Morning light in the dense forest was sliced into fragments by the canopy, falling in mottled patches over the body leaning against an ancient pine.
Yaha swallowed the Crimson Cursed Object.
The fabric over his back bulged eerily from within. It was not his muscles swelling. It was more like some ancient structure beneath his bones was trying to break out of its shell.
A dark crimson glow seeped from either side of his spine, shining through his black haori and casting twisted shadows on the rough tree trunk.
The phantoms of four arms overlapped behind his back.
The phantoms lasted three seconds.
The glow receded, and the fabric flattened again. Those two inhuman shadows vanished completely in the morning breeze.
Yaha slowly straightened.
He gripped the tree trunk with his left hand, forcing his trembling knees straight.
In his mind, the golden numbers on the System Panel were still ticking silently. Every increment in the Flesh Vessel's reconstruction progress brought a dull pain deep in his chest, as though a giant hand were forcibly tearing him apart.
A jumble of footsteps came from the edge of the forest.
Synchronized strides, hurried breathing, and the metallic clatter of equipment.
They were members of the Hidden Corps.
Yaha withdrew his hand from the tree trunk and slipped both hands into his trouser pockets out of habit.
Six members of the Hidden Corps crossed the charred trench.
The first things that struck their eyes were the carbonized debris strewn across the ground and the terrifying, two-hundred-meter-long burn scar.
Their captain held up a lantern. His hand shook, making its circle of light waver.
The light swept over fragments with smooth-cut surfaces, then over soil burned into crystals. Finally, it stopped on the figure at the forest's edge.
They saw the dark crimson blood lingering at the corner of Yaha's mouth.
They also saw the pile of Akaza's severed limbs at his feet, rapidly shriveling, drained of all energy until nothing remained but thin, gray-white husks.
The air seemed to freeze.
"Urgh."
The young member at the rear suffered a stomach spasm and dropped straight to his knees, dry-heaving.
The captain staggered half a step backward.
The lantern swayed in his hand, its flame flickering uneasily. He stared at Yaha as though looking at a monster wearing human skin.
"That was... he ate..."
The captain's teeth chattered, his voice breaking into breathy fragments.
"He ate the demon's-"
"Shut up."
Kyojuro Rengoku's powerful voice came from the other side of the trench, drowning out the Hidden Corps' panic.
The Flame Hashira's military boots stepped onto the scorched earth, his stride utterly steady.
The area around his left ribs was unnaturally tense, the result of deep internal injuries from his fierce battle with Akaza the night before. Reverse Cursed Technique could repair muscle and bone, but it could not erase the dull pain deep within his organs.
Rengoku paid it no mind.
He walked straight up to the six Hidden Corps members and flicked his wrist.
Clang.
His chipped Nichirin Blade lay horizontally at his waist. Its tip did not point at Yaha, but directly at the Hidden Corps members before him.
All six froze. One member's legs buckled, and he collapsed onto the scorched earth.
"Lord Flame Hashira!" The captain instinctively backed away, his voice cracking with disbelief. "He ate a demon! He's a monster!"
"Everything you saw and heard tonight is to be kept secret."
Rengoku's voice was level, every word iron-hard.
"I, Kyojuro Rengoku, issue this absolute gag order in my capacity as the Flame Hashira. Anyone who disobeys will be dealt with for desertion in battle and disclosure of classified information!"
The captain's lips trembled. Staring at the red blade pointed at him, he could not utter another word.
"He saved these two hundred passengers."
Rengoku looked into the captain's eyes, enunciating every word.
"He saved me, too. Without him, every one of us would have become rotting flesh on the ground tonight. However important the Demon Slayer Corps' rules may be, they cannot outweigh a debt owed to someone who saved our lives."
The captain lowered his head and fell completely silent.
Yaha stood a few steps away, watching the scene coldly without moving.
Sukuna's instincts found nothing but boredom in these weaklings banding together. Yaha glanced at Rengoku's straight back and was about to sneer.
But he forcibly swallowed the words before they left his mouth.
Deep in his chest, the tearing, dull pain suddenly multiplied.
It spread from between his ribs to beneath his collarbones, as though hundreds of red-hot nails were being driven into his neck vertebrae, inch by inch.
Yaha clenched his teeth.
"Keep your human rules to yourself."
His voice sounded no different than usual, still carrying that bone-deep, languid disdain.
"I don't need weaklings taking hits for me."
Rengoku turned around.
He looked at Yaha's bloodless face. His golden eyes held no anger at the insult, only a certain stubborn understanding.
It was as though he had already translated Yaha's vicious mockery into something else entirely in his mind.
"Understood."
That was all Rengoku said, his tone so calm that even Yaha was surprised.
Then Yaha's right hand lost all sensation inside his trouser pocket.
It was not numbness, but an abrupt plunge into nothingness.
Sensation in all five fingers was severed in an instant. The loss spread from his wrist to his forearm, then to his elbow. His entire right arm hung in his pocket like dead flesh completely disconnected from his brain.
The Flesh Vessel reconstruction process had forcibly drained the cursed energy channels throughout his right arm.
Reverse Cursed Technique shut down completely.
Faint cracking sounds came from inside Yaha's body.
The sound was horrifying, like thick ice shattering inch by inch under the crushing pressure of the deep sea, running from his finger bones all the way to his shoulder blade.
His vision began to sway. The world fell apart, breaking into great patches of color.
A trace of color seeped from the corner of his mouth.
It was not bright red blood.
It was dark black, laden with highly concentrated cursed energy. The blood ran from the corner of his mouth, gathered into a drop at the tip of his chin, then struck the soil heavily with a faint corrosive hiss.
"So damn noisy."
Yaha frowned as he uttered those words, his tone steady.
Then he fell straight backward.
He did not bend his knees to cushion the fall, reach for the tree, or make any movement to protect himself.
Even with the pain inside his body reaching its limit, his hands remained in his trouser pockets until the very last moment.
He crashed toward the ground in a pose of almost absurd arrogance.
"Yaha!"
Rengoku shot forward in a blur. He crossed the two-hundred-meter trench in one great stride and caught Yaha securely a second before the back of his head struck the scorched earth.
Tanjiro called out anxiously from behind. Inosuke kicked over a charred branch in his panic, while Zenitsu let out a shrill, cracking scream.
The six Hidden Corps members stood at a loss.
They watched as that body, more dangerous than any vicious demon, which had just hacked Upper Rank Three into a limbless stump and devoured his essence raw, now lay quietly in Rengoku's arms.
Dark black blood stained the corner of his mouth, but his face showed no pain.
He was so peaceful that he might have been asleep.
"A stretcher."
Rengoku did not look up. His right hand was already pressed to Yaha's carotid artery.
His pulse was still beating.
It was astonishingly fast and utterly erratic, like a high-pressure boiler packed with too much explosive, poised to blow at any moment.
"Get him to medical care at Headquarters as fast as possible. Now!"
Rengoku's low bark finally snapped the Hidden Corps out of their daze.
They hurriedly unfolded a stretcher, suppressed their fear, and took the unconscious body from the Flame Hashira's arms. Their movements were swift, but they lowered him as gently as if handling a bomb.
Tanjiro ran over and helped secure Yaha's hands, still tucked into his trouser pockets.
He hesitated, then carefully drew both of Yaha's hands out and folded them over his abdomen.
Yaha's face lay exposed to the morning light.
The black cursed markings had faded completely, and his scarlet eyes were tightly shut. Now he looked like nothing more than an ordinary swordsman with a pale face.
Rengoku glanced at him, then looked away.
The stretcher was lifted. Together with Tanjiro, the six Hidden Corps members sprinted toward the Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters as fast as they could.
Rengoku followed for a few steps, then stopped.
He looked back.
His gaze swept over the charred trench and the two-hundred-meter gouge, finally settling on the pile of carbonized clods still radiating residual heat.
The gag order had been issued.
But Rengoku knew that a gag order could control people's mouths, not the fear in their hearts.
What those six Hidden Corps members had witnessed tonight would take root in their minds. Then, on some oppressive night, it would quietly reach certain people's ears in the form of rumors.
The label "demon-eating monster" would eventually set off an explosion among the Nine Hashira.
Rengoku tightened his grip on his sword hilt.
He lingered no longer, turning and striding after the stretcher ahead.
Beneath the Butterfly Mansion, in the intensive care ward.
This place was reserved year-round for the most critically wounded. In the long, narrow corridor, dim yellow lantern light barely cut through the darkness, and the air was saturated with the thick bitterness of medicinal herbs.
Yaha was strapped firmly to a specially made hospital bed with heavy restraints.
One strap crossed his chest, while two others secured his forearms and ankles. This was the highest level of restraint, used only for severely infected patients who might lash out and injure others under intense pain.
His breathing was very steady.
Deep and slow, deeper than that of any normal unconscious person.
The ward was terrifyingly quiet. All the nursing staff had been dismissed.
Only one person stood beside the bed.
Shinobu Kocho.
Her signature smile was gone. In her hand, she held a specially made syringe.
The syringe's outer surface gleamed with a cold, eerie light in the dimness. That cold sheen came from the highest-purity wisteria alloy, dense enough to pierce the tough skin of a Lower Rank demon with ease.
The syringe's needle had been honed to the utmost sharpness, capable of penetrating any known biological tissue.
Shinobu Kocho leaned forward slightly, her gaze fixed on the utterly defenseless face on the bed.
She slowly aimed the needle's tip at the carotid artery on the side of Yaha's neck.
From that seemingly fragile human skin.
It was only three millimeters away.
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