Nezuko sensed the danger outside and leapt out of the wooden box.
Aoyama glanced at her battle-ready stance and calmly pulled her behind him.
"These aren't worth your effort," he said softly. "I'm enough."
The twenty to thirty demons surrounding him twitched restlessly, eager to attack—yet they restrained themselves, as if waiting for an order.
Jianghu Ichiro slowly turned around and brushed aside the hair at the back of his head.
A ninth eye opened.
Blood Demon Art — Mind Control.
Aoyama's expression shifted.
He had miscounted.
Not eight.
Nine.
The hidden ninth eye at the back of Ichiro's head pulsed open, and something invisible radiated outward.
Nezuko swayed slightly.
The surrounding demons' movements became synchronized, like puppets under hypnosis.
Not good.
That eye could control mindless demons—and even Nezuko, who still possessed self-awareness, was being affected.
Without hesitation, Aoyama opened the wooden box and gently placed Nezuko back inside.
He stood up slowly, box strapped to his back.
His aura shifted.
Cold.
Killing intent thickened in the air.
The crimson blade in his hand gleamed under the lantern light.
"Gaaa—!"
"Raaah—!"
At once, the demons lunged.
The first to reach him was a spider-limbed crawler with explosive jumping power.
Aoyama tightened his grip.
Total Concentration.
Light Breathing — First Form: Flash.
The demon split cleanly in two.
More surged forward.
He pivoted smoothly, eyes narrowing.
There were too many.
He needed efficiency.
Right foot sliding back—
Total Concentration.
Light Breathing — Fifth Form: Radiant Sever (Modified).
Light erupted from the blade's edge, forming arcs of cutting brilliance.
He swung.
In one sweeping motion—
The charging demons were bisected at the waist.
Blood flooded the courtyard.
Bodies fell.
The remaining few were dispatched cleanly—one slash per head.
The courtyard filled with dissolving ash.
Some demons' eyes shed tears.
For them—
Death was release.
System notifications rang endlessly in his mind:
Vision +5.
Body Enhancement +5.
Gold +10.
Blade Sharpness +5.
Finally, silence returned.
Aoyama walked forward, blade in hand.
His gaze locked onto Jianghu Ichiro.
Could this really be one of the Twelve Kizuki?
Unlikely.
"Y-You brat!"
Ichiro finally spoke.
Eight eyes glared from the front of his face.
His carefully cultivated demon army—
Annihilated.
"You dare oppose me, a member of the Twelve Kizuki?! You'll pay for this!"
Aoyama laughed softly.
"You? Twelve Kizuki? Don't embarrass yourself. You're just slightly stronger than the trash I just cut down."
Ichiro stepped forward furiously.
"I am one of the Twelve Kizuki!!!"
That "great one" had told him so.
Had given him blood.
Had granted him power.
Blood Demon Art.
Claws shot forward, sharp enough to tear flesh instantly.
Aoyama sidestepped and leapt, slicing off the claws midair.
They regenerated instantly.
Fast.
Very fast.
Whether he was truly Upper Rank or not—
The concentration of Muzan's blood in him was significant.
Interesting.
Ichiro roared:
"Blood Demon Art — Phantoms!"
Dozens of identical Ichiro figures filled the courtyard, surrounding Aoyama.
Aoyama frowned.
He couldn't distinguish the real body by sight alone.
Attacking randomly would waste stamina.
One phantom slashed.
Aoyama countered—his blade passed through the neck without resistance.
Fake.
As he moved, he noticed something—
The real body carried a stronger scent.
Subtle.
But distinct.
He closed his eyes.
By eliminating vision, his sense of smell sharpened.
Wind brushed past him—
Phantoms passing through harmlessly.
Then—
A heavier demonic scent pierced through.
He opened his eyes.
Three Ichiro figures lunged simultaneously.
The scent—
Middle one.
And in his vision—
The Line of Opening appeared.
He leapt.
Total Concentration.
Light Breathing — First Form: Flash.
This time—
Resistance.
Steel met flesh.
A real neck.
CRACK.
THUD.
The head hit the ground and bounced twice.
The ninth eye stared up at him, still rolling wildly in its socket.
Aoyama snapped his fingers.
"Meow."
A small cat appeared from the shadows.
He drew blood from Ichiro's corpse and placed it into the pouch on the cat's back.
"Meow."
The cat vanished.
Ichiro's severed head trembled.
"H-How…? I was Twelve Kizuki… That one said… he said…"
Aoyama crouched before the rolling ninth eye.
"You were deceived."
He tapped the eye lightly with his blade.
"True Twelve Kizuki have their ranks carved in their eyes. You don't."
Ichiro's remaining eye widened in realization—
Then dissolved into ash.
Aoyama stood.
The town's demons were eradicated.
From inside the wooden box, a faint rustle.
With Ichiro's Blood Demon Art gone, Nezuko's consciousness returned fully.
At dawn—
The drunken swordsman returned with townspeople in tow.
They stormed into the estate courtyard.
What they found—
Only dried bloodstains.
And scattered clothing.
Not a single bone remained.
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