As the biwa woman plucked her strings with sudden force, a sharp note rang out—and the dizzying space of the Infinity Castle began to fold and collapse at frightening speed.
The meeting that had left every Upper Rank choking under its pressure was finally over.
And yet, the single low sentence Kokushibo had spoken lingered like a curse in the mind of every demon, leaving behind a suffocating heaviness that refused to disperse.
Just as the passage was about to seal completely—
A figure shot out like a cannonball and slammed into the ground of the real world.
Boom—!
The earth cracked. Dust and smoke billowed.
Upper Rank Three—Akaza—rose slowly from the crater, brushing the grit from his body.
No matter what, he couldn't ignore it anymore.
Back on the snowy field, he had already seen Lord Muzan's "unease." But now, he had seen something else in Muzan's eyes.
Fear.
The strongest Demon King in existence… was afraid of a boy who hadn't even been in the Demon Slayer Corps for long?
And not only that—Kokushibo, of all people… had shown a flicker of wavering, too.
Just thinking about it made battle-lust and hot blood surge through Akaza's veins on their own.
When he lifted his head, the golden irises etched with "Upper Rank" and "Three" held not a shred of fear—only a nearly crazed, utterly pure hunger for combat.
He had no interest in Muzan's promised "blood of the Demon King."
As a martial artist who had devoted his entire existence to pursuing the "highest realm," there was only one thing he cared about:
How strong was the boy Muzan feared?
If he fought him… it had to be interesting.
The thought alone filled Akaza with such excitement his fingers began to tremble.
Then he bared his teeth in a savage, thrilled grin—and the ground beneath his feet exploded.
His low voice dripped with a frenzied eagerness.
"I hope you don't disappoint me… earring boy!"
…
Morning light filtered through the wisteria, scattering in mottled patterns across the wooden corridor.
Kagaya Ubuyashiki sat quietly beneath the eaves. Though his eyes had long since lost their sight, it was as if he were gazing upon a far deeper future than anything visible.
A breeze stirred, carrying a faint chill—and fluttering the purple haori draped over his shoulders.
"Lord Kagaya."
Beside him, his wife Amane spoke softly, her tone threaded with concern. "You've been sitting here for a long time. Are you worried about that child, Tanjiro?"
Kagaya turned his head slightly. A faint smile surfaced on his pale face, and his voice remained gentle and warm.
"Amane… you heard what the Kasugai crow reported as well, didn't you?"
"Yes." Amane nodded. "Tanjiro encountered a direct assassin under Kibutsuji Muzan's command—and killed them instantly. And he even… used the demon's blood to send a 'voice' straight to that man."
"Tanjiro… truly is an extraordinary child."
Kagaya sighed lightly, fingertips stroking the side of his teacup as his tone deepened.
"Ever since that snowy night, I've had a feeling. As though the gears of fate—stagnant for a thousand years—began to turn violently the moment he appeared."
"But the brighter the light… the deeper the shadow it casts."
Amane stilled, then understood. Her brow tightened slightly. "You mean… Kibutsuji Muzan will move?"
"Not merely move," Kagaya replied calmly, his certainty leaving no room for doubt. "He will attempt to erase him—at any cost."
"That cowardly man fears the 'sun' more than anyone in this world. And the power Tanjiro has displayed is the nightmare he has dreaded for a thousand years."
"If I were Muzan, the instant I realized such a threat existed… I would never allow it time to grow."
He paused, as though weighing a heavy decision.
The air grew tense.
After a long silence, Kagaya set down his teacup. The gentleness in his expression remained—but now it was edged with resolve.
"Amane. Send the order immediately."
"Tell Flame Hashira—Kyojuro Rengoku—to wait. The mission to investigate the Mugen Train will proceed… and Tanjiro will go with him."
Amane's eyes widened slightly, light flickering within them. "You mean… Tanjiro will support the Flame Hashira?"
"No. Not merely support."
Kagaya turned his face, voice steady and unyielding. "If Tanjiro is likely to become the demons' 'target,' then…"
"For us, this becomes a once-in-a-millennia opportunity."
"We will use the brightest 'sun wheel' as bait—draw the demons hiding in the deepest dark into the open, and then—"
"Wipe them out in one sweep."
…
At that very moment, Yoriichi was walking along a forest path in the early morning.
Though he had just endured fierce battle, his presence hadn't changed in the slightest.
By the original plan, he was on his way to his next assignment—a strange manor deep in the mountains.
The Demon Slayer Corps' system for assigning missions followed a rigid and meticulous logic.
In most cases, tasks were issued according to rank.
Mizunoto slayers handled ordinary demons. Kinoe slayers dealt with powerful foes who possessed Blood Demon Arts. And if there were signs of a "Twelve Kizuki" in an area, the assignment went directly to a Hashira.
It was for efficiency—and to protect the weak.
For a newcomer who had only just joined the Corps, no matter how capable, they were still expected to build merit through a series of low-risk missions, proving stability and reliability.
It was necessary screening—and silent evaluation.
So even if Yoriichi's earlier performance had surprised the young Master, until the official promotion documents were issued, he still had to follow the rules. It was also a way to confirm his true strength more thoroughly.
"Drumbeats…"
He recalled the information his Kasugai crow had mentioned.
Supposedly, the area echoed with eerie drum sounds at night, and many travelers had already gone missing.
The aura was only that of an ordinary demon—but if innocent people were suffering, then this tragedy had to be cut off by the blade.
Just as he was about to quicken his pace—
"Caw—! Caw—!"
A sharp, urgent cry tore through the sky.
His Kasugai crow arrived—but this time it wasn't shouting directions as usual. It was panicked—borderline frantic.
Flapping wildly, it all but dove down to a branch in front of him.
"Emergency order! Emergency order! The Master's spoken command!"
"Kamado Tanjiro! Stop heading to the Drum House immediately! The original mission is canceled! Repeat—mission canceled!"
Yoriichi halted, lifting his gaze. His clear, dark-red eyes calmly fixed on the crow.
"What happened?"
"According to the latest intelligence, Kibutsuji Muzan is highly likely to issue a kill order against you! You have now been designated a special-grade target!"
The crow cried out loudly: "The Master orders: do not act alone! Head at once toward the Mugen Train and rendezvous with Flame Hashira—Kyojuro Rengoku! Repeat—rendezvous with the Flame Hashira immediately!"
Yoriichi's eyes shifted slightly, and admiration rose in his heart.
Because of a single strike in Asakusa, the Master had instantly judged the escalation—and even dared to break the Corps' old, step-by-step routine. He abandoned the standard mission, redeployed top-tier strength, and arranged support without hesitation.
That sharp instinct—and the willingness to adapt for the greater good—brought Yoriichi a sense of reassurance he hadn't felt in a very long time.
Four hundred years ago, he too had comrades worthy of trust.
"The Demon Slayer Corps… has been entrusted to good hands."
He nodded faintly and said to the crow, "Understood. Lead the way."
If the young Master had already set the board, then as a swordsman, Yoriichi had no reason to refuse such consideration.
…
Night fell.
A massive steam locomotive, like a steel beast crouched in the darkness, spewed white vapor and released a deep, muffled roar.
This was the departure station of the Mugen Train.
The platform teemed with people—gentlemen in Western suits, women in kimono, hawkers calling out their wares—noise rising and falling in waves.
For most people of this era, the "train" was still a symbol of modern civilization.
Yoriichi stood quietly outside the ticket gate, watching the lively scene, a gentle nostalgia softening his gaze.
"Four hundred years… the human world truly has become far more prosperous."
It was no longer the tranquil world he once knew—but he didn't dislike this vibrant, living clamor.
And yet—
His eyes soon passed through the crowded platform, through the heavy steel carriages, and locked onto the depths of the train itself.
Beneath the ordinary shell of iron and rivets, an aura of demonic revulsion seeped silently through every corner of the cars like a web.
"So it's already begun."
He murmured softly.
From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a simple train.
But within his Transparent World, the Mugen Train was not merely a vehicle.
It was a gigantic stomach, slowly waking—preparing to devour more than two hundred innocent passengers.
And within that unpleasant, clammy chill, there burned a completely different kind of power in the middle cars.
A blazing, upright fighting spirit—bright as the noon sun.
Like a bonfire lit in the heart of night, it didn't deliberately radiate pressure—yet the surrounding demonic cold dared not draw near.
"So this is… the Flame Hashira."
The corner of Yoriichi's mouth lifted slightly.
Even from this far away, he could feel the warmth pouring from that man's soul.
The distinctive fire of the Rengoku line—capable of warming hearts.
"If he is there, then for the moment, there's no need to worry."
He withdrew his hand from the hilt, lowered the brim of his hat, and stepped through the gate.
If the Master's order was "rendezvous" and "bait," then this wasn't the time to tear the train apart directly.
He needed to enter the "stomach"—
And wait quietly… for a larger prey to bite.
…
The Mugen Train.
First carriage.
Wheels ground against rails with a steady clatter—ka-thunk, ka-thunk.
Yoriichi moved through the crowded aisle and slid open the carriage door.
A rich aroma of beef sukiyaki bento hit him at once—mixed with a booming shout that shook the air.
"Delicious!!!"
Passengers jolted, turning to stare.
But the man devouring his meal in the seat didn't care in the slightest.
He had long hair like blazing flames—gold and red—wearing a haori patterned with fire. His eyes were sharp and bright, and with chopsticks in hand, he was utterly focused on destroying his eleventh bento.
"Delicious!!!"
Another thunderous proclamation.
Watching that fiercely radiant, straightforward man, Yoriichi's eyes softened.
No matter how many years passed, the Rengoku family remained the same—eating as though it were a sacred ritual.
He sat in the empty seat across from him, posture straight, and greeted him first.
"Rengoku-san… you have quite an appetite."
Kyojuro Rengoku's chewing froze mid-bite.
"Mmm!"
He swallowed, snapping his head around. Owl-sharp eyes locked instantly onto Yoriichi.
When he recognized him, the vigilance in his gaze melted into a bright, hearty grin.
"Kamado boy! You're here! That was fast!"
He sounded relaxed—but in the heart of a battle-hardened Hashira, a flash of surprise rose.
Just now… until the boy sat down and spoke, he hadn't noticed him approach at all.
To suppress one's presence completely—so thoroughly that even a Hashira didn't detect it…
It was hard to imagine how troublesome he would be if he were an enemy.
Rengoku set down the bento box, folded his arms, and his expression turned serious as he studied the boy with burning eyes.
At first glance, he might seem like nothing more than an ordinary youth wearing earrings.
But now, Rengoku could clearly sense it—
Like a peerless blade returned to its sheath, the boy showed no obvious edge, yet the restrained "ki" within him was astonishing.
No wonder the Wind Hashira had suffered so badly.
"I heard about Asakusa."
Rengoku's voice rang bright and bold. "The Master says you're to serve as 'bait,' but you don't look like someone who sees himself as prey! That calm bearing—few even among the Hashira can match it!"
Yoriichi shook his head gently. "That's because you're here, Rengoku-san."
He lifted his gaze and met Rengoku's eyes directly.
"Your flame is warm—and powerful. Simply being near you, I can feel the strength that drives back the darkness."
"Hahaha! What a frank compliment!"
Rengoku blinked, then burst into laughter again, clearly pleased by Yoriichi's sincerity.
When the laughter faded, he lowered his voice, his expression sharpening.
"But do not let your guard down, Kamado boy!"
"The thing hiding on this train… its presence is extremely strange. I can't confirm it's a Lower Rank yet, but more than forty people have already disappeared!"
"And since you've come… that means—"
He didn't finish, but the meaning was plain.
If Yoriichi was the bait, then whatever watched this train wouldn't be limited to the skulking creature within the cars.
Something far worse might be lurking in the darkness beyond.
"I understand."
Yoriichi nodded slightly. His gaze did not go to the night outside the window, but to the shadow near the connection between carriages.
There, the conductor stumbled forward, ticket punch in hand—his face pale as a corpse.
"P-please… show your tickets…"
Yoriichi lowered his eyes, speaking quietly.
"It seems… the one who wants to give us a 'beautiful dream' can't wait any longer."
-------
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