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Chapter 49 - Chapter 48: Upper Rank Demons vs. Hashira

Martial Arts Dojo

Cold moonlight poured into the bluestone dojo.

At the center, a young man was tightly bound to one of the stone pillars.

Dark pompadour. Purple uniform. A jagged scar stretching from his right cheek to the tip of his nose.

It was Genya Shinazugawa, younger brother of the Wind Hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa.

"Young Master Ryuya, this guy is too boring," Doma said with a grin, lifting Genya's chin using his iron fan. "So full of himself, spouting vulgarities. Quite unpleasant."

Terror flickered across Genya's face.

This demon—

He was horrifying beyond words.

Only now did Genya fully understand why he had been captured.

He was bait.

A trap meant to lure his brother.

And over the past hours, Genya had also come to understand something else.

That night…

Their mother hadn't simply gone mad.

She had turned into a demon.

And Sanemi had been forced to kill her—to protect him.

Genya's chest tightened painfully.

He had once cursed his brother for that act.

Blamed him.

Hated him.

He had been ignorant.

After learning the truth, he had searched desperately for Sanemi and discovered he had joined the Demon Slayer Corps.

He had wanted to apologize.

But now—

Their reunion would only bring danger.

I'm useless…

If he were stronger, none of this would have happened.

"Evil demon! If you've got the guts, eat me!" Genya spat, hatred blazing in his eyes.

Doma laughed lightly. "No, no, that won't do. I only eat soft, tender girls. I don't eat boys like you, you know."

He said it as casually as discussing food preferences.

Genya's stomach churned in disgust.

"Doma. Don't kill him."

Ryuya's voice was indifferent.

"Young Master Ryuya, you're finally speaking to me!"

Doma immediately brightened and rushed over.

Ever since arriving, both Akaza and Ryuya had ignored him.

They chatted with each other.

But ignored him.

It was deeply frustrating.

So he had entertained himself by teasing Genya.

"Young Master Ryuya, how many Hashira are coming? Should we kill them all? Does Lord Muzan know?"

Muzan did not know.

But even if he did, it likely wouldn't matter. Eliminating Hashira benefited demons.

Although Muzan disliked demons gathering in groups—fearing it endangered him—this situation probably wouldn't warrant punishment.

After all—

He only had one precious "good son."

"They've arrived," Ryuya said calmly. "Eight Hashira. And one whose strength is comparable to a Hashira."

Akaza's lips curved upward.

Eight Hashira.

Excellent.

His fists itched for battle.

"Oh, oh, oh—so roughly nine Hashira. What a grand reception!" Doma raised his fan, lowering it slowly as his rainbow eyes gleamed with icy amusement. "Young Master Ryuya, can we kill them all?"

"As you wish."

A faint killing intent flickered in Ryuya's crimson eyes.

He bore no personal grudge against the Demon Slayer Corps—aside from Sanemi.

But if they insisted on interfering—

He would not hold back.

Mercy was not his habit.

Doma smiled brightly. "Young Master Ryuya is so cool. I love it."

Then—

His gaze shifted toward the dojo entrance.

"They're here."

Several figures stood beneath the moonlight.

At the forefront was Jigoro Kuwajima, expression grave.

"Which one is the Moon Demon?" asked Sakonji Urokodaki, former Water Hashira, who had scouted ahead.

Beside him stood his former disciples—Giyu Tomioka and Sabito.

They all looked forward.

The moon illuminated three demons standing in formation.

To the left—

A bare-handed martial artist, powerful and imposing.

The characters of Upper Rank Three carved into his pupils.

Akaza.

To the right—

Upper Rank Two.

Doma.

Golden iron fan in hand.

Rainbow eyes gleaming beneath a harmless, eerie smile.

And in the center—

Dressed in black.

Crimson eyes calm and sharp.

A blade resting at his waist.

Upper Rank Four.

Ryuya.

The strongest aura among them.

The air grew heavy.

Upper Rank Two.

Upper Rank Three.

Upper Rank Four.

Three Upper Rank demons standing together.

For a moment, even the Hashira felt the suffocating pressure.

The true battle—

Was about to begin.

...

Author's Note:

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