The scream that rose from the northern edge of the village marked the moment the battle changed. Shadows moved in the darkness. One. Two. Three—the more they cut, the more emerged. Along the banks of the Tsugumi River, Rengoku Kyojuro and Aoba continued moving back-to-back. Two hours had passed. Three lacerations on Kyojuro's right arm. His left ankle throbbed from where a demon's claw had grazed it. Yet his body moved. He drew in the breath of Total Concentration, executing Flame Breathing, Second Form—Ascending Inferno—and severed the neck of the demon before him. It crumbled to ash. Behind him, the sound of Aoba's blade cutting through air. (Another one.) They couldn't keep pace. More demons emerged from the darkness than they could cut down. In these two hours, they'd defeated over ten, yet the encirclement showed no sign of thinning. But the real problem was his own breathing. Last night in the wasteland, his breathing had perfectly synchronized with Aoba's—that sensation. Now it was slightly off. Was it exhaustion? Depletion? Or had his focus wavered for just a moment when that scream echoed from the north side of the village? "[serious]Front," A low voice. Kyojuro turned reflexively. Three lower-tier demons lunged simultaneously. Flame Breathing, Third Form—Blazing Universe. A single horizontal slash severed both their necks at once. The third demon extended its claws toward Kyojuro's abdomen—but Aoba's blade arced from behind, slicing off its arm. Kyojuro immediately severed its neck. "[serious]Your breathing is becoming irregular," "[serious]I know," There was no excuse. Knowing and being unable to correct it—that was his limit right now. Aoba's left shoulder was slowly staining red. A bite wound from earlier. The bleeding hadn't stopped. Yet her stance remained unbroken. Her silver-green eyes continued calculating the darkness. Then the ground trembled. Just once. Heavy. Deep. As if a mountain had taken a single step. The movement stopped. The lower-tier demons—all at once. (What is this?) The density of darkness changed. The demons that had been swarming suddenly parted left and right, as if opening a path. A cedar tree fell. Silently, pushed down from its roots. From beyond it, something walked slowly forward. Its body exceeded three meters in length. Beneath its skin, purple blood vessels ran in a network pattern, and its head was so tall it nearly brushed the cedar's crown. And—six arms. Each pointed in a different direction, their claws gleaming sharp at the fingertips. Kyojuro forgot to breathe for a moment. Behind him, he heard Aoba's sharp intake of breath. It said everything. In all the time since meeting Aoba, Kyojuro had never heard her gasp in surprise. An upper-tier demon—the leader who had commanded all the others and gathered them at Hotarubi Village—stood before them. The upper-tier demon laughed in human speech. "[sarcastic]A Demon Slayer brat and a woman? Coming with just two of you shows considerable confidence," Its six arms slowly spread. A gesture of leisure. Every sense in Kyojuro's body measured this demon's strength. —Unmeasurable. The scale was different. An individual with the intelligence and power to command lower-tier demons and encircle an entire village now stood directly before him. But. If they retreated, all the villagers would die. "[serious]Let's go," He drew in Total Concentration breathing to its maximum. Flame Breathing, Fourth Form—Undulating Blaze. He poured strength into his legs and lunged forward in one explosive motion. The blade heated red. His full-force slash aimed at the upper-tier demon's torso— Clang. One of its six arms caught it head-on. The blade stopped. Not even a shallow wound appeared on its skin. "[sarcastic]Is this your full strength?" Another arm came from the side. He couldn't evade. The fist struck Kyojuro's abdomen. Thud. He heard his ribs creak from within. His body flew through the air. Nearly three meters back, he tumbled across the ground. He tried to rise, but his diaphragm spasmed and his breathing wouldn't connect. A river stone struck his back. Pain. (Stand. Stand—) Even as he commanded from his core, his body wouldn't respond immediately. His vision blurred slightly. The upper-tier demon raised its arm for a follow-up strike—at that moment. A whistling sound. Aoba had rushed in. Wind Breathing, Fifth Form—Gale Slash. Consecutive strikes arced through the air, severing two of the upper-tier demon's arms. Blood sprayed from the severed ends. The upper-tier demon's body recoiled. The follow-up attack vanished. Aoba positioned herself completely behind Kyojuro, facing the upper-tier demon head-on, her Nichirin blade raised. Blood dripped from her left shoulder wound, yet her sword hand didn't tremble in the slightest. The severed arms regenerated within seconds. "[serious]Aoba, fall back!" He shouted. Aoba didn't turn around. "[cold]The lower-tier demons," That was all she said. Her gaze never left the upper-tier demon. He understood. He understood too well—Aoba's intention. She was drawing the upper-tier demon's attention to herself, creating time for Kyojuro to eliminate the remaining lower-tier demons. A teacher protecting her student, a division of combat strength. And that meant Aoba was putting her own life second. (This can't—) Lower-tier demons swarmed from behind. He couldn't leave. He wanted to stand beside Aoba. He couldn't. Kyojuro clenched his teeth. He drew in Flame Breathing. First demon. Second demon. Don't look at Aoba. Face forward. Third demon. Sever its neck. Fourth demon— At the edge of his vision, he saw Aoba moving continuously. Switching through Wind Breathing forms one after another, toying with the six arms. First Form, Second Form, Third Form—the green afterimage of Emerald Spiral burned into the night darkness. The upper-tier demon was clearly struggling. Aoba's technique was so precise, so flawless. But. This couldn't continue forever. The fifth lower-tier demon came from behind. He'd sensed its presence. He tried to turn and respond—claws raked deep across his back. Squelch. Before he could comprehend that the gushing heat was his own back, his knees hit the ground. Pain came delayed. He tried to stand, but his body wouldn't obey. At that moment. A heavy sound echoed across the riverbank. Kyojuro looked up. The sound seemed to vanish. One of the upper-tier demon's six arms pierced through Aoba's chest. An arm thick as a fist protruded through her back. Blood spilled from Aoba's mouth. Her blue-green haori slowly stained deep crimson from the center of her chest, spreading like ink in water. (No.) Aoba—still impaled—wrung out her remaining strength. She swung her Nichirin blade toward the upper-tier demon's neck. The blade bit deep. It didn't reach far enough to sever it. The upper-tier demon withdrew its arm. Aoba's body flew through the air, crashing against the stone pavement of the riverbank. Dust and blood spray scattered. "[serious]Aoba—!" Ignoring the pain in his back, the creaking of his ribs, everything—he crawled toward her. Aoba lay motionless. The moment he saw the wound in her chest—he understood everything. So deep that her organs were visible. Beyond any possibility of stopping the bleeding. Kyojuro's hands trembled. What should he do? What could he do? No answer came. His mind went blank, unable to construct anything. Aoba's eyes were open. Clear, calm silver-green eyes fixed on Kyojuro. A hand covered in blood slowly rose. Her fingertips touched his cheek. It was warm. "[whispers]You... will definitely become a Pillar," Her voice was hoarse. With only those words, Aoba's eyes closed. Words Aoba had spoken before echoed in his mind. —The reason I'm here is so you can live and become a Pillar— Along with the emotions he'd never conveyed, something inside Kyojuro collapsed. He heard a sound. The sound of something within him shattering. "[sarcastic]Fragile. Humans are so fragile. That's what makes them delicious," The upper-tier demon approached slowly. Regenerating its six arms, its composure unshaken. And it stepped on Aoba's fallen body with one arm. "[angry]Stop—!" He tried to stand. He couldn't. The laceration on his back screamed. His ribs creaked. His knees wouldn't leave the ground. He tried to form Total Concentration breathing. His breathing wouldn't connect. It was ragged. Even the fundamental Total Concentration breathing that underlay Flame Breathing—Kyojuro couldn't form it now. The upper-tier demon looked down at him, continuing to laugh. Kyojuro remained on the ground, hands pressed against the earth, unable to move. Anger existed. Sorrow existed. His feelings for Aoba—everything—was condensing into a single point. But before it could become flame, his body screamed its limits. There was nothing he could do. In this moment, he was powerless. He understood that. Only the sound of the river water striking the rocks continued. --- Somewhere in the Kanto region. In a dimly lit detached room, three empty sake bottles sat in a row. Rengoku Maki Juro sat on the tatami, bringing a cup to his lips. Black hair streaked with gray hung disheveled, and the deep scar on his right cheek sank into the haze of alcohol. The man who once supported the Demon Slayer Corps as the Flame Pillar now simply existed here with sake. A Kasane Crow's voice came from the night outside. "Hotarubi Village, emergency. Rengoku, respond." Maki Juro's hand stopped. The fingers gripping the cup turned white with tension. He remained motionless. The Kasane Crow—the bird the Demon Slayer Corps used for communication, bearing news of their members' safety. No matter how many times its voice reached him these past years, Maki Juro had never responded. But tonight was different. "...Kyojuro," It was neither rebuke nor command. A suppressed voice. The inexpressible emotion of a man who had sent his son to the battlefield seeped through that single word. Maki Juro didn't set down his cup. He held it clenched, motionless. Outside the room, the Kasane Crow cried out once more. Even as its voice faded into the distance, Maki Juro remained there.