As Wakuraba finished speaking, Hayashi and the others immediately noticed a figure walking out of a dark alley nearby.
The figure had black hair tied into four short whips, their ends dyed orange.
On his pale, gray face ran a blue line shaped like the Japanese character "工."
And on his left eye, the words "下弦・釜鵺 (Lower Moon: Six)" were engraved.
"Kamanue…!"
He stood dazed at the alley's mouth, clutching a severed human arm in his hand, blood dripping from his lips. His voice came out slurred, like a drunken man:
"Wakuraba… why are you here? Let me make it clear first… the rare blood I found with such difficulty… it's mine…"
Wakuraba only smiled. He neither explained nor stopped, continuing his dash forward.
To him, running into a Lower Moon here was an unexpected stroke of luck. Even better—Kamanue had just devoured a human with rare blood.
A single rare-blooded human was worth nearly fifty ordinary ones in strength. But the drawback was that some rare blood carried intoxicating qualities. Demons who consumed it grew sluggish, their judgment and reflexes dulled—like drunken humans.
Clearly, Kamanue had stumbled upon that kind of prey.
Wakuraba knew the Demon Slayer Corps' instincts well: they would always prioritize striking down the man-eating oni before chasing a fleeing target. If he baited them with Kamanue, he could slip away while they were occupied.
As for failing his mission and earning that one's wrath? That could only be worried about after he survived tonight.
On the other side, Rengoku's face darkened.
Demons… rare blood… these words dragged up his buried memories.
He recalled Sanemi Shinazugawa, who also carried "rare blood." Before he'd even joined the Corps, Shinazugawa had hunted demons using himself as bait—slashing his own flesh to lure them in, letting their drunken dizziness overtake them, and then binding them in chains until dawn burned them to ash.
But now—what should they do? Attack this newly appeared demon, or keep chasing the one already escaping?
If they split, one would face a Lower Moon alone, while the others risked losing their quarry.
Hayashi suddenly shouted:
"Attack together!"
The three exchanged glances. No words were needed—their decision was made.
Sanemi Shinazugawa leapt first.
Breath of Wind, First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter!
He surged forward, his blade whipping up a spiraling storm. The wind roared like a grinder, tearing the ground apart in a violent funnel.
Caught off-guard, Kamanue took the strike head-on.
A gaping spiral hole was gouged through his chest.
"Ghhk—!!"
He spat a mouthful of blood, staggering. "Damn… you—!"
His claws lashed out desperately toward Shinazugawa—
But the Wind Swordsman stamped the ground, pivoted instantly, and dashed after Wakuraba without hesitation.
"You wound me… and still dare—!"
Before Kamanue could finish, a blazing aura engulfed his vision.
A blade wrapped in fire came cleaving down.
Breath of Flame, First Form: Shiranui!
Rengoku Kyojuro's figure—wreathed in a cloak of flames—closed the distance in a heartbeat.
The next moment, Rengoku Kyojuro swung his blazing blade and slashed toward Kamanue's neck.
"—Tch!"
Feeling the steel bite into his flesh, cold sweat broke across Kamanue's brow. The dizziness from the Rare Blood dissipated instantly—his mind snapped back to full clarity.
Ignoring the gaping wound that had already pierced his heart, he desperately raised a hand to seize Rengoku's Nichirin Sword. The clash severed half his palm, yet he managed to halt the blade just short of fully decapitating him.
Kamanue gritted his teeth, fury twisting his face.
"Blood Demon Art: Night—"
He tried to unleash his Blood Demon Art in retaliation—but his eyes widened in shock.
Rengoku had already released his sword, stamping the ground hard before darting backward like Shinazugawa had moments earlier.
"What are these Demon Slayers doing? Why would they abandon their own blades?" Kamanue's mind spun. "And that accursed Wakuraba—why did he appear here at all…?"
Even with his mind freed from the fog of Rare Blood, the confusion only deepened. But before he could piece it together, a new figure emerged.
Deep crimson hair. A fiery mark searing across the forehead. Sun-patterned Hanafuda earrings swaying on his ears.
A primal terror surged up Kamanue's spine—the fear etched into Muzan's blood itself.
In a daze, he seemed to glimpse the past… a memory of a swordsman from three centuries ago.
Hayashi drew his blade. The flame mark on his brow writhed like it was alive, spreading downward. Wisps of pale mist curled from his lips.
[Breath of the Sun · Seventh Form ·Sunflower Thrust]
Scarlet flames blossomed along his sword, unfurling like a sunflower in the dead of night.
Kamanue's body locked up. His heart wound and half-severed neck left him no time to resist.
Swish!
The blade pierced clean through what remained of his throat. With a decisive twist, Hayashi cleaved through the last of his neck—Kamanue's head tumbled to the ground.
In the same motion, Hayashi calmly caught Rengoku's abandoned Nichirin Blade, then turned without hesitation, continuing the chase after Wakuraba.
Three swordsmen. Three breathing styles. One flawless execution.
Even though he had devised this decapitation strategy, Hayashi himself hadn't expected it to succeed so perfectly.
This was the kind of combination that ignited the blood!
Wakuraba, still fleeing, suddenly felt the death of Kamanue resonate through the demon bond. The relentless pursuit of the three slayers made his very brain quake with dread.
His first time in Tokyo Prefecture—he had spread plague, found the very target their lord desired. This should have been a triumph, a double blessing.
So why… why had it become a nightmare?
Through the ringing in his skull, Wakuraba faintly heard a whisper—
[Blood Demon Art · Beauty Blood · Illusory Dream Fragrance]
A faint scent drifted through the air. Strange patterns flooded his vision, pulling him into an illusory nightmare…