The rubble of the ruined post station lay silent under the weight of a suffocating tension.
Shinazugawa Sanemi gripped his Nichirin sword tightly, green wind aura spiraling furiously along the blade. His eyes locked on Giyu's with hatred so sharp it felt almost physical—as if he would tear the "traitor" apart at any moment.
"Tomioka Giyu, die!"
Before his words had even faded, Sanemi shot forward like a raging gale. His Nichirin sword sliced through the air with a shriek, the edge whistling as it swung straight for Giyu's neck.
"Wind Breathing, Seventh Form: Gale—Sudden Gusts!"
It was his fastest technique—its speed nearly doubled from half a year ago. The compressed wind around the blade slashed ahead of the strike itself, tearing faint cuts into the air before the sword even arrived.
Giyu's eyes narrowed. He didn't dodge. Instead, he shifted into a stance reminiscent of Tsugikuni Michikatsu—his spine straight and immovable like a pine, his right hand steady on the hilt, his left resting lightly against the sheath.
Though the movement was simple, the pressure that emanated from it was crushing. The weight of centuries seemed to radiate from that calm, unshakable posture. Sanemi's instinct faltered for just half a breath—his perfect rhythm interrupted.
Clang!
The metallic clash rang through the ruins. Giyu's blade intercepted the strike precisely, deflecting it at the edge, redirecting Sanemi's sword with almost effortless control.
Sanemi's pupils constricted. The last time they'd fought, Giyu had been powerful—but not this precise, not this composed. He'd clearly grown stronger.
Before Sanemi could counter, a black shadow swept in from the side. Himejima Gyomei's flail whirled through the air, the chain hissing as it cut through the wind, swinging straight for Giyu's midsection.
"Sanemi, move!"
At the same time, Gyomei's massive axe cleaved sideways, blocking Giyu's retreat completely. The flail and axe moved together flawlessly—one near, one far—leaving no space to breathe.
Giyu stepped lightly, sliding backward as if weightless, the chain hammer missing him by inches. As he turned, faint blue moonlight shimmered along his blade.
"Moon Breathing, Second Form: Pearl Flower Moongazing!"
His sword traced three elegant arcs of light—deflecting the sweeping axe, forcing both Sanemi and Gyomei to pull back.
"Hmph. Is dodging all you can do?"
Sanemi sneered and lunged again, his strikes coming faster and faster, his breathing growing sharper.
"Wind Breathing, Third Form: Clear Storm Wind Tree!"
His slashes flickered like branches caught in a violent windstorm—seemingly chaotic, but each one aimed precisely at Giyu's vitals.
Gyomei circled behind, dragging his chain across the stones, the sharp metallic scrape echoing like a prayer bell before the strike. He was waiting for the perfect opening to crush Giyu between them.
Giyu parried and evaded continuously, his movements measured but growing heavier.
He could clearly feel it—both men were stronger than he'd expected.
Sanemi's Wind Breathing had become sharper, unpredictable—small feints now hidden within each form, making it harder to anticipate his swings.
Gyomei's coordination between flail and axe was far tighter than before; each attack left no escape, the vibrations along the chain allowing him to sense every shift in Giyu's footing.
'Their progress is incredible…' Giyu thought, his arm trembling faintly after parrying one of Sanemi's furious strikes.
That last blow—if not for Gyomei's half-second delay—would have taken his hand clean off.
He could tell they hadn't stopped training. The Hashira had pushed themselves beyond the limits of their own humanity, honing their forms to counter demons more perfectly than ever before.
And somehow, that thought filled him with a quiet pride.
He inhaled deeply, grounding his stance. His grip adjusted slightly—the faintest shift in balance.
This was the technique Michikatsu had taught him: Still Stance of the Draw.
It appeared motionless—but in truth, every fiber of muscle, every thread of energy, was compressed into perfect readiness. One swing could unleash the full force of that focus.
As he took the stance, the atmosphere changed. The air turned heavy, cold, thick with killing intent.
Soft moonlight shimmered along his blade, the pale blue ripples flowing steadily like a river. The chaotic rhythm of battle began to bend—pulling toward his pace.
Sanemi felt it instantly. His breath hitched, his hand tightening on the sword.
"This stance…"
Gyomei too frowned, a weight settling in his chest. Despite Giyu being a demon, his presence radiated the serene confidence of a master swordsman at his peak. The contradiction of that aura pressed on them both like a mountain.
"Sanemi," Gyomei warned softly, voice grim. "Be careful."
"Got it!"
Sanemi shouted, wind surging again as he burst forward, unleashing everything at once.
"Wind Breathing, Ninth Form: Idaten Typhoon!"
The blade vanished into motion—a storm in human form, slashing toward Giyu's chest with a speed beyond sight.
Giyu's eyes stayed calm.
He could no longer hold back. He summoned the swirling energy within, faint ripples of water forming in his hands.
He would fight seriously—not just to test them, but to maintain his cover. If Muzan sensed hesitation, suspicion would follow.
"Blood Demon Art: Ultimate Water Vortex Domain!"
Streams of pale-blue water erupted around him, spinning rapidly until they formed a translucent barrier.
Sanemi's blade struck it head-on—
and the air howled.
The raging wind blades were pulled off course by the swirling current. They left shallow marks across the barrier of water but couldn't pierce through.
At that moment, the moon patterns along Giyu's Nichirin sword flared brightly.
"Moon Breathing, Sixth Form: Perpetual Night, Lonely Moon – Incessant!"
His blade shone like the cold moonlight of a winter night, slicing cleanly through the rotating water barrier toward Sanemi's shoulder.
Sanemi hadn't expected Giyu to suddenly use a Blood Demon Art. He twisted away at the last second, but the blade still grazed his arm, cutting it open. Blood burst from the wound instantly.
Gyomei swung his iron flail, the chain lashing forward to entangle Giyu's blade, trying to wrench it from his grasp.
But Giyu used that pull to his advantage. He pushed forward with sudden force, letting the chain's tension propel him. His left leg glowed faintly with demonic energy as he kicked hard into Gyomei's chest.
Gyomei was forced back two steps. The front of his monk's robe caved in slightly, and blood trailed from the corner of his mouth.
"Damn it!"
Sanemi clutched his bleeding arm, fury burning even brighter in his eyes.
"So you really used a Blood Demon Art! You've completely become a demon after all!"
He didn't back down. Instead, he lunged again, his Wind Breathing mixed with the smell of his own blood, the power around him spiraling into madness.
"Wind Breathing, Eighth Form: Primary Gale Slash!"
A searing wave of wind blades cut through the air, slicing straight toward Giyu's face.
Giyu's expression didn't waver. The vortex of water expanded again as he spun his Nichirin sword rapidly.
"Moon Breathing, Third Form: Loathsome Moon, Chains!"
The shimmering moonlight collided with the raging wind, blue and green energy intertwining violently. A massive shockwave burst outward, flinging shards of stone and dust high into the air.
While Giyu clashed with the two Hashira, another fierce battle was unfolding on the other side of the ruined station.
...
Tokito Muichiro's sword shimmered faintly, wrapped in the soft blue aura of Mist Breathing. His movements were light as fog, slipping around Akaza's fists with ghostly speed.
"Mist Breathing, First Form: Low Clouds, Distant Haze!"
His blade flashed like drifting clouds at dusk, slicing across Akaza's arm.
But Akaza's regeneration was instant—the wound sealed itself before the blood could even fall. He didn't slow down. His fists continued to hammer forward like storms of destruction, black fighting aura compressing tighter and tighter.
"Destructive Death: Eight-Layered Demon Core!"
Twin pillars of dark energy crashed down toward Muichiro, forcing him back. His uniform tore at the chest, the skin beneath burned and blackened by the force.
"What a pleasant surprise! So young, yet your swordsmanship is extraordinary. Tell me your name, human!"
Akaza grinned wildly, his strikes growing faster, fists multiplying into blurring afterimages.
"At this rate, I'll crush every bone in your body! So—why not become a demon like me?"
Muichiro said nothing, his expression calm but resolute. The flow of his Mist Breathing grew denser, sharper.
He knew he couldn't defeat Akaza. All he could do was keep him occupied—stall for time until help arrived.
Then, a flash of pale pink light rushed toward them from the distance. A slender figure wielding a naginata spun through the air, her movements as graceful as petals in bloom.
"Flower Breathing, Third Form: Peonies of Futility!"
The naginata's blade wound around Akaza's arm like coiling vines, slicing deep into his flesh and severing his punch.
Muichiro used the moment to retreat, his eyes widening slightly when he saw her.
"Kanae -san?"
Kocho Kanae smiled warmly, spinning her blade in a flowing arc as she deflected Akaza's next strike.
"You've done well, Muichiro. Let me handle this."
Her Flower Breathing was soft yet precise, complementing Muichiro's Mist perfectly—one weaving close, the other from afar. Their combination created an intricate rhythm that gradually suppressed Akaza's relentless assault.
"Another Hashira?!"
Akaza's face twisted. He hadn't expected so many of the Corps' elite to appear.
"You think numbers will help you win? Don't make me laugh!"
The black aura surrounding him swelled again, his muscles bulging as the air itself quivered under his power.
"Destructive Death: Final Form—Hell Gate!"
A black gate-shaped shockwave erupted from his fists, swallowing Kanae and Muichiro in an instant.
Kanae's eyes flashed. She crossed her naginata with Muichiro's blade.
"Flower Breathing, Sixth Form: Whirling Peach!"
"Mist Breathing, Fifth Form: Sea of Clouds and Haze!"
Pink and blue energy spiraled together, forming a protective barrier that stopped the black energy dead in its tracks.
Both sides of the battlefield burned with intensity—Giyu locked in a desperate duel against two Hashira, while Kanae and Muichiro together held off Akaza's fury.
As Giyu parried another of Sanemi's fierce slashes, his gaze flicked toward the other fight.
He could see it—the Hashira were holding their own, but reinforcements were still on the way. He needed to find a moment to escape before things became impossible to control.
He took a deep breath. The water vortex around him widened again, and the moonlight along his sword flared brighter than before.
"Moon Breathing, Seventh Form: Mirror of Misfortune, Moonlit!"
The sword light shattered like broken mirrors, dozens of arcs flashing from every angle toward Sanemi and Gyomei.
"That's enough for today."
They understood what he meant. Giyu needed to leave, and the two Hashira—coordinated even in pretense—slowed their attacks, leaving him a narrow opening.
Using the cover of refracted moonlight, Giyu retreated quickly, his eyes glancing once toward Kanae and Muichiro.
Seeing both still unhurt, he exhaled in quiet relief.
Tengen had already been carried off by the Kakushi.
As long as the Hashira were safe, his "performance" hadn't been in vain.
"Don't think you're getting away!"
Sanemi shouted, pretending to charge after him, but Gyomei blocked his path with a hand.
"Enough, Sanemi," he said quietly. "He's too strong to chase, and Akaza isn't finished. We can't divide our focus."
At that moment, a faint voice echoed in Akaza's mind—Giyu's transmission.
"Withdraw, Akaza."
Akaza froze for a second, glancing at the fading silhouette of Giyu in confusion. Withdraw? Again? What's Mushiki thinking?
But as more Hashira rushed toward his position, even Akaza began to feel uncertain.
He might seek out strong opponents—but even he knew when the odds were too absurd.
Grinding his teeth, he unleashed one last technique.
"Destructive Death: Final Form—Blue Silver Chaotic Afterglow!"
While Kanae and Muichiro blocked the attack, Akaza vaulted onto a tree branch and fled the battlefield.
"Get back here, coward!" Sanemi roared after him.
Akaza's face twisted with rage as he sped through the forest, veins pulsing on his forehead.
"Damn you, Mushiki! What the hell was that sudden retreat for?!"