Doma's physical durability was comparable to Gyutaro's, yet his Blood Demon Art was far more versatile and complex.
Gyutaro's abilities—whether his techniques or the soul fusion he shared with Daki—were relatively simple in nature. Flaws in his methods were easy to spot and exploit.
However, when it came to pure combat skill and lethal instinct, Gyutaro was superior.
Under normal circumstances, their chances of winning were about fifty‑fifty.
But right now, Oboro believed Doma would be the victor. The reason was simple: Gyutaro was burdened by Daki. From the very beginning, she had been nothing but a liability.
As long as Doma focused on exploiting that weakness, he could easily keep Gyutaro tied down and distracted.
"One is poisoned, the other is suffering soul erosion…" Oboro smiled faintly.
Gyutaro was undeniably gifted, yet he had never been properly cultivated or guided.
Oboro had not come to this world solely to pass down his Will; to a certain extent, he viewed Gyutaro and all the other Inheritors as subjects for observation and experimentation, never truly treating them with absolute seriousness.
Had it been otherwise, Doma might never have gained the upper hand.
Furthermore, the core principle of the Will of Inheritance lay in personal development, self‑discovery, and growth built upon existing power. Interfering too much would go against the very concept of "inheritance."
His strength came from the bond with his sister; his downfall came from that very same bond.
"Get out of my way!"
A sudden roar pulled Oboro's attention downward.
The battle between Muzan and Kokushibo had reached its peak intensity. Joining them now were two other figures—among the few Inheritors powerful enough to destroy Muzan's flesh clones.
One of them was the woman in the white kimono who had spoken to Oboro earlier.
The three of them were launching a coordinated assault.
Her soul ability was Attraction. Her spirit emitted a special frequency that caused Muzan to become disoriented and sluggish, unconsciously drawing his focus toward her.
This power worked through spiritual resonance and could not be simply blocked or ignored.
The only way to resist it was to repeatedly force his mind back to clarity, slowly building up a tolerance to its influence.
The second Inheritor had just been killed—his head torn off and dripping blood.
Meanwhile, Kokushibo continued to use his elusive soul arts to wound Muzan over and over again.
Although Muzan's body healed instantly, the damage inflicted upon his soul remained and could never repair itself.
Kokushibo's demon blade was infused with pure soul power, capable of striking directly at the essence of his opponent's being.
"Die! All of you! I am the only one destined to win!"
Having just killed another enemy, Muzan roared in unbridled rage. His composure was completely shattered.
The wounds inflicted by Kokushibo had severely wounded his pride.
Now that he no longer needed to divide his attention between multiple foes, he could finally unleash his full power.
Instantly, Muzan's body erupted into a thick mist of blood, spreading a heavy, metallic stench throughout the Infinity Castle.
Oboro lifted his gaze to the structures suspended in this dimension.
From every floating platform, pavilion, and chamber, blood began to pour down like waterfalls. The air grew thick with the overpowering smell of iron and decay.
Muzan had pushed his Soul Spores to their absolute limit.
This was his true strength.
He had allowed himself to be injured by Doma and Kokushibo earlier largely because he had been distracted by the Inheritors.
But there was another reason: Muzan had wanted to win easily in front of Oboro, to display his overwhelming superiority.
Regrettably for him, he had failed. He had underestimated his enemies.
As the bloody mist expanded, every object and surface in the space rapidly transformed into living tissue and muscle.
Kokushibo, hidden in the shadows, prepared to strike again. But the pavilion he stood upon suddenly warped—floor, walls, and ceiling turning into soft flesh.
Every corner and crevice sprouted countless bulging eyes, swiveling about to locate him.
Kokushibo's ability could hide him from spiritual perception, but it could not hide him from sight.
In the blink of an eye, an eye directly beneath him locked its gaze upward.
Every hair on his body stood on end.
Before he could even shift his weight to leap away, Muzan's distorted, furious face appeared right over his shoulder.
"Do you truly believe you have any chance of defeating me?!"
"You… are nothing but trash I picked up from the gutter!"
At the sound of Muzan's cold, venomous voice, Kokushibo dissolved into a shadow and vanished from his spot.
He moved with incredible speed, yet he was still struck.
Half of his body suddenly bulged with grotesque tumors, twisting his form into a monstrosity—retaining only one half of his original human shape.
Kokushibo tried to suppress the invasion using his own vitality, but it proved useless. Muzan's cells were spreading and dividing within him with terrifying, uncontrollable ferocity.
Normally, Muzan's Soul Spores had a limited range; if one avoided the mist, they remained safe.
But now, with blood pouring down like waterfalls from above, the concentration of his essence had multiplied drastically, extending the reach and lethality of his ability beyond measure.
The central chamber of the Infinity Castle was now completely filled with red haze. There was nowhere left to hide. Even in areas seemingly untouched by the mist, invisible spores drifted through the air.
Kokushibo raised his sword, ready to sever his infected half—but his combat instinct told him it was already too late.
The cells had already invaded his internal organs.
They had even penetrated his brain through his bloodstream.
His body was no longer his to control. He fell from mid‑air, crashing down toward a floating platform below.
Suddenly, a slender chain tipped with a sharp spear shot through the air, piercing his abdomen and dragging him backward.
The chain was actually a tendril grown directly from Muzan's own body.
As he was pulled back, Kokushibo caught a glimpse of the woman in the kimono.
She had already been consumed by the spores, transformed into a massive, shapeless ball of flesh.
No trace of her human features remained—except for her eyes. They still gazed upward, filled with adoration and bliss, fixed upon the figure high above: Oboro.
She showed absolutely no fear of death. The look in her eyes spoke clearly: dying here was the fulfillment of her life's purpose.
To uphold Oboro's will, even at the cost of her life, was the ultimate happiness.
…Have I failed?
The thought flashed through Kokushibo's mind.
Suddenly, fragments of memories began to race through his mind, becoming clearer and more vivid.
He remembered faces. He remembered events from long ago.
…
High above, Oboro perceived the will of this world—the "Little Tree."
Evidently, the Little Tree did not wish for Muzan to die here.
Muzan was the native "seed" birthed and nurtured by this world itself.
His soul ability—these infectious "spores"—was essentially a manifestation of the same logic Oboro had known long ago in the Hunter × Hunter world: the ability of the soul to reshape the physical body.
Looking at the others—Doma with his "vanishing" technique and his power to extract and control soul remnants—Oboro realized these were all abilities he had invented and mastered ages ago.
But considering their starting point, it was impressive how far they had come.
Kokushibo and the Inheritors were dead.
The victor was Muzan.
Yet… the Will of the World had secretly intervened, guiding the fate of everyone present.
"So… you still favor him, don't you?"
Oboro's mind stirred as he silently addressed the Little Tree.
The sapling swayed gently, as if in response.
Meanwhile, Muzan had completely "digested" Kokushibo.
In an instant, he flashed from his original position to stand directly before Oboro.
His black suit was now shredded and stained dark with dried blood.
"I have won."
He spoke only three words to Oboro, who sat watching from above. There was unmistakable pride and exhilaration in his tone.
Doma and Gyutaro were still fighting in the distance; their duel remained undecided.
But it no longer mattered. Even if they joined forces, they stood no chance against him now.
"Are you… looking down on me?"
Oboro asked softly, his voice light and airy.
That single sentence hit Muzan like a sudden freeze. Fresh from his overwhelming victory, he instantly felt as if he had fallen into an icy abyss.
Realizing his mistake, he hesitated for a moment, then slowly bent his knee. With a face full of suppressed rage and struggle, he lowered himself into a kneeling position.
"Heh." Oboro let out a short laugh.
"With your level of power, exhausting your soul to this degree should have killed you outright. The fusion of your Blood Demon Art and Soul Spores should never have been this powerful."
Oboro continued calmly, "Your soul is currently riddled with cracks and on the verge of collapse… yet you speak to me with such ease. You yourself must find it strange… don't you?"
Muzan's pupils trembled.
It was true. His current state was a paradox. He felt none of the agony that should have come from such severe soul damage.
Even the wounds Kokushibo had inflicted earlier were dulled and faint.
"This world… has chosen to preserve your life," Oboro stated plainly.
"What?" Muzan asked, confused and alarmed.
When the Will of a world wishes to protect a specific being, it alters the fundamental rules of reality.
It amplifies certain experiences or traits from that being's "history"—events that were previously insignificant—to grant them sudden, hidden strength, thereby sustaining their existence.
Such an intervention inevitably comes at a cost to the world itself.
Oboro lifted his eyelids and stared straight into Muzan's eyes.
"This game was designed by me. You are all participants I have chosen. I am the only judge and referee here."
"Do you understand… what this means?"
A dark premonition seized Muzan. His throat bobbed involuntarily.
"If you had survived until the end relying solely on your own strength, I would have honored our agreement. But… I do not appreciate outside forces meddling in my affairs."
"Under normal circumstances, you might have killed Kokushibo and the Inheritors, but you would have been left in a terrible state. Then, facing the remaining two—whoever survived between them—the outcome of a final battle would have been uncertain."
"Even if your odds of winning were greater, uncertainty still leaves room for change."
"But today… the result was decided before it even began. You were guaranteed to win."
"I…" Sweat poured down Muzan's face. "Are you… going back on your word?!"
"Not going back… simply letting the script continue along a different path."
Oboro shook his head slowly.
"Your storyline… ends here as far as I am concerned."
Muzan's mind went completely blank.
He saw the intent to kill burning deep within the man's eyes.
"What does this have to do with me?! What do you mean the world saved me?! You speak nonsense! I won because I am strong! Trash like them—no matter how many there are—could never kill me!"
"You…"
"No… no… I refuse to die!"
"I will never die!!"
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