Nakime sat at the center of the Infinity Castle, gently plucking the strings of her biwa.
Dang!
The sound reverberated through the endless halls, and a square passage suddenly opened above the castle.
Crash—!
Chunks of flesh and sticky blood rained down, splattering onto the platform before her.
Nakime froze. She had never witnessed such a grotesque sight. Her instincts screamed at her not to ask, not to even react. If I dare to question this, I'll lose my life!
Sure enough, the scattered remains quivered, gathering together into a vaguely human form—only to be shredded apart again by invisible slashes that carved across the flesh.
It tried several times, collapsing and reforming, until at last the scraps assembled into a complete body. Slowly, the figure revealed its identity.
Kibutsuji Muzan.
Nakime suppressed her breath, her sight, her every sensation, trembling silently. Yet through the resonance of Muzan's blood inside her body, she could feel his state clearly—his humiliation, his overwhelming fury, and above all… his fear.
But she dared not think a single unnecessary thought. Keeping her head bowed, she prayed she wouldn't become the target of his wrath.
Muzan, having barely restored his form, was in a wretched state. Having escaped by dispersing himself into countless pieces of flesh, his elegant suit and hat were left behind on Mount Kumotori. Now, his body was bare, exposed.
"Gu—!"
He doubled over, vomiting a mouthful of blood. When he raised his head again, his features had shifted—his masculine face dissolving into that of a pale, beautiful woman with her hair tied up behind her head.
"That man won't recognize me like this…"
He whispered coldly, standing upright with blood still dripping from the corner of his lips. His gaze fell on Nakime.
"Hmph. You're clever."
Unable to sense any stray thoughts from her, Muzan gave a small nod of approval.
But the next instant, his arm swelled grotesquely, skin flushing red as clusters of yellow eyes opened across it. His palm warped into a gaping maw lined with countless sharp teeth, drooling with venomous saliva.
"But I am furious right now!"
The monstrous arm lashed forward, biting down on Nakime's body.
Crunch!
When Muzan released her, only her head, neck, one shoulder, and part of an arm remained. The rest had been devoured.
Even as a demon, the agony was unbearable—yet Nakime dared not scream. She clenched her teeth, enduring silently, terrified that another sound would bring more punishment.
"How dull."
Muzan tossed her mutilated form aside like a discarded rag doll. He picked up her black kimono and draped it over himself, then turned back into the depths of the Infinity Castle. Changing his appearance and abusing his subordinates dulled his rage just enough for his sanity to return.
"Summon Kokushibō."
Nakime dragged her broken body to the biwa once more, plucking a trembling note.
Dang!
A passage opened before Muzan.
From it emerged a man in a dark purple kimono patterned in black, a grotesque blade of living flesh at his waist. His face was marked with dark crimson lines, and most disturbingly—
he bore six eyes.
The words "Upper Rank" and "One" gleamed on the eyes in the middle of the forehead.
The Upper Moon One—Kokushibō!
Kokushibō did not appear surprised by his sudden summoning into the Infinity Castle. But when he slowly lifted his head and beheld the figure of Kibutsuji Muzan, his expression twisted in disbelief.
What stunned him was not Muzan's inexplicable transformation into a woman clad in foreign garb, but the terrible scars that marred Muzan's body.
Six eyes fixed upon the wounds—jagged, burning gashes across his flesh, where countless flesh buds writhed in a futile effort to mend him. Yet each time they touched the injury, they disintegrated into ash.
This wound… this cursed wound…
Kokushibō's breath hitched. The sight was impossible, yet chillingly familiar.
"This… this is impossible!"
Muzan's face darkened, his voice like ice.
"Nothing is impossible. It has already happened."
His words struck like daggers.
"Didn't you say with your own eyes that Tsugikuni Yoriichi was dead? That you even cut him in half?"
At the sound of that name—spoken aloud after three centuries—Kokushibō's composure faltered. His mind reeled, replaying that last fateful encounter.
Yoriichi was dead.
He had to be dead.
Kokushibō himself had cleaved his body.
He had watched his brother fall, his handmade flute shattered in two.
Yet Muzan pressed on, his tone seething with fury.
"And you swore we had eradicated every last swordsman of the Breath of the Sun, didn't you?"
Kokushibō answered without thought:
"Yes, I—"
But the words froze in his throat. His six eyes widened, almost trembling. Muzan's questions carried weight—too precise to be idle doubt.
Muzan raised a trembling hand to the cursed scars across his torso, veins bulging hideously beneath his altered face.
"The same wound! Cut in the same place!"
"And that man… that man told me he returned from hell itself!"
The air thickened with horror.
"Tsugikuni Yoriichi was human. A mortal! How could he return from the dead?!"
Kokushibō lowered his head, unable to answer. The disbelief gnawed at him.
Bang!
Muzan's palm slammed onto his shoulder. The force rattled the floor of the Infinity Castle.
Blood vessels writhed across Muzan's face as he snarled:
"Tell me where his corpse lies. I will see it with my own eyes…"
"No—you will dig it up! Uncover his grave, and show me if Yoriichi's remains truly rest within!"
Muzan's voice roared with obsession, echoing through the endless corridors.
"I must know—whether the one I faced was truly Tsugikuni Yoriichi, or an imposter who dares to bear his power and his memories!"