Deep within the Infinity Castle.
The sound of shattering glass pierced the laboratory amid its intersecting, inverted spaces.
Precision instruments were roughly overturned onto the floor.
Test tubes filled with blue liquid smashed against the wooden floorboards, their viscous contents snaking through the gaps in the grain.
Muzan Kibutsuji gripped the edges of the marble laboratory bench with both hands.
His sharp nails dug into the hard stone. With crisp cracking sounds, two nails tore up from their roots, and stone chips tumbled down with his blood.
He seemed unable to feel pain.
His pale face twitched uncontrollably. Those dark red, slit-pupiled eyes, which had looked down on everything for centuries, now darted frantically from side to side.
Just moments ago, through Lower Rank Four's vision before death, he had seen the scene with perfect clarity.
Amid a sky filled with dazzling blood-red light stood that enormous shrine built from pale ox bone.
Countless invisible blades, impossible to follow with the naked eye, descended from above.
Their dimension-transcending slashes, governed by an absolute sure-hit law, cut through the Mutant Demon like tofu, reducing it to evenly minced flesh scattered across the ground.
What chilled him most was how those scraps of flesh reacted.
The newly sprouting flesh hissed with a teeth-grating sound of corrosion the instant it touched the air, then blackened, died, and carbonized.
He had not experienced this uncontrollable, instinctive trembling for centuries-not since encountering Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
The image of chunks of flesh falling into muddy water kept flashing through his mind.
That hollow sensation of a soul being dissected inch by inch convinced him of one thing.
If he were trapped inside that shrine, even his thousand-year-undying demonic essence would not save him from being chopped alive into pulp that could never be pieced back together.
That boy in black must not be allowed to live.
The range of that strange domain was clearly still limited. He had to be crushed before he reached his full potential.
Panic fermented in Muzan's chest until it twisted into teeth-grinding murderous intent.
He straightened. His swelling muscles split his expensive black suit, and several bloodshot eyeballs bulged out beneath his pale skin.
"Nakime," Muzan ordered hoarsely, his voice bone-chilling in the empty room. "Summon Upper Rank Three."
The clear notes of a biwa immediately echoed from deep within the space.
The surrounding wooden corridors began to flip violently.
Hundreds of miles away, deep in a mountain forest, the ground abruptly vanished beneath Akaza's feet as he threw punches under a waterfall.
Weightlessness seized him. Amid splashing water, he landed steadily on the tatami in the Infinity Castle's central hall.
Without hesitation, Akaza dropped to one knee and bowed his head to the man on the raised platform.
Muzan looked down at him from above.
He raised his right hand. His index finger transformed into a long, sharp spike of flesh and pierced Akaza's left shoulder with lightning speed.
Highly concentrated dark red blood was forced through the fleshy tube into Akaza's veins. Immense power erupted inside him.
Akaza clenched his back teeth.
His muscle fibers tore and reformed with muffled sounds. The blue demonic markings on his body deepened, and the bestowed blood increased his bone density once again.
"Go to the area around the Mugen Train." Muzan's face contorted, undisguised hatred seeping into his voice. "Find the boy in black who summons a shrine."
"Use your strongest martial techniques and bring me his head."
Akaza remained kneeling, letting the remaining blood drip from his chin.
He raised his head, uncontainable excitement igniting deep within the eyes engraved with "Upper Rank Three."
He had keenly detected that trace of near-shattering dread in Muzan's presence. A human who could terrify this lord to such an extent?
Akaza swallowed hard.
Every muscle fiber in his body trembled faintly with excitement, and his battle-hungry blood came to a full boil. He craved a fight with a warrior of that caliber.
"As you command," Akaza answered in a low voice.
The biwa sounded again. His figure vanished from the hall in a blur, and the lingering notes scattered in the Infinity Castle's cold wind.
Deep in the wilderness, the night wind swept up dry leaves and twigs.
Yaha wore his black haori with its subtle wisteria embroidery around the collar, his hands tucked casually into his trouser pockets.
Alone, he walked unhurriedly along the tracks.
He had told no one on Mount Sagiri. He had simply come out to find some amusement.
A cold, mechanical voice abruptly sounded deep in his mind, and blood-red system text appeared directly on his retinas.
"Ding. Plot turning point triggered." "Approaching highly concentrated demon blood of Upper Rank caliber detected." "Overwhelming an Upper Rank with the bearing of an absolute superior will grant a massive amount of roleplay level and immediately award a hidden privilege."
Yaha stopped.
His military boot landed on a dry twig with a sharp crack.
As he watched the red words flickering at the edge of his vision, a bloodthirsty gleam entered his eyes.
Pitch-black Cursed Markings emerged instantly from beneath his collar like venomous snakes coming alive, climbing his neck.
Hidden privilege. That sounded rather pleasing.
Those Lower Rank wastes really had nothing left to squeeze out of them. Crushing them was as boring as squashing a few bedbugs.
Cutting through an Upper Rank's bones should feel a little better, shouldn't it?
Yaha's lips curved into a cruel smile. He yawned and continued along the tracks.
Four hours later.
The Mugen Train's departure station.
The enormous steam locomotive stood beside the platform, thick white steam billowing from its smokestack. The pungent smell of burning coal filled the air.
Yaha crouched silently on a shadowed beam above the waiting hall.
His right arm rested on his knee as he looked down at the bustling crowd.
In the middle of the platform, Tanjiro, carrying a weathered wooden box on his back, clung to a window and shouted excitedly at the black steel carriage.
Yellow-haired Zenitsu hugged a support pillar and stubbornly refused to let go, wailing that a man-eating metal monster lurked inside.
The fellow wearing a boar's head mask was trying to ram the train's exhaust pipe with his tusks.
"A bunch of country bumpkins who've never even seen a metal shell."
Yaha watched through half-lowered eyelids as though looking at inferior monkeys in a circus, barely interested enough to enjoy the show.
A powerful voice cut through the clamor on the platform.
The Flame Hashira, Kyojuro Rengoku, strode aboard the train carrying a tall stack of wooden bento boxes, his conspicuous flame-patterned haori draped over his shoulders.
Before long, his booming cries of "Delicious!" rang out from inside the carriage.
To Yaha's senses, that blazing fighting spirit was as glaring as a torch in the night.
Yaha narrowed his eyes, watching the retreating figure with his unruly red-and-yellow hair.
If this stupid owl who only knew how to swing a sword with brute force died here, Old Man would probably nag endlessly again.
Just for today, I'll reluctantly broaden your horizons and show you what truly supreme martial might looks like.
The conductor on the platform blew his whistle.
The train's whistle rasped. Heavy steel wheels rolled over the rails as the train slowly gathered speed.
The distant valley lay pitch-black, and the night wind stirred the forest into a sea of dark waves.
That battle-crazed demon called Akaza had probably already laid a deadly ambush in the darkness ahead.
He must have been eagerly awaiting a taste of the Flame Hashira's fighting spirit.
But he had no idea that what awaited him was a god of death armed with dimension-transcending laws.
Yaha slowly stood and brushed the dust from the hem of his haori.
He fixed his gaze on the roof of the train below as it left the platform, his hands still in his pockets. He had not even touched his sword's hilt.
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