Beside him were his colleagues who had fought alongside him.
I am the Flame Hashira, the heir of the Rengoku Family.
If even I am afraid, then the flame of Flame Breathing will surely be extinguished with me.
"Stop spouting your self-absorbed nonsense!"
Shinjuro Rengoku's roar finally broke through Kokushibo's heavy pressure.
All the fear and anxiety were ignited by him at this moment, turning into an inextinguishable flame.
"Flame Breathing"
He gripped the knife hilt tightly with both hands and stomped his foot hard.
"Boom!"
With a loud bang, the bluestone slabs within a radius of several meters shattered instantly.
Gravel flew everywhere.
Golden-red flames erupted from every pore on his body.
The scorching heat swept around, causing the air to violently distort and vaporize.
The tattered Flame Hashira Feather Robe danced wildly in the flames, its edges igniting with tangible flames that merged with his body.
"Ninth Form"
He raised the burning longsword high above his head, and all the flames around him frantically converged on the blade.
The blade, subjected to an infusion of energy exceeding its limits, emitted a humming sound as if it could no longer bear the strain.
The blade grew brighter and brighter until it became a small sun, so bright that people couldn't open their eyes.
"Rengoku!"
Before the roar had even faded, Shinjuro Rengoku's figure vanished from the spot.
Its speed surpassed the sound barrier, leaving a long trail of flames behind it.
Wherever it passed, it carved a deep lava trench into the ground.
Faced with this devastating attack that could burn mountains and boil seas, a faint ripple finally appeared in the six golden eyes of the Kokushibo on the roof.
It was a sign that utter indifference had been shattered.
A slight surprise.
He didn't move an inch, remaining calm and almost arrogant.
He slowly pulled Kokyū Shinku his waist.
The blade was only half an inch from its sheath when a cold, sharp light flowed out, sending chills down one's spine.
Just as the crimson-gold meteor of fire was about to strike him, Kokushibo slightly twisted his wrist, his longsword blocking in front of him.
The movements were precise and concise, without the slightest excess, yet they carried an unparalleled power.
"Clang!"
The blinding crimson-gold light collided violently with the cold, sharp moonlight blade's edge, and they were annihilated.
The immense impact erupted instantly, ripping the roof of the main hall to shreds, snapping the thick wooden beams, and causing sections of the walls to collapse.
Smoke and dust billowed.
The figure of Kokushibo was pushed backward smoothly for dozens of meters by this terrifying force.
The tiles beneath his feet shattered completely.
The left cuff of his black haori was scorched with a black hole by the extreme heat the moment it came into contact with the flaming blade.
Black smoke was still rising from the edges.
A small, noticeable scorch mark appeared on the pale skin of his wrist.
It hit.
Did you really hurt him?
This thought swept across Shinjuro's heart, which had been frozen by despair, and ignited a faint glimmer of hope.
However, that spark of hope lasted for less than a tenth of a second before being completely extinguished.
Kokushibo lowered his eyes and glanced indifferently at the insignificant scorch mark on his wrist.
Six eyes narrowed slightly.
Immediately, the flesh at the scorch mark began to writhe rapidly, its color changing from charred black to bright red, before finally returning to its original pale white.
"..."
Kokushibo raised his eyes again and looked at Shinjuro Rengoku aura had plummeted due to his all-out attack.
"Four hundred years of inherited will, condensed into a single strike, not bad."
The tone was as if he were commenting on an interesting object, without the slightest respect.
"Compared to those Lower Rank trash who possess Blood Demon Arts but are utterly useless, you have a bit more 'warmth.' No wonder Lord Muzan feels somewhat 'troubled' by you Pillars."
He lightly waved the Kokyū Shinku in his hand; the blade reflected an eerie moonlight, its chill intensifying.
"But that's all."
"The light of a firefly dares to dream of competing with the brilliance of the moon; how utterly foolish!"
Shinjuro Rengoku stood frozen in place, his body trembling violently and uncontrollably.
His all-out final strike only resulted in negligible damage to his opponent.
It doesn't even qualify as an "injury," it's more like a scrape.
The monster's nonchalant comment shattered everything he had believed in and fought for.
Worthless.
Four hundred years of heritage, the pride of the Flame Hashira —before such a true monster, is it merely "a little warmer"?
His hand gripping the knife loosened and tightened repeatedly.
After several attempts, he finally couldn't bear the cold touch from the hilt of the knife, and his fingers loosened weakly one by one.
Clang.
The Nichirin Blade fell to the ground with a crisp, piercing sound.
It stood out starkly in the deathly quiet courtyard.
Shinjuro looked at his empty hands, then slowly raised his head to look at the terrifying figure standing on the roof.
Those eyes, which had always burned brightly, symbolizing passion and hope, were ultimately swallowed up by boundless darkness and despair.
It could no longer ignite even a sliver of light.
Kyojuro...
Father...
Dear Flame Hashira...
Am I... really not good enough?
What... what do we humans have to rely on... to defeat such beings?!