As a final gust of wind swept through the room, an eerie silence fell over the cabinet office. The only thing that remained was the thick, coppery smell of blood that clung to the air. It was in this heavy stillness that Kokushibo, the six-eyed Upper Rank One, finally shifted his gaze. His six eyes moved methodically, taking in the scene of absolute devastation.
He had always known that his master's strength was on a level that no one else could possibly comprehend. But to witness it firsthand, to see that power unleashed so completely, was something else entirely. Only now did he truly understand how incredible Muzan's abilities were.
Strong. He is simply too strong.
Kokushibo knew his own power well. He was a demon with a near-immortal body, the highest-ranking member of the Twelve Kizuki. He possessed a unique Blood Demon Art and had spent centuries perfecting his swordsmanship and the formidable Moon Breathing style. Yet, when the master swordsmen of Japan had launched their attack, a net of steel blades closing in from all sides, he had felt a genuine moment of hesitation. For a split second, he knew he would not have been able to dodge it completely.
No matter how powerful his breathing style was, how resilient his demonic body, or how refined his sword skills, he knew he was no match for such a flawless, concentrated assault. It was an attack that embodied the pinnacle of Japan's warrior traditions. The gap between him and that combined force was not merely one of skill, but a chasm he could not cross alone. He had transcended the limits of human life and death, becoming a sword demon of unimaginable power, but even he would have fallen.
And yet, Muzan had annihilated that same impossible threat in a single, effortless instant. Looking at his master now, Kokushibo could see no sign of strain on his face. He had unleashed that devastating power with a calm ease, as if swatting away a fly. To Muzan, the greatest swordsmen in the nation were insignificant.
That was true power. A level of strength Kokushibo found difficult to even imagine, but it was the very pinnacle he had dedicated his long, unending life to pursuing.
"Alright. It's finally quiet now," Muzan said, his voice cutting through the silence. He stood calmly in the center of the room, his handsome face betraying no emotion. It was as if the person who had just committed a massacre had no connection to the composed man standing there now.
A soft thud broke the silence. Prime Minister Kame Tarō, who moments before had been a man of immense authority, fell to his knees. His head was bowed to the floor in absolute reverence.
"Prime Minister Kame Tarō," he said, his voice flat and empty, "I pledge my loyalty… to my Lord."
The tentacle that had pierced his mind had done its work. He was now another one of Muzan's servants. But he was different from the Twelve Kizuki, and certainly different from ordinary demons. His value was his position: the highest-ranking official in the Japanese government, the head of the cabinet, the Prime Minister. Now, he was the first demon of the cabinet. Most of the other members were dead, and the few who remained were of no importance.
"Very good," Muzan said coolly. "Tell me everything you know. I want to hear about the Japanese Imperial Family, about Emperor Taishō, and about the Onmyoji."
He paced slowly around the kneeling Prime Minister. "By taking control of the cabinet, I effectively control half of Japan's official power. The Imperial Family cannot mobilize troops, appoint officials, or control the press without the cabinet's approval. They never would have dreamed that their entire government now belongs to me."
Without a moment of hesitation, Prime Minister Kame Tarō began to speak, recounting every secret he knew. His tone was respectful, his face was a mask of pure devotion, and his loyalty was absolute, like a man praying to his god.
At that same moment, far away from the capital, the six remaining Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps arrived at three separate, horrific scenes, only to be plunged into a nightmare.
"The suspect has been identified as a samurai named Sakonji Urokodaki, the former Water Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps!" a government official was shouting near one of the sites.
"We have reports of similar incidents on two other trains!" another voice called out. "The perpetrators are Giyu Tomioka and Obanai Iguro!"
"All of them are known members of the Demon Slayer Corps, a private armed militia run by the Ubuyashiki family!"
"I can't believe it… The demon attacks, the assassination attempts, and now this… It was all planned by Ubuyashiki!"
"They must be trying to overthrow the government! But it makes no sense… the men of the Ubuyashiki family always die young!"
These words, shouted by police and government agents at the scene, reached the ears of the Hashira, and their faces grew dark with anger and despair. They had known something was terribly wrong when Giyu, Obanai, and Master Urokodaki first went missing. They immediately suspected it was Muzan Kibutsuji's doing. But before they could investigate, they received news that their missing comrades had reappeared, only now they were wanted criminals.
The Hashira had rushed to the locations, fighting their way through law enforcement who now viewed them as enemies. After a tireless and draining journey, they had finally arrived, only to discover they had walked right into Muzan's trap.
Before them, three passenger trains lay derailed and mangled, consumed by fire and stained with blood. The piercing screams of the wounded and dying filled the air. To the rest of the world, this was undeniable proof that the Demon Slayer Corps were terrorists.
"Why?" Mitsuri Kanroji, the Love Hashira, whispered, her hands covering her mouth in horror. "How could this happen?"
The six of them—Gyomei Himejima, the Stone Hashira; Shinobu Kocho, the Insect Hashira; Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira; Tengen Uzui, the Sound Hashira; and Kyojuro Rengoku, the Flame Hashira—stood frozen. They had all witnessed countless horrors in their fight against demons, but nothing could have prepared them for this. This scene was a twisted knot of love, hate, and a conspiracy so cruel it was hard to comprehend.
Those were their comrades, their friends, their respected seniors, now branded as butchers. They knew, with absolute certainty, that their friends had been manipulated by Muzan, likely turned into demons themselves. But that didn't change the fact that the carnage before them was caused by their hands.
What would happen when they finally awoke from Muzan's control? How could they possibly face the reality of what they had done?
"Damn it," Muichiro Tokito hissed, his usual calm demeanor completely shattered. His hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. He was shaking with a rage so pure it burned away his usual apathy. "Damn it all!"
A storm of grief, helplessness, and fury swirled within the six Hashira, uniting them in a single, cold realization.
"That monster, Muzan Kibutsuji," Muichiro growled, his voice trembling with hatred. "He truly deserves to die a thousand deaths!"
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