Chapter 48: Yukishiro Suffers a Heavy Damage
"Be careful—behind you!" Yukishiro warned sharply.
But his voice came too late.
All eyes had been fixed on the wounded Three-Headed Demon. In that split second of distraction, the Spider Demon and the Bouncing Demon had already slipped into the crowd.
A muffled crack echoed. One contestant's chest was obliterated beneath the crushing kick of the Bouncing Demon. His torso caved in completely, his severed head rolling across the ground. His wide, terrified eyes showed that he didn't even understand how he had died.
Another fell immediately afterward.
The Spider Demon lunged with a swift, grotesque twist of its claws—his neck snapped with a sickening crack.
The team that had just regained its balance now teetered once again on collapse. Screams rang out as panic rippled through the group. Kimura and the others tried to rally them, but before they could react, terrified contestants surged toward Yukishiro, clustering around him for safety.
The nightmare scenario Yukishiro had dreaded was finally happening.
The mob of contestants collided with the attacking Demons, and chaos erupted. Nichirin blades flailed wildly. Cries of fear and pain mixed with the guttural roars of Demons. In the confusion, bodies fell—cut down by both claw and fear. The Spider Demon and the Bouncing Demon struck swiftly, weaving through the turmoil to harvest lives one after another.
Their precision and cruelty turned the crowd's fear into despair.
The advantage they had built moments ago evaporated.
Yukishiro tried again and again to swing his blade, but the swarm of bodies pressed around him, forcing his strikes off-balance. He understood what they wanted—to cling to the strongest warrior and survive in his shadow. But to an outsider, it almost looked as if they were shielding him instead of being a burden.
"No—don't crowd! Spread out!" Kimura, Mitsuri, and Akino yelled as they fought their way to the center. They cut down the rushing Demons with flashing blades, trying desperately to organize the panicked mob.
But the others could not hear reason. Against the Spider Demon's sudden strikes and the Bouncing Demon's devastating kicks, fear was the only thing guiding their movements. They clung tighter to Yukishiro—their beacon of hope—even if it doomed them all.
"I… I'll help you!"
After struggling through the tide of bodies, Mitsuri finally broke through to Yukishiro's side. She raised her sword and slashed in frantic rhythm beside him, trying to push back the Demons that surged forward.
Not far away, the fallen Three-Headed Demon stirred again. Its six arms dug into the ground, hauling its massive body upright. With a guttural snarl, it turned its triple gaze toward the clustered group.
Its legs tensed—preparing to charge once more.
Yukishiro's face twisted. He knew staying packed within this crowd was death. If he didn't break away, he would be dragged down alongside them.
But every attempt he made to escape was smothered. Each time he moved outward, the desperate trainees shifted with him.
Their intent was clear: where you go, we go.
The sight of the Spider Demon and the Bouncing Demon carving into the crowd only added fuel to his fury. And with the Three-Headed Demon closing in again, rage boiled within him like a storm about to break.
Beside him, Mitsuri swung her blade, slicing off the hand of a lunging Demon. She exhaled shakily, relief flashing on her face—until another Demon crawled over the shoulders of the crowd, leaping toward her exposed back.
"Watch out!"
Yukishiro reacted instantly. He shoved Mitsuri away, his blade flashing as he cleaved the Demon's head clean from its shoulders.
Blood sprayed. The Demon collapsed.
But his relief twisted into scalding anger. He spun toward Mitsuri, his voice cutting like the edge of his sword.
"Help me? What help can you possibly give? You don't even dare to kill Demons, and yet you want to join the Demon Slayer Corps? Don't make me laugh. Get out of here!"
The words were sharper than any blade.
It was the first time since their meeting that Yukishiro had spoken to her with such venom.
The phrase got pierced deeper than steel.
When Kimura had rejected her in the square, Mitsuri had felt only disappointment, a dull ache of failure. But now—this was different. This was pain that sank into her heart, leaving her dizzy and cold.
Yukishiro—the first person to know her weakness, the first to accept her despite it—was now casting her aside. She had treasured his acknowledgment like fragile glass, carrying it with care, terrified that one day he would despise her.
That day had come.
Tears welled, blurring her vision. Through them, the white silhouette of Yukishiro swung his blade with fierce precision, holding the line. But then—something darker caught her eye.
A gray figure descending.
Her heart clenched.
The Bouncing Demon!
It had been waiting for this. Waiting for the perfect chance when Yukishiro was pinned by the crowd, his attention fractured. Now it dove straight for him, its monstrous legs tensed to deliver a fatal strike.
Everyone had seen the devastation of its kicks. If Yukishiro took this blow, even if it didn't kill him outright, it would shatter his ribs, cripple him, and end any hope they had.
"N–No!"
Mitsuri's body moved before her mind could catch up. She screamed his name, her muscles tightening with desperate force. She tore through the press of bodies, pushing them aside with strength born from sheer terror. In an instant, she threw herself in front of Yukishiro, arms outstretched.
"Don't—!"
But it was too late.
The Bouncing Demon's kick landed.
The impact crashed through Mitsuri's body like a landslide.
Her frame absorbed the brunt, yet the force surged into Yukishiro as well, slamming into his chest, crushing his breath. Pain exploded through him.
Together, their bodies were hurled backward like rag dolls, cutting through the crowd. They smashed into the trunk of a towering tree with a bone-rattling thud.
Silence fell for a heartbeat.
Blood burst from Yukishiro's mouth, splattering his blade and the frozen earth. His chest heaved, struggling for air. In his arms, Mitsuri hung limp, unconscious, her fate uncertain.
The sight froze the entire battlefield.
Yukishiro—their hashira, their hope—had been struck down.
Despair spread across the trainees' faces like wildfire. Some faltered, their grips on their swords loosening. Others lowered their blades altogether, eyes hollow with surrender. If their strongest could fall, then what chance did they have?
Kimura's heart pounded.
His mind flashed back to the first night, to the same crushing hopelessness. Was history about to repeat itself?
"No!" he roared, his voice slicing through despair. "Are you planning to give up again? Is living truly harder for you than dying? Will you rush willingly toward death rather than stand and fight one last time?"
The contestants turned toward him, startled.
Kimura's gaze swept across them, sharp and unyielding.
"We cannot keep relying on one person. Because of our cowardice—because of our selfishness—we've destroyed our own hope!" His eyes flicked briefly toward Yukishiro's collapsed figure beneath the tree.
"And still we cower."
Heads bowed, shame weighing heavily upon them.
Kimura raised his sword high, his voice burning like fire.
"We've fought too long to retreat now. There is no way out. Either we die here on this Mountain, nothing more than meat for these monsters—or we fight to the bitter end, and let some of us see the dawn. Those who live will carry our will forward."
The words struck like lightning, igniting hearts dulled by fear.
"Friends," Kimura continued, his chest heaving, "if we surrender, no one will remember us. But if we fight until the end, even if we fall, our struggle will never be forgotten. To die with honor is better than to live in shame. I, Kimura, am proud to stand with you. Let us fight together—side by side—until the end!"
His voice rang across the battlefield like a battle horn.
The trainees' despair shifted. Fear was still there, but something stronger surged over it—resolve. They raised their Nichirin Swords high, as if toasting with cups of steel. Shouts filled the air.
Under Kimura's lead, they hurled themselves back into the fray. Swords clashed, blood flew,
Demons shrieked. Some fell, cut down by claws or teeth, but this time no one retreated.
They would not turn back again.
Because once the desire to cling to life fades, death itself loses its chains.