"Yoriichi, well done."
The swordsman in purple robes slowly sheathed his long blade.
The red-clad swordsman smiled faintly.
"You're the one who deserves the credit, elder brother. If you hadn't stopped him in time, that thing would've escaped."
"Yes. Fortunately, both of us brothers are here. The sorrow brought by demons can finally end in our generation."
What an outrageously irreverent dream…
Enmu's breathing grew hurried.
Upper Rank demons and Lower Rank demons rarely ever encountered one another. Even when attending meetings in the Infinity Castle, they were summoned in separate groups.
Muzan had no desire for demons to form cliques. Ordinary demons were never gathered together, let alone the Twelve Kizuki, who were almost always stationed far apart from one another.
If Enmu had ever seen the face of Upper Rank One, he would have realized that these two swordsmen looked almost identical to that demon.
Before Enmu could recover from the image of Muzan being sliced into over eighteen hundred pieces, a voice cold to the very marrow sounded behind him.
"Thank you for letting me have such an interesting dream."
The voice was so frigid it felt like standing in a frozen wasteland, frost piercing straight into the bones. Enmu's entire body went numb as icy terror shot into his brain.
He hurriedly turned around—and met a face identical to the two swordsmen.
Crimson, double-layered pupils gleamed with eerie light, locking onto him with absolute indifference.
So that's it…
I have seen this face before.
As Yuko appeared, Yoriichi and Michikatsu beside her abruptly froze, as if their movements had glitched.
At this moment, Enmu had no time to think about where he had seen Yuko before—his mind was already overwhelmed.
He stared at her in shock.
"How is this possible…? How did you wake up?"
Her mental strength was indeed exceedingly rare, but the pain buried in her heart was far deeper than that of ordinary people. Once she had fallen into the dream, she shouldn't have been able to wake up so easily.
The more flawed the heart, the deeper one should sink.
Yuko slowly drew her Nichirin Blade, her expression calm.
"I've never been someone who indulges in unrealistic fantasies."
She had to admit—Enmu's dream had been beautifully crafted.
Because it was, at its core, built from what Yuko herself desired: Michikatsu and Yoriichi as kind elder brothers, a gentle father and mother.
Scenes like Yoriichi defeating Muzan with Michikatsu standing at his side.
Everything was too perfect—so perfect that it was impossible not to notice.
She had always been a pessimist, never approaching things from the optimistic side.
If something offered pure benefit without even the slightest risk, then it had to be false.
That was the fundamental logic underlying her emotions, and it would not waver for anything.
No matter how much she might yearn for such happiness, she could not deceive herself.
And besides… she was no longer alone.
In a false dream, there was no one waiting for her—and no one she was waiting for.
Yuko raised her blade and looked up.
"You're a Lower Rank, aren't you?"
"Hm? Can't you tell?"
Enmu steadied himself and smiled, pointing at his eyes.
"You only need to look. Such feeble Blood Demon Arts—only a mere Lower Rank could manage that."
Even with the amplification from Muzan's blood, the gap between Lower and Upper Rank demons was still immense.
Those words struck a nerve.
There was no demon who didn't want to become an Upper Rank.
Even someone as twisted as Enmu could still feel rage at being belittled.
Just as the different ways the rank markings were carved into their eyes filled the Lower Ranks with resentment.
"If you don't want sweet dreams," Enmu said with a twisted expression, extending his arm as the mouth on the back of his hand opened wide,
"then I'll grant you a nightmare."
"I love it most when people fall into despair after perfect dreams—watching them crumble and struggle in misery is simply delightful."
As his words fell, strange ripples spread outward.
The Kibutsuji Muzan who had just been shredded by Yoriichi and Michikatsu suddenly reformed completely, whipping out his tendrils and cutting both men cleanly in half.
"Yuko! Why didn't you save me?!"
"You've always been like this! You can never do anything!"
"Useless! You're useless!"
Their blood-soaked eyes stared straight at her, filled with accusation and hatred.
Yuko laughed in anger, her gaze growing even colder.
"Do you really think so little of me?"
Seeing how calmly she reacted, a bead of cold sweat slid down Enmu's temple.
He had forgotten—this woman's mental strength was terrifying.
Though the dreamscape could be manipulated by his Blood Demon Art, her self-awareness was already awake.
Nightmares were frightening because, within dreams, the subconscious ruled and one couldn't control their own will.
But once someone knew the dream was false, nightmares lost much of their power.
They could even…
Backfire.
By enraging the dream's owner.
Enmu swung his arm, driving his "boss" to lash out at Yuko with its whips, while he himself turned and fled.
He had to find her spiritual core before she fully awakened—otherwise, his dream of devouring an entire train and ascending to Upper Rank would be shattered.
The dream-version of Kibutsuji Muzan was just as powerful as she remembered. Yuko paused, momentarily halting her pursuit of Enmu.
She had never fought Muzan before. Even though this wasn't the real one, the oppressive force emanating from this dream-Muzan was undeniably intense.
Might as well test it.
That was her instinctive thought.
As she considered this, the arm-turned-whips slashed toward her like two elongated blades.
Fast—just as expected.
Even a single graze would be fatal.
Just as Yoriichi had once said.
Yuko narrowly dodged, unable even now to fully perceive the speed of Muzan's whips.
The real Muzan would only be stronger.
She let instinct take over, surrendering thought to her body.
Her footwork grew lighter, her dodges more refined.
As the battle progressed, Yuko clearly saw the limitations of this false Muzan.
This Muzan was merely a construct created from what Yoriichi and she herself knew.
In combat, he only used whips.
Because that was all her knowledge encompassed.
The real Muzan would never be limited to such a crude technique.
The whips were fast—but speed alone was not enough.
Without even entering her demon form, Yuko relied on experience, closing the distance with minimal injuries—
—and severed his head.
The battle ended quickly, offering her little insight.
Ultimately, as long as she avoided injuries severe enough to outpace her regeneration and immobilize her, she had no reason to fear being killed by Muzan.
Leaving the scattered remains behind, Yuko turned away without a trace of regret.
---
Currently at chapter 519 for advance chapters
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