Chapter 80: Do You Understand What Professional Aggro Is?
Akira's response to Gyokko's prattling was one of absolute, dismissive action. He had no interest in bickering with the demon, nor did he have any intention of getting entangled in its twisted games. The only thing that mattered was getting Makomo back for treatment.
The toxins of an Upper Rank demon were not something the standard antidotes developed at the Butterfly Mansion could neutralize. Even just inhibiting their spread would be a struggle.
Without a second thought, Akira hoisted Makomo's limp form over his shoulder and broke into a sprint, retracing the path they had come. His decisiveness was so abrupt that it even left Gyokko momentarily stunned.
"Insolent whelp! How dare you ignore me!" the demon shrieked, its voice a discordant hiss. "Blood Demon Art: Thousand Needle Fish Kill!"
In a fit of rage, Gyokko summoned four grotesque goldfish from its pots. They swam through the air, mouths gaping, and unleashed a storm of venomous needles aimed at Akira's back.
Even while sprinting, Akira twisted at the waist. He held Makomo securely with one arm while his other hand drew his Nichirin Blade in a fluid, practiced motion to meet the assault.
"Thunder Breathing, Eighth Form: Bōyū Rika!"
With his enhanced vision, the trajectory of every single bone-like needle was rendered in perfect clarity. His blade became a blur, a precise storm of steel that struck down each projectile with a series of sharp tings. All the while, he never broke his stride, maintaining an incredible speed as he retreated.
The wave of attacks was neutralized in seconds, but Akira didn't dare relax.
He knew what was coming. While deflecting the needles, he had noticed another of Gyokko's ornate pots appear along his escape route—one he hadn't had time to destroy.
Sure enough, the demon's distorted upper body slithered out from the vessel.
"Your strength is surprisingly potent," Gyokko mused, its mismatched eyes gleaming with a sick fascination. "To block that attack so effortlessly... you seem to be an even more perfect material than the girl you're carrying."
After delivering its pronouncement, Gyokko watched as Akira's figure simply continued to shrink into the distance, paying it no mind.
"Damn you, brat!" it roared, fury contorting its features. With another angry screech, Gyokko gave chase.
And so, a desperate game of cat and mouse began, the two of them tearing through the darkened woods.
During the pursuit, however, Gyokko held back from launching another immediate assault. A cunning thought had taken root in its warped mind. By following this boy, it might just find the Demon Slayer Corps' medical department, or perhaps, with a bit of luck, be led directly to their headquarters.
Akira, for his part, seemed entirely consumed by his frantic escape, his mind apparently focused on nothing but saving the injured girl on his shoulder. He appeared completely oblivious to the demon's scheme.
But Gyokko's plan was destined to fail.
After a desperate flight, Akira finally saw a familiar figure ahead—Kanae, who had rushed to catch up.
At that exact moment, another pot materialized nearby with a wet thump. Gyokko was just beginning to emerge from it when a flash of a blade sliced through the air, forcing it to retreat back inside with a startled yelp.
The pot, however, was neatly split in two.
"You stinking kid! How dare you destroy my pot!" Gyokko shrieked, reappearing from another vessel a safe distance away.
Akira ignored the outburst, his attention solely on Kanae. "Take Makomo back. I'll hold it off here."
"Okay."
Taking Makomo's still form from Akira, Kanae wasted no words. She understood the grim reality of the situation: Makomo's life was on the line. As for Akira, who was now single-handedly facing an Upper Rank demon, all she could do was trust him.
She gave him one last, deep look, her eyes conveying a world of worry and resolve, before turning and running toward the Butterfly Mansion with Makomo in her arms.
For the first time, Kanae felt a burning, desperate urgency to become stronger. Before, her desire to improve was born from a wish to quickly pass Akira's special training so he wouldn't have to work so hard. But now, she found herself thinking that if she were strong enough, perhaps she would be the one staying behind to cover the retreat, not him.
This feeling—of being able to do nothing but watch as he willingly placed himself in mortal danger—was a torment she couldn't bear.
As Kanae's silhouette vanished into the trees, Akira finally turned his full attention to the seething demon in the distance.
Gyokko, who had been incandescent with rage just a moment ago, now wore a twisted, ecstatic smile as it recalled Kanae's appearance.
"To encounter three perfect materials in a single night… this is truly wonderful!" it crowed. "I must turn all of you into one of my most prized works of art!"
"Coming from a creature with your… unique aesthetic sensibilities, I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted," Akira replied, his voice calm and laced with an edge of mockery. It was the first time he had deigned to speak to the demon.
Makomo was safe with Kanae, on her way back to the Butterfly Mansion for treatment. Now, Akira's sole objective was to stop Gyokko, right here and now.
The primary duties of a rearguard were twofold: delay the enemy for as long as possible, and, more, prevent them from ignoring you to chase after your comrades. To achieve that, you either had to use the terrain to your advantage or lock the enemy's attention—their aggro—firmly onto yourself.
In this situation, trash talk was an exceptionally effective tool. Especially against an emotionally unstable demon like Gyokko.
As Akira had predicted, his simple, dismissive reply caused Gyokko to completely explode.
"You insolent brat! Not only did you break my pot, but you dare to question my aesthetics?!"
"Shouldn't they be questioned?" Akira tilted his head, feigning contemplation. "Symmetrical design is a classic aesthetic principle. And you, despite looking quite symmetrical, are just so… bizarre. Disgusting, even." He propped his chin on his hand, observing Gyokko for a moment before nodding with an air of earnest discovery.
"Oh, my mistake. I really shouldn't question your aesthetics. After all, they no longer need questioning; one look at your face is enough to know they're utterly terrible."
He continued, his tone conversational. "What I should be questioning is your brain. All you can say is 'damn brat'and'stinky kid.' Can't you come up with anything new? You can't even insult someone properly. I'm starting to suspect you've been in that weird pot of yours for so long that your brain has atrophied."
"No, that's not right," he corrected himself. "I shouldn't suspect. The fact that your head can freely pass in and out of a pot opening that my wrist couldn't even fit into proves it. Your brain must have shrunken to a negligible size. And without a brain, it would be a miracle if your sense of aesthetics were anything but garbage."
"I… you…" Gyokko fumed, its mouths opening and closing, but no coherent retort would come.
Akira's surgical mockery continued, relentless. "What? Out of words already? A dignified Upper Rank demon, and this is all you've got?"
"You sharp-tongued scoundrel! Take this—!"
Unable to bear it any longer, Gyokko furiously conjured ten pots adorned with slimy fish patterns. From their openings, countless tiny, sticky fish surged forth, forming ten swirling torrents that converged on Akira.
"Blood Demon Art: Ten Thousand Gliding Slime-Fish!"
"Thunder Breathing, Eighth Form: Bōyū Rika!"
Facing the dense, overwhelming assault, Akira employed the same technique as before. The form, originally developed to counter the martial prowess of Upper Rank Three, proved unexpectedly effective against Upper Rank Five's swarm tactics as well.
In moments, all ten thousand slime-fish were sliced apart, their poisonous fluids splashing harmlessly to the ground, not a single drop touching Akira's clothes.
"An attack that looks so grand, yet amounts to so little," he remarked casually, forcibly suppressing the tremor in his arm from the near-exhaustive effort. The taunt served a dual purpose: to further enrage the demon and to buy himself a precious second to recover his stamina.
"Annoying kid…" Gyokko hissed, but Akira cut it off before it could finish.
"Pardon me for interrupting, but you're not a human, so I'm not 'annoying to humans,'I'm'annoying to demons.'Oh, and since I'm not a demon, you should probably call me a'villain'instead of a'kid.'Hmm,'villain' also has a nice insulting ring to it. See how considerate I am? I even helped you think of a proper insult. Aren't you going to say thank you?"
"I'll fucking kill you! You stinking brat with no appreciation for art! Die for this lord—!" Gyokko's sanity finally snapped. "Blood Demon Art: Octopus Pot Hell!"
Two deep red, spotted pots materialized on either side of the demon. From within, several massive octopus tentacles, thicker than the surrounding trees, erupted and lashed toward Akira from all directions.
"Finally, a proper insult," Akira noted with detached amusement. "Though it is riddled with profanity."
"Thunder Breathing, Seventh Form: Dragon's Glide!"
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