Chapter 203: This Child Must Not Be Left Alive
"What do you take life to be?!"
That familiar, thunderous shout echoed through the darkest recesses of his mind. Along with it came an overlapping silhouette, bathed in the blinding, searing crimson light of a sun-forged Nichirin Blade. It violently clawed open the deepest, most agonizing scars etched into Muzan Kibutsuji's very soul—the primal terror of Tsugikuni Yoriichi.
Gasping for air, Muzan instantly severed his visual and conscious connection with Hantengu. With a violent sweep of his arm, he flipped the heavy wooden desk in front of him, sending expensive inkstones and scattered documents crashing against the wall.
In the sudden emptiness of the dimly lit study, the Demon King stood frozen. His chest heaved erratically. He forced his facial features into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage, a desperate attempt to conceal the cold, creeping dread that threatened to consume him.
Minutes bled away in heavy silence before his ragged, trembling breaths finally began to steady.
Only then did he sense a presence. He snapped his head toward the doorway. A woman stood there, clutching the wooden frame. She was the 'wife' of his current human disguise, looking at him with wide, trembling eyes.
She was trying to project wifely concern, but Muzan could easily read the sheer, paralyzing terror hiding beneath her gaze. Just moments ago, the suffocating aura of death that had erupted from the study had washed over her. For a split second, the man standing in the room wasn't her gentle husband, but an abyssal monster waiting to devour the world.
As she stared at the overturned furniture and the unnatural twitching of his shoulders, her pupils dilated. The horrific realization finally set in—her instincts hadn't lied. The thing standing in the study truly was a man-eating monster.
But her realization came far too late.
Muzan knew exactly how pathetic and panicked he had looked while flashing back to Tsugikuni Yoriichi. To the arrogant Demon King, such an unsightly display of weakness was a filthy stain. It had to be erased immediately.
The moment this 'wife' witnessed his moment of vulnerability, her death sentence was signed.
Casting aside any care for his carefully crafted human identity, Muzan's right arm violently ruptured. Human skin tore away, replaced by a grotesque, writhing tentacle of dark flesh and sinew. At its tip, a massive maw split open, lined with rows of jagged, razor-sharp fangs. The monstrous jaw unhinged and lunged forward, swallowing the paralyzed, screaming woman whole in a single, sickening crunch.
Wiping a stray drop of blood from his chin, Muzan shifted his appearance back to his true form.
"Nakime," he commanded into the empty air. "Bring me back."
Before the spatial doorway of the Infinity Castle could fully swallow him, he calmly struck a match and tossed it onto the oil-soaked papers scattered across the wooden floorboards.
Accompanied by the roar of rapidly spreading flames, Muzan stepped into the chaotic, shifting geometry of his stronghold. His voice dripped with venom as he issued his next absolute order. "Track Akira Kanzaki and his group. The moment you lock onto their coordinates, drop Douma or Kokushibo directly on top of them."
The other Demon Slayers didn't matter. But that boy—the one who dared to drag his deepest, most humiliating nightmares into the light—had to die.
'This child must not be left alive!' Muzan thought, his crimson eyes glowing with murderous intent.
"Haha..."
Standing on a quiet mountain ridge, Akira looked up at the horizon. The dark canopy of the night was finally giving way to the soft, golden hues of dawn. He couldn't help but let out a few dry, highly amused chuckles.
"What are you laughing at, Akira?" Kanae asked, tilting her head. She stood close beside him, her tense shoulders finally relaxing as the warmth of the morning sun brushed against her skin.
"Nothing much," Akira replied, the smug, gloating smile on his face growing completely unbridled. "I was just thinking about how absolutely wonderful the expression on Muzan's face must be right now. Losing two Upper Moons in a single night is quite the blow."
In truth, losing two Upper Ranks would certainly infuriate the Demon King, but it wouldn't truly break his spirit. In Muzan's cold eyes, all demons were nothing more than disposable tools meant to help him find the Blue Spider Lily and conquer the sun. If they died, they died.
No, what truly had Muzan seething was that single, roaring question Akira had thrown at him through Hantengu's eyes. It had violently stirred up the traumatic fear the Demon King had spent hundreds of years trying to bury.
For a narcissist like Muzan, who obsessed over becoming the 'perfect life form', that lingering terror was the ultimate humiliation. Akira's actions were tantamount to walking up to the Demon King and slapping him across the face.
What made Muzan grind his teeth even harder was the fact that his momentary paralysis from fear had cost him his window of opportunity. Because he had been frozen in panic, Nakime had completely lost Akira's trail.
As the most vital logistics and crafting hub for the Demon Slayer Corps, the Swordsmith Village always kept a dedicated squad of Kakushi on standby for emergency evacuations. This intense preparation was exactly why they were able to assemble the entire village the moment the chief issued the transfer order.
Carrying only essential dry rations and drinking water, the villagers traveled light. Under the expert coordination of the Kakushi, they moved swiftly through the secret mountain paths. Behind the main group, a specialized rear guard of Kakushi worked tirelessly to sweep away footprints, mask scents, and lay down false trails.
Once the villagers slipped out of Nakime's direct line of sight, tracking them through the dense, confusing terrain became nearly impossible.
To make matters worse for the demons, Akira had taken up the rear guard position. Every time Nakime managed to manifest a spy eyeball in the trees, Akira's blade would flash, mercilessly popping it like a gruesome balloon. She could only watch helplessly as the Demon Slayers vanished into the wilderness bit by bit.
If Muzan hadn't been so immersed in his own PTSD, he could have ordered Nakime to teleport Douma or Kokushibo to intercept Akira's blocking maneuvers. But the order came far too late.
Once Akira was absolutely certain the villagers had gained enough distance, he vanished into the forest, his speed far exceeding what Nakime's remaining eyes could track.
In the end, a single, solitary eyeball perched on an old pine tree at the entrance of the abandoned Swordsmith Village simply stared at the empty houses. It swiveled toward the distant, silent mountains, then drooped downward in utter defeat.
Only then did Muzan finally snap out of his rage and send his delayed instructions, demanding she keep an eye on Akira and prepare to drop the Upper Moons on his head.
If Nakime could have screamed, she would have. 'What the hell were you doing earlier?!'Through their mental link, Muzan's cold, oppressive voice echoed.'Do you dare to curse at me?''I... am just tired...' Nakime thought weakly.'Just destroy everything and hurry up...'
Unfortunately, Nakime valued her life. No matter how absurd or poorly timed her boss's orders were, she had to follow them. She didn't even dare to complain too loudly in her own mind.
Because of her vital role in maintaining the Infinity Castle, Muzan was reluctant to actually kill her. But relying on his absolute biological control over his subordinates, the Demon King had plenty of agonizing ways to torture her.
Muzan sat back in his shifting fortress, exuding the oppressive arrogance of a tyrant with endless methods to punish failure.
Meanwhile, Nakime felt utterly drained. A grim, suicidal urge flashed through her mind—wondering if hanging herself from the Infinity Castle's rafters or throwing her neck against a Demon Slayer's blade would be a faster release than dealing with corporate demon management.
Resigned to her fate, Nakime's eyeball chased a set of tracks to a three-way intersection. Finding no less than ten conflicting trails of suspected human movement, she obediently split off more eyeballs, sending them rolling blindly down every path.
She kept searching until every single trail went cold. Until the sky brightened into full morning.
Until Muzan finally lost his patience and gave up after her repeated reports of failure.
Naturally, the result was Nakime being harshly disciplined. The furious Demon King threw a catastrophic tantrum, physically demolishing an entire sector of the Infinity Castle in his blind rage.
When the dust finally settled, Nakime sat on her biwa platform, looking at the shattered wooden pathways and floating debris. She let out a long, helpless sigh.
Her boss was always like this. He only cared about assigning impossible tasks and venting his emotional baggage, leaving exhausted subordinates like her to clean up the mess.
One day later.
The backup location of the Swordsmith Village.
As the old proverb went, a cunning rabbit has three burrows. The Demon Slayer Corps had long prepared hidden backup strongholds for their most critical departments, formulating multiple emergency plans just in case a location was ever compromised.
After a grueling day and night of travel, the villagers, along with Akira, Kanae, and the escorting Kakushi, finally arrived at the sanctuary.
With the village chief barking orders and the pre-stationed Kakushi assisting, the villagers began to orderly allocate residences and tidy up the dusty houses. The atmosphere was exhausted but deeply relieved.
After resting by a nearby stream to wash the dirt from their travels, Akira and Kanae prepared to make the journey back to the Butterfly Mansion.
Yet, as they stood at the edge of the new village, Akira paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Kanae blinked, looking around the bustling camp.
They both shared a sudden, lingering feeling that they had forgotten something—or someone—very important back at the old mountain.
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