The air in the cabinet office suddenly tore apart with a deafening roar as dozens of swords were drawn at once, their combined shriek drowning out all other sounds. In an instant, the stately room transformed into a deadly battlefield. Every man who moved was a master, considered among the strongest practitioners of Japanese swordsmanship.
Any one of them could have founded his own school and become a legend. They were top-tier swordsmen, individuals of immense power and influence. They would never have appeared in one place like this, let alone collaborated to overwhelm a single enemy, if not for a direct order from the Prime Minister himself. For a master swordsman, especially one who lived by the code of Bushido, such an act was unthinkable, a deep dishonor.
However, their honor had already been compromised. They had gathered here with the intent to divide the vast fortune and legacy left behind by the Ubuyashiki family. In their minds, attacking this man named Muzan was merely an appetizer before the main feast. Still, they were not foolish. They knew that if this man was truly the master of demons who had plagued Japan for a thousand years, his strength would be beyond anything they had ever faced. Against such a terrifying creature, they understood that no method of attack, no matter how dishonorable, could be considered excessive.
The air vibrated with the sharp hum of steel. In a flash, the swordsmen closed in, their blades creating an inescapable net of death. Their attack was aimed not only at Muzan but also at the stoic, six-eyed demon standing beside him, Kokushibo.
Just as Prime Minister Kame Tarō had witnessed before, neither Muzan nor Kokushibo made a single move to defend themselves. They simply stood there. Were they so arrogant that they believed the finest blades in all of Japan couldn't harm them? Or were they simply too slow to react to such a swift, coordinated assault? The Prime Minister hoped for the latter, but a cold dread in his gut told him the truth was far more terrifying. He knew a being like Muzan was anything but simple.
A series of sharp, cracking sounds suddenly echoed through the room, louder than the swordsmen's own war cries. One by one, the blades that struck Muzan and Kokushibo shattered, the mournful sound of breaking steel filling the air.
"No! How is this possible? My Black Dragon Maru… it broke!" one of the masters cried out in disbelief.
"My Hyakushikiri! The finest blade I ever forged!" another shouted, staring at the useless hilt in his hand.
"My Sasorimaru… damn it, what is happening?" a third stammered, his face pale with shock.
Horror spread across the faces of the grandmasters. Just a moment ago, they had unleashed the ultimate techniques of their respective styles, pouring every ounce of their strength and skill into a single, perfect strike. They believed that not even the legendary Miyamoto Musashi or the famed Yagyū San Tengu could have survived such an onslaught. Yet, the unbelievable had happened. Their strongest killing blows, executed with their full power, had resulted in nothing more than their own prized swords shattering to pieces.
A palpable pressure suddenly radiated outwards from Muzan, a force field that pushed the air itself away from him. A strong wind whipped through the room, causing his trench coat to billow dramatically.
"You are called the greatest swordsmen in Japan," Muzan said, his voice calm and almost bored. A faint, mocking sigh escaped his lips. "You are indeed skilled, but unfortunately for you…" He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "The swords of this world can no longer harm me."
His expression turned cold, his crimson eyes devoid of any warmth. "However, I will offer you a reward for having the courage to draw your blades on me. In return, I will take your lives."
The moment he finished speaking, the light in the room vanished. A suffocating, absolute darkness fell over them, swallowing everything in an instant. It was a terrifying, unnatural blackness that felt heavy and alive.
"No, this is bad!" one of the men yelled into the void.
"What kind of power is this?" another voice questioned, trembling with fear.
"It's a demonic art! Is it possible that only the Ubuyashiki clan's Nichirin Swords can actually harm these creatures!?" someone realized, far too late.
"But if Muzan is the leader of all demons, even those special swords might not be enough to…"
The voice was cut off. Before anyone could finish their thought, the oppressive darkness consumed them entirely. One after another, the sounds of bodies being torn apart echoed softly in the pitch-black room. Their flesh, their consciousness, their memories—everything that made them who they were—was erased in an instant.
The soft thuds of lifeless bodies hitting the floor sent a chill down Prime Minister Kame Tarō's spine. As the head of the Japanese cabinet, a man second in power only to the Emperor himself, he was utterly paralyzed by terror.
"No… no, this can't be real…" he whispered, his body shaking uncontrollably.
He had never imagined that the leader of the demons could possess such overwhelming, godlike power. For centuries, had the Ubuyashiki family and their Demon Slayer Corps truly been fighting against monsters like this?
An unbearable wave of regret washed over him. He hated Kagaya Ubuyashiki for not telling him the full truth sooner. More than that, he hated himself for his own foolishness, for not seeing through Muzan's deceptions and manipulations. Now, it was too late. There was no way to turn the tide. Victory was an impossible dream.
As these desperate thoughts raced through his mind, a powerful force suddenly grabbed him from behind, lifting him off his feet. He was suspended in the air, a profound sense of exhaustion and terror flooding his senses.
"Impossible? Why is it impossible?" Muzan's voice whispered directly into his ear. "Simply because it exceeds your limited human understanding? For beings like me, who truly control the world, nothing is impossible."
A soft, cruel chuckle followed. "Your kind prays to gods you call omnipotent, but they are not."
The Prime Minister felt something wet and sharp touch the top of his head. It felt like a tentacle.
"I, however… am omnipotent."
"No!" Kame Tarō screamed.
Without a moment's hesitation, the tentacle plunged directly through the crown of his skull. Blood sprayed through the darkness.
"Run! We have to run!" one of the few surviving swordsmen screamed.
"What is this monster!?" another cried out.
Seeing the Prime Minister's fate, the remaining grandmasters were gripped by a primal fear that shattered their pride. They scrambled away in a blind panic, their minds completely broken. The code of Bushido, the honor they had valued more than life itself, now meant nothing. What good was honor to a dead man?
They fled in every direction, desperate to escape the darkness.
"It's too late to run now," Muzan's voice echoed calmly through the room.
Endless tentacles shot out from the darkness, piercing through the bodies of the fleeing swordsmen with sickening, wet thuds. The thick, metallic smell of blood quickly filled the air, thick and suffocating.
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