Chapter 43 – Arrival of the Stone Hashira, The Battle Yet Unlost!
That slash had been stopped—
Kokushibo froze.
All six of his eyes widened in disbelief.
He had been certain—utterly certain—that his blade, honed at the very peak of the Transparent World, could never be blocked.
Selflessness. No self, no other. Act before thought.
An absolute concept.
The summit of the sword.
With this state, he could see everything—the flow of movement, the weaknesses in technique, the rhythm of blood, even the pattern of breath within his opponent's body.
A realm no ordinary swordsman could ever hope to reach.
And yet…
It had been blocked.
A fact he could not ignore.
Whatever the reason, Hikaru had matched—or at least brushed against—that same summit.
"…Impossible."
"How could you… you're just a mere human!"
For the first time, raw emotion bled into Kokushibo's voice.
He—who had once envied his younger brother Yoriichi—was now truly… angry.
Back then, he had understood perfectly that Yoriichi was no ordinary human.
He had accepted that his brother was like a god who had descended to earth, blessed with a natural talent from birth.
Even after becoming a demon and living for centuries, Kokushibo had only almost reached that same realm.
He had never admitted defeat. He had only… kept chasing.
But this boy standing before him—
How dare he?
How dare a mere human… set foot on that same ground?
Jealousy and rage boiled together within Kokushibo.
He wanted to kill Hikaru.
In that instant, murderous intent surged from him like a crushing wave.
The bloodlust made the air itself heavy.
Hikaru, meanwhile—
After delivering just that one slash, his body was starting to sway. Blood poured more freely from his wounds.
The deep cuts made his limbs tremble, his vision blur, and his mind haze.
And yet he smiled.
A faint smile, as if mocking the demon before him.
Look… this realm you've longed for—this realm that took you hundreds of years to reach—now I've touched it.
A form of defiance.
Or perhaps… a death wish?
Hikaru couldn't even raise his sword anymore.
His wounds were deep—possibly reaching his organs.
And still, he stood calm. Almost as if certain Kokushibo wouldn't be able to kill him.
Kokushibo raised his blade, fury burning in every muscle.
Kill him. Kill him now!
But… his arm didn't move.
"…Pathetic."
A new voice rang out in the night.
Kokushibo's eyes flicked sideways in surprise.
Only then did he notice—his wrist was bound by a massive Buddhist prayer bead mala, each stone bead clamped tight around him, stopping his swing.
From behind Hikaru, a towering figure emerged.
A man over two meters tall, his body built like a mountain, wearing the Demon Slayer Corps uniform beneath a monk's robe.
Short, black hair stirred gently in the wind.
His face was square and stern, yet filled with compassion. And from both of his eyes, tears streamed ceaselessly down his cheeks.
The mala was wrapped around his joined hands, still in a prayer position.
"What a strong spirit… Even shrouded in fear, he stood and faced a demon."
The man's voice was calm, resonant.
Hands still pressed together.
"…You…"
Kokushibo's jaw clenched. With a sudden wrench, he tore the mala apart. The stone beads scattered across the ground, clicking against the earth in the quiet night.
He stepped back, turning to face the newcomer head-on.
"…Stone Hashira…"
All six eyes narrowed.
"In that case… you'll die here too."
Kokushibo raised his sword.
But—
"You've already lost."
The Stone Hashira spoke for the first time.
Kokushibo froze for a fraction of a second.
Then he saw it—
A crow perched on Hikaru's shoulder.
Its gaze was sharp, fixed directly on him.
And yet… its position was wrong.
That wasn't where Hikaru really was.
"…An illusion…?"
Realization struck.
His previous slash… hadn't actually landed on Hikaru.
His awareness had been disrupted.
In that last moment of chaos, Hikaru had deceived him—distorting his perception, breaking his sense of direction.
A user of Void Breathing… wasn't just one person.
"You've lost," the Stone Hashira repeated firmly.
From somewhere far off, the first rooster's crow broke the silence.
The pale glow of dawn began to tear open the night sky.
Morning was coming.
And Kokushibo finally understood—
Even if this Hashira had never arrived…
He still wouldn't have been able to kill Hikaru.
In both strength… and cunning—
He had lost.
Lost completely.
Lost utterly.
Just like the day he had been defeated… by Yoriichi.
His gaze shifted from the Stone Hashira to Hikaru's face—bloodied, exhausted, yet still smiling faintly.
Without another word, Kokushibo turned away.
And vanished into the final shadows of the night.
Because the sun was about to rise.
And no demon—not even Kokushibo—could stand against the sunlight.
But before disappearing completely, his hand clenched tight.
Knuckles pale, trembling.
Unwilling. Enraged. Jealous. All tangled into one.
"…Next time… I will kill you."
Those were the last words he left behind.
Then he was gone, swallowed by the receding dark.
The morning light spilled across the land.
Dew-speckled grass shimmered gold under the sun.
The Stone Hashira looked at Hikaru.
The young man still stood, leaning against his sword. His body was soaked in blood, his Corps uniform so torn and stained that its color was barely visible.
He glanced up at the towering man.
"…Stone Hashira, huh?"
Hikaru smiled.
He might not yet have the physical strength to match Kokushibo.
But in this battle—
He was the victor.
In both wits and willpower.
A victory was still a victory.
And more than that…
He had found his own technique.
A union between the Transparency World and Void Breathing.
That thought filled his chest with a strange peace.
The warm rays of the morning sun brushed against his skin.
His eyes closed slowly.
And at last—
He collapsed.
The crow on his shoulder spread its wings, taking flight with a harsh caw that echoed in the morning air.
The Stone Hashira raised a hand to receive it.
> "A true miracle…"
> "A mere human… able to overcome the second-strongest demon."
His voice was low.
He bent down to pick up the broken mala from the ground.
And walked away from the battlefield.
What remained was…
The scars of a clash that had torn the earth apart.
The gleam of blades.
And the trail of blood.
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