Chapter 189: I Am Here to Help You Kill Muzan
The settling dust coated the shattered ruins in a thick, gray film. A heavy, suffocating silence reclaimed the night.
Kobe Hikaru leaned against the jagged remains of a charred wooden pillar. Under the pale wash of moonlight, his bloodless face appeared almost translucent—a mask of cold, sharp angles carved from ice.
A few paces away, the two subordinate Demon Slayer swordsmen finally shook off the paralyzing stiffness that had locked their joints.
The burly man rubbed his neck, his eyes wide and unfocused as he surveyed the devastation. Beside him, the female swordsman shifted her gaze nervously. She looked from the red-haired youth standing quietly in the center of the crater, to the pale Yokai resting against the pillar, and finally to her captain. Rationality won out over fear; she chose not to draw her blade. Yet, her fingers hovered instinctively over her hilt, knuckles white with tension.
Rengoku Juro anchored himself between his subordinates. He had pulled off his crow mask, revealing thick, expressive eyebrows, large intense eyes, and a face mapped with old battle scars. A wild mane of semi-long hair framed his features. Right now, his expression was a deeply conflicted knot of awe and caution.
Hikaru did not look at him.
His crimson eyes were fixed on the sky.
A pitch-black silhouette spiraled down from the breaking clouds. It was a crow, noticeably larger than any ordinary scavenger, boasting glossy obsidian feathers and piercing golden eyes. It fluttered down to land squarely on Juro's shoulder. The bird tilted its head, fixing its golden stare on Hikaru while emitting a low, intelligent gurgle from its throat.
A Kasugai Crow of the Demon Slayer Corps.
Hikaru recognized the creature immediately. These birds were specifically bred and trained by the Corps for rapid communication. Highly intelligent and capable of human speech, each Kasugai Crow was bonded to a specific swordsman. They were the lifeblood of the organization's intelligence network, relaying the movements of demons to slayers scattered across the nation, allowing them to hunt effectively.
Juro leaned his head slightly, whispering a string of hushed words to the bird.
Hikaru remained perfectly still. He knew the captain was relaying a detailed report about him and Tsugikuni Yoriichi straight to the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters.
It seemed the Corps took the letter from Totosai incredibly seriously. As one of the most legendary demonic bladesmiths of the era, anyone aware of Totosai's existence treated his word as gold. Even the Great Yokai Sesshomaru respected the old eccentric's craft. Naturally, the Demon Slayer Corps was no exception.
Hikaru's demonic eyes narrowed a fraction.
He watched Juro straighten up. The captain did not send the Kasugai Crow away immediately, clearly intending to use this direct line to headquarters to ask a few pressing questions.
Juro turned to face the undead samurai. "Sir, do you have anything you wish to say to my Master?"
"Your Master..." Hikaru mused, his voice dry. "The Ubuyashiki clan?"
He phrased it as a question, but the absolute certainty in his tone left no room for doubt.
Juro nodded slowly. Since this Yokai was associated with Totosai, it made sense that he would know the name of their absolute leader.
Hikaru did indeed know. Even though Totosai had never explicitly lectured him on the subject, he was well aware of the Ubuyashiki clan. They were the founding bloodline that commanded the Demon Slayer Corps. Their ancestors shared a direct lineage with Kibutsuji Muzan, and because they had produced the Progenitor of Demons, their entire bloodline was cursed. Every generation of the Ubuyashiki family—especially the males—was plagued by a rotting frailty, destined to wither and die before their thirtieth birthday.
Yet, as compensation from the heavens, the Ubuyashiki clan possessed a terrifying gift: the power of foresight. They could see through the superficial layers of reality straight to the essence of things.
Even from hundreds of miles away, their current Master likely already sensed the tectonic shift that had just occurred in these woods.
"Interesting," Hikaru said, pushing himself off the charred pillar. "Let's have a little chat, then."
He had come here to talk, after all. His gray outer robe fluttered softly in the chilling breeze as he stood to his full height.
Juro took a deep, steadying breath and bowed—a rigid, deeply formal samurai greeting. The swordsmen of the Demon Slayer Corps were not just monster hunters; in this bloody Sengoku era, they were recognized as samurai. They operated as lower-ranking nobles, their status officially granted and backed by the Ubuyashiki clan acting as their feudal lords.
"Regarding our earlier actions, it was indeed a grave offense for the Corps to nearly draw our blades against you," Juro said, his voice tight with lingering adrenaline. "But please understand our position. We have been tracking that demon's bloody trail for three agonizing days. Four of my subordinates were slaughtered. When we finally arrived and saw you standing amidst these ruins..."
"I understand," Hikaru interrupted smoothly.
He walked past the slayers, stopping at the jagged edge of the crater. He looked up at the dark storm clouds. Moments ago, they had been violently cleaved apart by his blade. Now, they were slowly bleeding back together, though the violent winds were already thinning them out, allowing the pale moonlight to spill across the devastated earth.
Juro followed, stopping a respectful distance behind him.
Since they were going to negotiate, someone had to break the ice. Juro hesitated, searching for the right words.
"Sir... that strike just now..."
Although the slayers hadn't arrived in time to witness Hikaru actually swing his blade, as elite warriors, they could physically feel the terrifying resonance still lingering in the air. The atmosphere itself felt bruised.
It was a strike that rivaled a natural disaster.
In comparison, while Yoriichi's Sword Intent was undeniably stunning, the raw, visceral shock it produced was actually less intimidating than the apocalyptic remnants of Hikaru's attack. Yoriichi had only intended to subdue and deter; he had naturally restrained his monstrous strength.
Hikaru, on the other hand, had casually layered his Ultimate Intent with explosive Yao Qi, even if he was far from using his maximum output.
"I was the one who swung it." Hikaru didn't bother turning around. "And I swung it from several miles away... about seven miles, I'd estimate."
Despite having already deduced the truth, Juro still choked on his own breath.
Behind him, the two young swordsmen went rigid, their eyes bulging. The female swordsman slowly peeled her hand away from her hilt, utterly abandoning her defensive stance. She realized with chilling clarity that drawing a sword against this entity was a meaningless gesture.
The burly man winced, his teeth bared as a phantom ache flared at the back of his neck, though he wisely kept his mouth shut.
Slaying a demon with a single strike from seven miles away.
What kind of absurd reality was this?
The three of them had bled and suffered for three days, losing four comrades, and they hadn't even managed to scratch their target. This Yokai had stood on a distant mountain, separated by miles of dense forest, and erased the demon from existence with a flick of his wrist.
"Ex... Excellency..." Juro's voice cracked, suddenly dry as bone. "Who exactly are you?"
While demons plagued this era in droves, truly active Great Yokais were incredibly rare. Even slightly lesser, yet devastatingly powerful demons were scarce. Entities like the Thunder Beast or Gakimaru were considered supreme overlords of their territories, and the Three Sovereigns of the Wilderness were legends among legends.
The Demon Slayer Corps traveled to the darkest corners of the nation, yet most would go their entire lives without encountering a monster of Hikaru's caliber.
A cold dread began to pool in Juro's stomach. Even if this Yokai hadn't attacked them, he was still a demon. What was his true objective in bringing a letter from Totosai?
Hikaru finally turned his head. His glowing crimson eyes locked onto Juro's.
"My name is Hikaru."
He let the name hang in the air for a second before continuing.
"I have come to find you to make a deal."
Juro blinked, caught off guard. "A deal?"
"Yes."
Hikaru rested his pale fingers lightly against the hilt of Onikiri. "I have something you want."
He didn't raise his voice, but in the dead silence of the ruined forest, every syllable rang with crystalline clarity, echoing like a cold wind through a mountain pass.
"I have the whereabouts of Kibutsuji Muzan."
"I also know how to kill him."
The words dropped like executioner's blades.
Juro stopped breathing.
The two young swordsmen behind him froze completely, rooted to the scorched earth as if struck by lightning.
Even the Kasugai Crow perched on Juro's shoulder—a bird that had been as still as a gargoyle—suddenly shrieked, flaring its glossy black wings. Its golden eyes bulged so wide they threatened to pop from its skull.
The air turned to solid ice. The night wind died. Even the distant chirping of insects in the surrounding woods was snuffed out.
Kibutsuji Muzan.
The Progenitor of Demons.
The absolute, tyrannical ruler of the night, born five hundred years ago during the Heian period. A monster who arrogantly declared himself a creature infinitely close to perfection.
According to the blood-soaked archives of the Demon Slayer Corps, Muzan could flawlessly alter his appearance, gender, and age at will, making him a ghost in the mortal world. Worse, his regenerative capabilities defied logic; even if his body was shredded into a million pieces and pulverized into dust, he could reconstruct himself in the blink of an eye.
Aside from the purifying rays of the sun, nothing on earth could kill him. Not even the strongest Great Yokai could claim to have a method to end his immortal life.
The Demon Slayer Corps had hunted him for five centuries. The corpses of the swordsmen who had died chasing his shadow could build a mountain to pierce the heavens. Yet, they rarely ever caught a glimpse of the man himself, usually finding themselves bogged down fighting the endless hordes of lesser demons he created.
And now, a deadpan Yokai stood in a crater, casually speaking the Progenitor's name, claiming he held the key to his absolute destruction.
"Excellency..." Juro whispered, trembling.
"He can kill Muzan."
Hikaru shifted his gaze past the captain. Juro, fighting to control his racing heart, turned to follow the Yokai's line of sight.
He saw Yoriichi. The red-haired swordsman was still crouching gently beside his wife, his deep crimson hair swaying softly in the returning breeze. With one hand, he held his wife's trembling fingers; with the other, he protectively shielded her swollen, pregnant belly.
Those strange, deep eyes that could see through the very fabric of the world looked up, meeting Juro's gaze with absolute calm.
Under the moonlight, Yoriichi's face was as serene as a meditating monk listening to the rustle of leaves. There was zero bloodlust. Zero fighting spirit. Even the overwhelming Sword Intent he had displayed moments ago had vanished without a trace, leaving only a crystal-clear purity in his deep crimson eyes.
But Juro remembered the terrifying aura this man had unleashed. For a fraction of a second, the captain hallucinated the apocalyptic power slumbering within that seemingly fragile, unassuming body.
The Kasugai Crow shivered violently, folding its wings tight against its body.
Juro took a deep, shuddering breath. He turned back around and bowed deeply to Hikaru, bending at a perfect ninety-degree angle.
This was no longer just samurai etiquette. It was a desperate plea.
Though it defied all logic, Juro believed every word this demon had just spoken.
"Excellency..."
"Take me to see your master," Hikaru interrupted, his tone leaving no room for debate.
His demonic eyes flared, burning like twin coals in the dark.
"I will tell him exactly where Muzan hides, and exactly how he can be erased."
This was his primary objective in seeking out the Corps. Securing a Nichirin Blade was only a secondary goal.
Hikaru hadn't forgotten the venomous words of Tsuchigumo. That ancient spider was currently lurking in the shadows of Kyoto, undoubtedly plotting to make a move against him, Kikyo, or the Shikon Jewel.
A thief can wait a thousand days to strike, but a guard cannot stay vigilant for a thousand nights.
Hikaru could feel it in his rotting bones; the spider was spinning a web in the capital. If there was an opportunity to strike first, Hikaru would take it without hesitation. He was going to take the initiative, manipulate the board, and permanently sever the threat before it could even reach them.
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