Chapter 11 – Himejima Gyōmei
A week later, deep in the forested mountains outside Tōshō City.
Golden lightning flashed between the trees, streaking across the forest trail like thunder rolling across the sky. Two figures raced through the woods—one in front, the other desperately chasing behind.
At the head was Tachibana Kyūjō, grinning confidently as he noticed the older man still struggling to catch up. He came to a sudden stop, pivoted on one foot, and turned to face Kuwajima Jigorō.
In an instant, a barrage of thunder-charged sword slashes erupted from his blade.
"Thunder Breathing: Sixth Form – Rumble and Flash!"
Jigorō's eyes widened as the wave of attacks surged toward him.
"What the—!?"
"Brat! You really think it's okay to open with that kind of attack on your old master!?"
Cursing under his breath, Jigorō raised his Nichirin Blade and braced himself.
The sharp clash of blades rang out through the forest, sparks flying with every strike—each one laced with streaks of gold that lit up the trees around them.
Strike after strike collided with explosive precision, as if the two were measuring each other's limits. But it was clear—Kyūjō was firmly in control of the fight.
He parried Jigorō's swings with ease, his movements fluid and relaxed. And somehow, he still found time to mock his teacher mid-battle.
"How's that, Oyaji? Feeling tired yet?"
"C'mon, even my ancestors could block that weak slash."
A vein twitched visibly on Jigorō's temple. With a growl, he tightened his grip and swung with all his strength.
But Kyūjō remained unshaken. Calm and precise, he deflected each attack at just the right spot—hitting the exact point where the strike's force would collapse.
The perfect harmony of instinct and technique.
Their duel raged on. But it didn't take long before the signs of fatigue started to show on Jigorō's aging frame.
His swings slowed.
His balance wavered.
Meanwhile, Kyūjō barely looked winded. Just a few beads of sweat on his forehead—and that was it.
Watching his student, Jigorō felt a heavy realization settle in his chest.
"Damn... there's no way I can beat this kid anymore…"
Before that thought could fully take root, Kyūjō blocked one last swing, then leapt lightly back and landed with a casual grin.
"Alright, Oyaji. Let's call it a draw."
Jigorō scowled as he sheathed his blade.
"A draw!? Don't mess with me! If you're not satisfied, let's go for three hundred more rounds!"
Kyūjō laughed softly. His teacher might be exhausted, but his pride was as fiery as ever.
"I've been holding back this whole time, and you still couldn't land a solid hit."
"Honestly… you might be more stubborn than you are strong, Oyaji."
The truth was undeniable. Ever since Kyūjō's battle with the Lower Moon demon—Luka—his strength had skyrocketed.
He had pierced into the Transparent World, gained full control over his body, and now with Thunder Breathing, his speed and explosive power had shot through the roof.
With Kenshin Tōmei, the sixth sense of a master swordsman, paired with the Transparent World, Kyūjō could read his opponent's movements and weaknesses with terrifying clarity.
Nothing was hidden from his eyes anymore.
Combined with the raw speed and piercing might of Thunder Breathing, he had become something akin to a living thunderbolt. A walking blade of destruction.
Against slower enemies, they'd be cut down before they could even react.
Against slightly faster ones, his refined technique and combat intuition would seal their fate.
At the peak of the battlefield, only two names stood as true challenges—Dōma, Upper Moon Two, and Akaza, Upper Moon Three.
Facing Akaza, a pure close-combat specialist, Kyūjō was confident he could win outright. The Transparent World was the perfect counter to Akaza's instinctual fighting style.
But Dōma… was trickier.
Not because he was stronger—but because his Blood Demon Art interfered with breathing rhythms. It threw off the foundation of any Breathing Technique.
Still, Kyūjō wasn't worried.
Even if he couldn't kill Dōma cleanly, he was certain he wouldn't lose.
And beyond those two… there were only two true enemies left.
Kokushibō, the Upper Moon One.
And standing above all—Muzan Kibutsuji, the Demon King himself, the origin of every curse.
Ironically, Kyūjō didn't consider Muzan the most frightening.
His immortality, regeneration, and survival instincts made him difficult to kill—but in terms of pure swordsmanship, Kokushibō was far more dangerous.
He was the original swordsman.
The creator of Moon Breathing, and even as a demon, he retained his Demon Slayer Mark, his swordsmanship, and—rumor had it—he too had mastered the Transparent World.
That was the true peak.
A demon who had once walked the path of a true swordsman, now bound by fate to serve the Demon King.
But Kyūjō wasn't in a rush.
He was only fifteen.
The real story wouldn't begin for another seven or eight years.
Though... something in his gut told him—Muzan might not last that long.
---
The next day, just past noon.
Kyūjō stood beside Jigorō at the city gates of Tōshō. The two were waiting for the arrival of the Demon Slayer Corps' supreme leader—Kagaya Ubuyashiki.
Jigorō looked down the road, then turned to Kyūjō with a solemn expression.
"Kyūjō. Before Oyakata-sama arrives, I want you to remember one thing."
"You might not know him well yet, but please—treat him with the respect he deserves."
He didn't doubt Kyūjō's manners. But still, as his teacher, Jigorō felt it was his duty to say it out loud.
Kyūjō just laughed and replied cheerfully,
"Eh, don't say 'your leader,' Oyaji. Isn't he our leader now?"
"I'm officially part of the Demon Slayer Corps too, remember?"
Jigorō paused for a moment, then smiled wryly.
"…That's true. You really are something else, Kyūjō…"
To Kyūjō, the title of "leader" wasn't too different from "company president" back in his old world.
Though… compared to those corporate overlords, this new boss seemed a lot more decent.
Just then, a horse-drawn carriage slowly approached from the far end of the road.
The carriage itself looked unremarkable.
But the man driving it—did not.
A towering figure stood upright at the front, eyes gently closed as he guided the horses with flawless control.
Despite his blindness, the cart never once veered off course.
His presence was overwhelming, like a living stone statue come to life. Calm, immovable, yet undeniably powerful.
Kyūjō stared in stunned silence.
"…Wait. You're telling me he's blind? And he's driving like that? Don't tell me… he's awakened a sixth sense too?"
His gaze sharpened as he realized who this man was—
Himejima Gyōmei, the Stone Hashira.
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