Thud. Thud. The heavy, wet sounds from outside the door were the only warning they received. Almost instantly, the rich, coppery scent of blood flooded the air, thick and cloying. Before Prime Minister Kame Taro and his cabinet could fully react, the bodies of their elite guards were slammed against the ground, one after another. They didn't just fall; they seemed to come apart, collapsing into pieces as if they were made of brittle clay. They were utterly, comprehensively dead.
The power of the attacker was absolute. These were not common soldiers. The men assigned to guard the nation's highest office were the top inheritors of Japan's most storied Bushido and swordsmanship schools. In an era where firearms were making the way of the sword obsolete, these samurai were still the undisputed masters of close-quarters combat, chosen for their superhuman reflexes and unyielding discipline. For them to be cut down in a single, silent moment was unthinkable. The strength of the newcomer had to be unimaginable.
Crash!
The heavy wooden door to the council hall didn't open—it exploded into dust. A fraction of a second later, an invisible wave of pressure shot through the room. The long conference table, the symbol of their authority, was sliced cleanly in two.
A figure slowly stepped through the ruined doorway. He was a powerfully built man dressed in the traditional attire of an Edo-period samurai, his presence radiating a cold, ancient authority. Six unsettling eyes blinked slowly on his face, observing the room with an unnerving calm. As he walked, he casually sheathed the long katana in his hand.
Crick-crack.
The moment the sword clicked into its scabbard, a strange cracking sound filled the air. The remaining furniture, the light fixtures, the very plaster on the walls—everything in the council hall suddenly fractured, crumbling into fine powder as if struck by a thousand invisible blades.
The room fell into a profound, terrifying silence, so deep that the frantic pounding of their own hearts was the only sound left. No one, not Prime Minister Kame Taro nor any of his ministers, could have imagined that a simple blade could be wielded with such impossible, miraculous power. But even more terrifying than the display of swordsmanship were the six eyes staring back at them. It was like looking at a ghost, a creature that had stepped out of a nightmare.
Their feeling was correct. The samurai who stood before them was indeed a demon. The Demon of the Sword. Upper Rank One of the Twelve Kizuki, Kokushibo.
"You… what in God's name are you?" Prime Minister Kame Taro finally found his voice, the tremor in it betraying his fear. "Are you human or demon? Were the assassination incidents… was that you?"
After the initial shock, the Prime Minister's political mind scrambled to make sense of the situation. This mysterious six-eyed swordsman was clearly the true threat. The attacks on officials, the demon rumors, the Demon Slayer Corps—it was all connected. For weeks, they had been acting on the assumption that the Ubuyashiki family was responsible, using the Nichirin Blades left at the scenes as evidence. But he'd always had his doubts. The assassinations were too clean, too perfect. The Corps, for all its strength, was not known for such subtlety.
The truth was, the cabinet had used the chaos as an opportunity. The Ubuyashiki family had grown too influential, too independent. This was meant to be a stern warning, a political maneuver to bring them to heel. He had never expected that the real culprits would simply walk through his front door. The game of shadows was over; they were no longer pretending.
"Human or demon?" Kokushibo's voice was a low, somber rumble. "That is a good question. Once, I was human. Later, I became the creature you call a demon. And now… and in the future…" His voice was calm, stating a simple, undeniable fact. "On this land of Japan, there will no longer be a distinction between the two."
"What… What does that mean!?" the Prime Minister demanded, his heart seizing with dread.
"It means," a new voice suddenly spoke, its tone so rich and mellow it felt like a dream, "that the so-called demons are already a relic of the past. In the future, there will only be… perfect beings."
The moment this new voice emerged, the immense, suffocating killing intent that had been pouring from Kokushibo vanished completely. The six-eyed demon bowed his head slightly.
"Master," he said, his tone one of absolute reverence.
Master.
The word struck the Prime Minister and his cabinet like a bolt of lightning, plunging them into a new level of horror. This six-eyed monster possessed a power that defied all logic. For him to call someone else "Master" meant that the newcomer's strength was on a scale they couldn't even begin to comprehend.
"The cabinet… the prime minister…" the voice mused, and a figure stepped out from the shadows behind Kokushibo. "You Japanese have certainly embraced this Western idea of a constitutional monarchy."
They finally saw him clearly. He was a young man, handsome and dignified, with an air of profound stillness about him. He wore a modern black trench coat, and though he stood perfectly still, he seemed to command the very air around him. He was just one person, yet looking at him was like staring into an abyss, a being of infinite depth and cold, terrifying power.
"Who… who are you?" Prime Minister Kame Taro's voice was now a trembling whisper.
"This is the true leader of all demons in Japan," Kokushibo answered for him, his voice devoid of emotion. "He is my Master. You may call him… Lord Tsukihiko."
In that moment, their titles and political power meant nothing. Prime Minister, cabinet minister—they were just men. In the presence of these beings, they were like peasants in the dark of night who had stumbled upon a god. And it seemed the only choice they had left was to fall to their knees and worship.
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