Chapter 345: Do You Mind Having Another Father?
"Though I'm honored by your favor, Giant Sir…"
Kyojuro Rengoku's entire body was wreathed in flame as a circular arc of fire cleaved through the oncoming Red Ghosts.
Panting slightly, he raised his voice and said, "I am not an orphan. My father is still alive."
Not far away,
Rengoku Shinjuro, who was fighting alongside the Demon Slayer Corps against the bio-army, heard his son's response and couldn't help but look speechless.
Who seriously explains something like that?
And then there was the strange old giant from another world, Whitebeard,
trying to snatch someone else's son? That was definitely bizarre.
But—
Having long since lost interest in life after the death of his beloved wife, Rengoku Shinjuro just shook his head. None of it mattered to him anymore.
Whether it was hunting demons or fighting mutated monsters,
he found it all meaningless.
Whitebeard, of course, didn't care at all. He just laughed and asked, "Then do you mind having another father?"
In his eyes, the bond of family wasn't exclusive.
Feelings didn't become thinner when shared—they only grew stronger.
Didn't he already have many sons?
Kyojuro replied with absolute honesty and volume:
"Giant Sir, thank you deeply for aiding the Demon Slayer Corps. If my father and Master Kagaya approve, then I would gladly become your foster son in gratitude!"
To him,
Whitebeard's talk of "sons" likely referred to something akin to being a protégé or successor—just as the Love Pillar, Mitsuri Kanroji, had once been his disciple.
"Gurararara! Then once this battle's over, I'll go ask your master myself!"
Whitebeard suddenly released a strange ripple—
not from his Crimson Troll bloodline, nor from his Tremor-Tremor Fruit.
Dark smoke began to rise from his shoulders, spilling outward and gathering above him in the sky.
Seconds later,
a massive phantom formed from pure darkness took shape overhead, radiating intense dark energy.
It was the effect of the [Dark Elf] armor set.
With three pieces equipped, he could summon a phantom of the [Dark Elf King].
A full set would summon the physical embodiment of the king himself—equal in power to a Tier Two [Dark Gold Lord].
Whitebeard was missing the leg guards, so he could only summon the phantom.
Even so—
it was enough to shift the tide of battle.
This was the trump card that gave Whitebeard the confidence to bet against Garp.
Laughing heartily, he slashed with Cong Yunqie, the blade tearing space apart and splitting an entire abandoned lab building in half.
The flying debris sent the Demon Slayer members scrambling for cover.
"You old bastard, Whitebeard! I knew you were up to something!"
Garp, approaching from behind with Shinobu, couldn't help but curse aloud.
The phantom of the Dark Elf King—clad in regal attire and radiating nobility—stood still, calmly casting spell after spell.
It was wiping out Red Ghosts even faster than Whitebeard himself.
After all—
In the Reincarnation Game, mages were known to be devastating long-range units.
And this was no ordinary mage—
it was the phantom of a once-supreme Tier Two Dark Elf mage lord.
Roooaar!
With most of the Red Ghosts slaughtered, and the remaining Mad Babies and Green Giants reduced to stragglers,
a small, unremarkable mountain at the back of the valley began to shake violently.
Boom.
Like a volcanic eruption,
the mountain's peak exploded, and the grotesque head of the Demon-Winged Dragon emerged.
It opened its mouth slightly, revealing rows of knife-like fangs.
Its massive head was as large as the entire Demon Slayer headquarters, and each fang was thicker than a century-old wisteria tree.
Fluorescent viral veins lit up across its face—mutated blood glowing like neon circuits.
In the world of infected beasts,
blood density and quantity were direct indicators of strength.
And the Demon-Winged Dragon's mountain-sized body marked it as an apex predator.
Fwoosh.
Two bat-like wings tore from the shattered mountaintop,
and the dragon soared high into the sky.
Its jaws opened, charging a bright orange-yellow viral beam aimed at the players below.
"Perfect timing!"
Meeting the attack head-on was Garp's iron fist.
A mix of Haki and battle aura exploded from him like flames, lifting his cloak as he shot skyward.
In a single punch,
he struck the airborne dragon with a force like a falling star, smashing it down to the ground.
"You damn Garp, trying to steal my kill?!"
Whitebeard grinned and unleashed two cross-shaped Tremor slashes,
aimed at both Garp and the Demon-Winged Dragon.
His Crimson Troll bloodline fueled him like a berserk beast,
and he waded in with overwhelming brute strength, clashing fists and blades against Garp and the dragon in a chaotic melee.
"What a scene…"
Gyomei Himejima swallowed hard, clasping his hands like a monk in mourning—perhaps for the dragon.
Other Demon Slayer members could barely believe what they were seeing.
They had never witnessed combat like this.
Even Yoriichi Tsugikuni, the strongest human in history,
still had to swing a weapon to fight demons. He was human, after all.
Gyomei, strongest of the current Pillars,
fought with a massive axe and flail combo—a terrifying sight—
but even he looked ordinary next to what they were seeing now.
This was pure physical domination.
Humans—flesh and blood—had somehow overpowered a mutated behemoth, pinning it to the ground.
Boom.
Garp, pressing forward through a thick haze of viral mist,
punched the dragon square in the head.
Its skull twisted sideways, and its viral breath—a slicing, toxic wave—missed its mark and instead hit a nearby bio-research facility.
In an instant—
the reinforced steel-and-concrete lab, protected by interior plating,
was corroded into a crumbling ruin.
"Is that old navy man's skin and fists tougher than steel?"
Kagaya Ubuyashiki wiped the cold sweat from his brow.
Garp was a pure tank class—boasting both top-tier defense and overwhelming offense.
Every punch landed with terrifying impact.
"Force God…"
Someone whispered the name.
In the Demon Slayer world, the peak was Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
With natural marks and total concentration breathing, he created the Sun Breathing style.
But even he was limited by his world—rated only [400] combat power by the game.
That was still a near-unreachable height for most swordsmen.
Current Pillars like Gyomei could only break buildings or large stones.
Now—
a warrior who fought like a god had descended upon them,
his fists divine, his power unmatched.
Thud.
As Garp's iron punch landed, and Whitebeard's crimson-tinged blade came down like a crescent moon—
the Demon-Winged Dragon's enormous head was finally severed, crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust.
"You bastard Garp—I got the kill!"
Whitebeard called out with a teasing glint in his eyes.
In terms of damage dealt, they were evenly matched.
But with the Dark Elf King's magic barrage—
even just a phantom—Whitebeard had killed thousands of Red Ghosts.
Garp wasn't a ranged fighter.
Could he really have slain more than Whitebeard?
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