Chapter 76 – Natagumo Mountain (4)
The sudden lurch upward left Tanjiro dizzy, air rushing past his ears.
For an instant, he thought Inosuke had lost his mind. But then his nose caught it—the unmistakable stench of demon blood drifting below. That foul, fishy scent clung to his senses, guiding him.
So that's it… he threw me because he sensed it too.
Spinning midair, Tanjiro looked down. In the clearing beneath him stood a woman clad in white. Her long hair, pale as silk, framed a face twisted in fear.
Strands of spider thread shimmered faintly in her trembling hands.
She's the one. The demon pulling the strings…
Tanjiro raised his Nichirin Blade, his voice steady despite the height. "Water Breathing… First Form—"
The woman's eyes widened, her body stiffening as the blade descended. But then, just as sudden, her terror melted into something else—relief. Her lips curved into a faint smile, arms spreading wide as if she were welcoming death's embrace.
It was not resistance but acceptance.
Tanjiro's heart clenched.
The killing edge in his swing faltered. No… she isn't fighting. She's waiting. Yearning for the end.
With a sharp twist of his wrists, he shifted the blade.
"Water Breathing… Fifth Form: Merciful Rain After the Drought."
The strike came not as a severing gale, but as a gentle stream. His blade whispered through her neck like rainfall, painless, almost tender. Light seemed to scatter from the steel, not bloodlust but solace.
Her head fell, serene, as though she had been granted the rest she craved.
…
In those final moments, memories flooded her fading consciousness.
The demon father's endless wrath—his hands heavy, his voice a storm of fury. The children's cruel laughter, mocking, cutting, no matter what she did to please them. A hollow masquerade of "family," chains dressed as bonds.
But family… real family was not this. Family was warmth. Family was care. A place where love was given without condition. What she had lived was only the child's fantasy, forced upon her, trapping her in endless misery.
And now… it was over. She no longer had to bow, no longer had to bend her will to survive. Death was freedom.
As her body dissolved into ash, Tanjiro watched with eyes heavy with compassion. There was no hatred in him, no triumph. Only sorrow, and the wish that her suffering might finally end.
Meanwhile, on the western slopes of Natagumo Mountain, Yukishiro and Mitsune pressed forward along a shadowed trail.
The forest loomed like a nightmare. Moonlight bled weakly through a canopy laced thick with webs. Everywhere, spiders crawled, pale bodies darting along silk strands that gleamed faintly in the dark.
Mitsune stiffened at the sight. Her hand darted out, clutching Yukishiro's sleeve. "I… I hate this," she whispered, her voice tight. The instinctive dread of crawling things, sharp fangs and skittering legs, gripped her heart.
Yukishiro glanced down but said nothing, his expression hard as stone. He let her cling to him, though his steps never faltered.
Before long, they entered a clearing—and froze.
From the branches above, massive white cocoons hung suspended, swaying gently in the night air. They looked like enormous eggs at first glance, eerie and unnatural.
Mitsune's breath caught in her throat. "Wh-what are those? Eggs? What kind of creature lays something so big?"
Yukishiro's gaze narrowed. He focused, calling upon his ability to sense heat signatures. The faint images struck him like a knife.
Bodies. Human bodies, sealed within.
His throat tightened. The shapes were unmistakable: corps members. The lowest among them bore the markings of Mizunoto, yet even they had died in numbers too high to dismiss. Dozens… all slaughtered, cocooned like prey.
A chill crawled over his skin. If even these numbers had been lost, the demon controlling this sector was no mere stray.
For the first time in a long while, Yukishiro felt a flicker of unease. We're only at Mizunoto strength. Can the two of us truly handle this?
Lost in thought, he failed to notice the faint fluctuations of heat hidden deeper in the trees—an ambush lying in wait.
"Let's go," he muttered finally.
Mitsune blinked. "Yukishiro…?"
"We accepted this mission. Running before even seeing the demon would be disgraceful. Come."
"…Alright. But the air here… it feels wrong. Be careful."
"Of course."
Together they pressed forward, the moonlight thin and uncertain above them.
…
A scream tore through the silence ahead.
The two broke into a run, their footsteps crunching over dry leaves.
"Can't cut it off?!" a desperate male voice rang out.
"You think you can sever my spider silk?" a girl's voice laughed, sharp and mocking. "It's soft, it's strong, and you're weak. There's no way you can break free."
Yukishiro and Mitsune crept to the edge of another clearing. Their eyes widened at the scene.
Murata.
The young swordsman they had seen with Tanjiro earlier stood cornered, his breath ragged. His blade hacked again and again at the white, cloth-like sheets encircling him. But every strike bounced uselessly away. The silk clung together in layers, more like steel than thread.
A white-haired demon girl danced on the edges of the web, her palms glistening with more silk that poured forth endlessly.
Her clothing was odd, almost ceremonial, marking her unmistakably as one of Muzan's brood.
Murata had been the one tending to the wounded earlier. He must have lured her away… Yukishiro realized.
Protecting the injured by drawing danger to himself. But now—he was trapped.
The girl flicked her wrists. More webs surged forward, wrapping Murata completely. In seconds, he was bound in a cocoon, thrashing inside with frantic jabs of his sword.
The air thinned quickly. His breaths grew hoarse, shallow. Panic lit his eyes. He knew—if he stayed trapped, suffocation would claim him.
Outside, the demon girl's voice rang with cruel delight. "Futile! My silk is unbreakable. And I've laced it with acid. Soon, you won't even have a body to bury. You'll melt into a puddle of blood."
At her words, green fluid seeped through the threads. Where it touched Murata's uniform, the fabric hissed and dissolved into holes.
He stabbed harder, desperation consuming him.
…
Mitsune's hands flew to her mouth, horror in her eyes. She looked at Yukishiro, seeking an answer.
"Those cocoons…" she whispered. "The ones hanging in the trees earlier. They were corps members too, weren't they? Our comrades."
Yukishiro's silence was answer enough.
"You knew?" Her voice shook.
"Yes." His reply was flat, unshaken.
Mitsune's chest tightened. "Then why didn't you try to save them?"
For the first time, anger entered her voice. Until now, she had always thought Yukishiro cold but not cruel. Detached, but not heartless. Yet here—
"They're already dead," Yukishiro said evenly, turning his gaze on her. His eyes were glacial, merciless. "What good would saving corpses do? Should we waste our strength digging graves?"
Mitsune flinched. "How could you… how could you say something so cruel?"
"It's not the first time you've seen me. Worry about yourself before worrying about others."
Her words faltered, caught in her throat. A quiet ache rose in her chest.
…`
Their exchange drew the attention of the demon girl. She turned, eyes glinting with amusement.
"Well, well. More prey wandering in? Perfect. I was getting bored."
Her palms glowed faintly as silk pulsed, ready to ensnare.
Yukishiro stepped forward, ignoring Mitsune. His sword slid free from its sheath, steel whispering in the night. His voice was calm, almost tired.
"As long as I kill you, it doesn't matter how many there are."
The demon laughed. "Arrogant little thing. Very well—let's see you squirm."
With a violent motion, she flung her arms outward. Two great sheets of silk surged from her palms, twisting like white serpents, one from the left, one from the right, closing in to envelop him.
She expected another cocoon, another helpless victim struggling in vain.
But Yukishiro was gone.
A chill swept the clearing, sharp as midwinter.
"Ice Breathing… Fifth Form: Swift Ice Spike."
Frost condensed in the air. By the time the demon girl realized what had happened, his blade had already pierced her throat. The cold steel halted only when it pressed against the skin at the nape of her neck.
Her eyes widened, frozen in shock as the chill seeped into her veins.
...
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