"A zombie? So such a thing truly exists?"
Rengoku gripped his Enrin Kitetsu tightly and took a middle guard stance, eyes sharp with caution.
"Yohohoho! In this world, there's nothing that doesn't exist. I'm quite ordinary, really."
"I wouldn't call forcibly reviving the natural cycle of life and death 'ordinary'."
"Yohoho... Well, my mission is simply to stop you. Though, with a body like this, I do wonder if I'll be able to hold you off properly."
Though the zombie swordsman held a katana, his stance resembled that of fencing—a style foreign to traditional Japanese swordsmanship.
"Are you underestimating me?"
"Underestimate you? Not at all. This is my full strength, I assure you. As I said, it's just... this body, you see."
""Gavotte Bonnavant (Revolutionary Dance)!"
"Unknowing Fire!"
Both Rengoku and the zombie moved at once, clashing mid-charge.
Clang!
The cursed blade and black blade collided—their first true clash.
"Yohoho... That sword—it's a demonic blade, isn't it? Fascinating."
"I'm more intrigued by your 'eternal black blade'."
"Well, well... Just one strike in, and I can already tell—I've met a worthy opponent. How about we exchange names?"
"Vice Admiral Rengoku… Kyojuro, of Marine Headquarters."
He hesitated for a moment, then stated his full name with pride.
"Rengoku Kyojuro… what a splendid name. I am Ryuma. Shimotsuki Ryuma."
"How fitting, isn't it? 'Rengoku'—the scorching flames, and 'Shimotsuki'—the frosty moon. The man of hell and the dragon horse of fantasy. Perhaps we were destined to meet, yohohoho."
"Didn't you say you had no memories?"
"Indeed. Only fragments—vivid echoes burned into this body. Yohoho!"
Just as Ryuma said, the two were oddly intertwined by fate. Their styles too—Rengoku's fiery and forceful Strong Blade, and Ryuma's agile fencing-based Quick Blade—stood in contrast.
"Such magnificent swordsmanship! Then try blocking this!"
"Polka Lumières (Barrel Dancer)!"
"Flame Breathing, Fourth Form—Blooming Flame Undulation!"
Rengoku conjured a wall of fire to intercept Ryuma's swift thrust.
"But that fire… it blocks your vision, doesn't it?"
"Aubade Coup d'Éclat (Dawnlight Finale)!"
Ryuma's black blade pierced through the fire curtain, lunging straight toward Rengoku.
Clang!
Rengoku twisted his wrist downward and deflected the thrust, then followed up with an upward slash.
"Flame Breathing, Second Form—Rising Scorching Sun!"
"Yikes, that was close."
Ryuma just barely pulled back in time to avoid the blow.
But then came Rengoku's downward strike.
"Flame Breathing, Third Form—Blazing Universe!"
The clash of steel resounded like thunder.
Ryuma blocked the heavy strike by raising his black blade horizontally.
"Impressive… this Eternal Black Blade really is something else!"
"Yohoho, of course it is!"
Though Ryuma had stopped the blow, he didn't counterattack. Instead, he retreated a step.
"Why didn't you follow up?"
Given how he had just blocked Rengoku's technique, he clearly had an opening to retaliate—but he didn't.
"Well, it seems this body doesn't favor that kind of swordplay."
Rengoku furrowed his brow at Ryuma's words.
Body?
Was he implying the zombie's body couldn't withstand the technique?
But no—that didn't make sense. The sheer presence emanating from that frame was overwhelming.
Wait… the body?
Rengoku's thoughts dug deeper into Ryuma's nature as a zombie.
A kimono. A katana. The name Shimotsuki Ryuma.
And yet, the man fought with fencing-like movements. If he truly practiced katana-based swordsmanship like Rengoku did in his past life as a Demon Slayer, such a style and terminology wouldn't make sense.
Back then, in the Demon Slayer Corps, there were indeed swordsmen who employed swift, agile slashes—but not to this degree.
This… this was more like muscle memory.
And the names of his techniques were strange—clearly European. His moves mirrored fencing far more than traditional kenjutsu.
"Your body may be Ryuma's… but what's inside it isn't."
"Yohoho, quite likely. Judging by when this body died and when I woke up, I'm clearly not the original owner."
"A soul transfer, perhaps?"
"Could be. I'm not exactly well-versed in those matters. But enough talk—let's continue!"
Ryuma raised his sword again in a fencing stance and launched another thrust.
"Aubade Coup d'Éclat!"
"Blazing Universe!"
"Polka Lumières!"
"Flame Breathing, Seventh Form: Raging Flames!"
"Gavotte Bonnavant!"
"Unknowing Fire!"
They clashed over and over again.
Rengoku fought cautiously.
That earlier surge of demonic pressure from Ryuma was enough to keep him on guard.
But as their blades continued to meet, he realized something—Ryuma's sword skill didn't quite match the power of his body. It was… underwhelming.
Strange.
And to resolve that mystery, Rengoku finally unleashed his true power.
"Flame Breathing, Fifth Form!"
Flames roared to life from Enrunguiteol, swirling and twisting until they took the shape of a massive tiger.
"Flame Tiger!"
He swung his cursed blade wide, sending the fire-born tiger charging straight at Ryuma.
The sweeping flames covered a wide area—leaving no room to dodge.
There was only one way out: forward.
"Cygne Bonnavant!"
("Swan Waltz")
It was a graceful yet devastating thrust—Ryuma's full power compressed into one elegant strike.
And just for a moment… Rengoku saw it.
Not a swan—but a dragon.
A majestic beast, horned and winged, slicing through the air toward him.
BOOOOOOM!
The cursed blade and black sword collided again—perhaps for the final time.
Rengoku's flaming tiger swallowed Ryuma whole.
Ryuma's dragon smashed into Rengoku with equal fury.
And then… everything exploded.
A blinding inferno, unleashed from Enrin Kitetsu, erupted across the battlefield.
The shockwave sent Rengoku skidding two steps back. Ryuma was blasted even farther, rolling across the scorched ground.
But Ryuma slowly rose to his feet.
And as he stood, Rengoku noticed—something was different.
The figure emerging from the flames… was no longer that of a zombie.
Within the blazing inferno, a true swordsman stood.
Not a decaying corpse.
Not a hollow puppet.
But a man—alive, in form and spirit.
The wrinkled skin and hollow eye sockets had vanished. In their place was the visage of a living warrior.
Was it an illusion?
The fencing stance he had used earlier—one-handed—was now replaced with a traditional two-handed grip. A classic chūdan-no-kamae stance.
Flash of clarity before death? Or just a mirage?
Rengoku couldn't say.
But facing this now unyielding presence, he too raised his blade, mirroring the swordsman's posture.
Then it came again—that overwhelming pressure.
But this time, it was different.
The heat from the flames and scorched battlefield no longer mattered. What emanated from Ryuma now was beyond comparison.
Like a dragon's will. No—greater than that.
And Rengoku answered in kind.
Two auras clashed in silence, invisible yet mighty—a tiger and a dragon locked in a battle of spirit.
Step.
The swordsman advanced one pace.
Step.
Rengoku matched it.
A second step.
A third.
And a half more.
The distance between them now closed, the blades of the two warriors touched—steel to steel, held in equilibrium.
Their eyes locked with steely resolve.
Then, in perfect unison, they raised their blades overhead—and struck.
But…
Neither sword reached its mark.
Each stopped precisely one sun approx. 3 cm from the other's forehead.
Sun-dome.
A strike that halts just before making contact—showing restraint, respect, and control.
Silence.
Then, Ryuma was the first to lower his sword.
He slid the blade just slightly from its scabbard, aligning it horizontally… and gently sheathed it with one smooth motion.
Only after the blade clicked back into place did Rengoku slowly lower Enrin Kitetsu.
Ryuma stepped forward, removed his katana and scabbard from his hip, and held it out to Rengoku.
"You know what it means… when a swordsman entrusts his lifelong blade to another, don't you?"
Gone was his earlier flippant tone. His voice was now calm, steady—like that of a spirited young man.
Rengoku gave a firm nod and accepted the blade with both hands.
"Black Blade—Shusui. She's been by my side my whole life."
"Then I'll honor her accordingly."
Rengoku's voice was solemn as he received Shusui.
Ryuma smiled once more.
"You truly possess the soul of a samurai. I can rest easy now."
With those final words, flames gently rose around Ryuma's form.
And in the blink of an eye, the man known as Shimotsuki Ryuma vanished.
All that remained… was a scorched zombie corpse, left behind in the smoldering embers.
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