Chapter 7 – Slaying Rokuro
Tachibana Kyūjō drew all his senses inward—redirecting his awareness deep into his own body.
With nothing to distract him, his consciousness sank beneath the surface of skin and muscle, as though a thin veil had been lifted, revealing a hidden world within.
For the first time…
He witnessed the miracle of the universe inside himself.
His heartbeat thundered—relentless, like the roar of a battlefield drum.
Thump-thump… thump-thump… thump-thump…
His blood surged like a raging tide, flowing through his veins in waves of raw energy. That current, wild yet purposeful, coursed through flesh and tissue, breathing life into every fiber of his being.
Kyūjō followed its flow—through his heart, into his muscles, through his vessels—sensing every pulse, every vibration.
Until he achieved complete control.
— — —
Meanwhile, Rokuro only laughed.
A guttural, echoing laugh erupted from deep within his chest, filled with disdain for the world.
"Ha… haha… HAHAHAHA!"
He clutched his stomach, as if the very sight of the trembling Demon Slayer before him was the funniest joke he'd ever seen.
Then, suddenly, he stopped laughing.
His crimson eyes locked onto Fujiwara Naoto, who now stood in front of Kyūjō, shielding him with trembling arms.
"A mere insect dares speak before a lion?" Rokuro's voice turned frigid.
And the next moment—
He charged.
Naoto, though his body trembled, stood his ground. He inhaled sharply, channeling everything he had into one final strike.
The form he had trained relentlessly.
The only form he could trust with his life.
"Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash!"
His cry echoed through the forest.
His sword tore through the air, trailing a shimmering arc of water-like light.
With the will of fallen comrades, with a heart that refused to let another human die, Naoto swung—
Right at Rokuro's neck.
But—
He was sent flying.
Smashed into the ground like a sack of straw.
One casual swipe of Rokuro's hand was enough to break the technique.
The demon glanced at the light wound on the back of his hand—a mere scratch. His skin, reinforced by Blood Demon Art, hadn't even been pierced.
He scoffed.
"That pathetic excuse for a sword doesn't even deserve a name."
He sneered, fangs glinting beneath curled lips.
"You could slash at me all day long—and still never—"
But before he could finish—
A voice whispered behind him.
"Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash."
Kyūjō stood there.
No one had noticed him move.
His eyes were shut.
His breath—silent and steady.
And in that instant—
A single cut sliced through the world.
Sliiice.
Rokuro froze.
The sky tilted.
Then the world flipped upside down.
A dull thud echoed behind Kyūjō as a severed demon head rolled onto the ground.
In stunned disbelief, Rokuro's eyes locked onto Kyūjō's retreating back.
"How…?"
"A weak little human like you… how did you suddenly…"
Kyūjō opened his eyes slowly.
There was no arrogance in them—only quiet, unshakable will.
"This… is human strength."
Rokuro screamed, his voice shrill with hatred.
"Impossible!"
"Human strength… can't surpass demons!"
Even headless, his body moved.
Rokuro's corpse, driven by pure hatred and bloodlust, raised its claws and lunged at Kyūjō.
But the Kyūjō of now… was no longer the same.
He exhaled gently.
"Fuu…"
Through observation alone, Kyūjō had memorized the flow of Naoto's technique. He activated Water Breathing, strengthening his body—if only briefly.
Now, with complete control over his muscles and blood flow, he channeled all his power into a single point—
The tip of his blade.
Water Breathing fused with the Transparent World.
And the result—
No demon could withstand.
"Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash!"
He brought his sword down.
And the headless demon, despite its hardened Blood Demon Art defense—
Was torn cleanly in half.
From collar to hip.
Split into two.
Kyūjō didn't flinch at the demon's eyes, frozen in terror.
He stepped forward, gripped Rokuro's long hair, and lifted the severed head high.
Sword in one hand.
Head in the other.
He walked toward Naoto, who still knelt in shock.
He drove his sword into the ground, then turned and offered a faint smile.
"Mind if I borrow your sword for a second?"
Before Naoto could respond, another sword flew through the air.
It was Kuwajima Jigorō—who had just arrived.
"Take mine, boy!"
"If that sword can help cut down a demon of the Twelve Kizuki, it will be the greatest honor of its life!"
Kyūjō caught the Nichirin Blade and nodded firmly.
He approached what remained of Rokuro—the twitching body, still writhing with hatred and despair.
Like a fisherman gutting his catch, Kyūjō pinned the demon's head to the ground and raised the sword.
One final slash.
The regenerating neck was severed once again.
And this time—
There was no recovery.
Rokuro's head slowly crumbled into ash.
And vanished into the cold night wind.
Kyūjō let out a long breath, then returned the Nichirin Blade to Jigorō with a bow.
"Thank you for the blade."
Jigorō only chuckled. "No thanks needed."
Kyūjō turned to Naoto.
"How's your condition? Need a medic?"
Naoto shook his head. "Nothing broken. I'll be fine after a few days' rest."
Just then, the Kakushi, the Demon Slayer Corps' hidden support unit, arrived.
Their captain bowed deeply toward Jigorō.
"Thank you for your hard work, Jigorō-sama!"
Jigorō gave a sheepish smile. "I fear I arrived too late."
The captain then turned to Kyūjō and bowed even lower.
"Thank you for your courage… Swordsman!"
All the Kakushi bowed in unison—to both Kyūjō and Naoto—before quickly getting to work.
They moved like clockwork.
Collecting demon remains. Tending wounds. Clearing debris.
Kyūjō tilted his head toward Jigorō with an exaggerated look of confusion.
"…Who are they?"
— — —
That night, flocks of Kasugai Crows soared across the skies of the Eastern region.
It was 2:30 AM.
At the central estate of the Demon Slayer Corps, their young leader—Kagaya Ubuyashiki, barely fourteen years old—still sat in silence.
He hadn't slept.
He was still waiting.
Beside him, his wife Amane remained quietly at his side.
She never told him to return to bed.
Because she knew—just as he did—that even if she slept, her heart would still be out there. On the battlefield.
Just like his.
Just like the blades that shimmered beneath the moon.
At last, a Kasugai Crow returned.
Carrying the news he'd been hoping for.
The Kakushi on duty that night arrived not with dread, but with smiles brighter than any New Year's celebration.
Kagaya watched their faces.
And for the first time that night—
He allowed himself to breathe.
The Kakushi stepped forward, knelt before him, and began to deliver the message carried by the wind—
The demon was slain.
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