Click.
With the crisp bite of the ticket punch, a small notch was clipped out of the ticket's edge.
In Japan's Taishō era, steam trains didn't just carry the dream of modern civilization—they also ran on a set of airtight, meticulously enforced rules.
For passengers, the first "checkpoint" after boarding was ticket inspection.
Back then, train tickets were still a kind of stiff cardboard known as the Edmondson ticket.
Thick and hard, their surfaces printed with dense station names and dates.
Whenever the conductor reached a seat, he would skillfully take the hard ticket offered by the passenger, align the jaws of the punch with the ticket's edge—
—and click, snip out a notch.
To ordinary people, it was a dull routine meant to prevent fare evasion.
But to certain "demons" lying in wait, it was an opening… the perfect opening for an ambush.
Yoriichi's words had barely fallen when Rengoku Kyojuro had not yet grasped the meaning behind them—
—and the very next instant, a bone-deep chill flooded the air.
Then, an invisible ripple—something no eye could see—rode along the freshly punched ticket in Rengoku's hand, slid into his fingers, and shot straight for his brain.
A forced-sleep suggestion.
A brutal hypnosis infused with demon blood.
"Mm…"
Rengoku, who had been about to speak, suddenly lost focus in his eyes.
Still sitting upright with his arms folded across his chest—his breathing not even disturbed—he lowered his head, abruptly plunging into a deep sleep.
"Asleep…?"
Yoriichi watched the Flame Hashira drop in an instant, and a trace of approval surfaced in his gaze.
Even at the moment he was forcibly dragged into a dream, Rengoku's body remained in a defensive posture.
Yoriichi could see the tension in his muscles—an instinct honed by countless battles, refusing to loosen even in sleep.
If anyone approached now with killing intent, they would likely be cut down by the body's reflexes the moment they touched him.
Click.
Another crisp bite.
The pale-faced conductor, hands trembling, punched the ticket in Yoriichi's grasp.
"P-please… please keep it…"
The same ripple.
The same vicious technique.
It surged up through Yoriichi's fingertips, roaring into the sea of his consciousness, trying to drag him into a carefully woven prison of nightmares.
But Yoriichi did not resist.
He merely dipped the brim of his hat a fraction lower and, following that pulling force, slowly closed his eyes.
…
Night was ink-black. The wind howled.
The steam train named Infinity belched thick white smoke as it thundered across the wilderness.
And at the very front—on the roof—stood a long, eerie silhouette, facing into the gale.
He wore a Western tailcoat. His skin was a sickly pallor.
In his left eye was carved the mark of status:
Lower Rank One.
Enmu.
"Ah… what a marvelous wind…"
Enmu spread his arms, his face wearing a dazed, twisted smile.
"The sound of humans breathing in sleep… so fragile… so sweet."
His fingers pulsed with a delicate rhythm.
Countless invisible threads of Blood Demon Art slipped silently into the dreams of every person inside the train.
"The Flame Hashira's mental energy is strong, but… that's fine. I'll leave it to the human assassins to destroy the 'spiritual core.'"
Enmu's gaze drifted toward the first car.
He licked his lips lightly, a cruel gleam flickering in his eyes.
"As for that boy called 'Tanjiro'…"
Ever since he had heard, with his own ears in Infinity Castle, the absolute kill order issued by that Lord…
he had been filled with curiosity—and hunger—for the boy.
He yearned to kill the demon slayer.
He yearned to drink more of Muzan's blood.
And now, that goal was close to being realized.
But… there was no need to rush.
His interest in the boy had grown too strong.
What, exactly, was hidden inside that boy's inner world?
What kind of fear?
With the teasing indulgence of a cat toying with a mouse, Enmu's fingers flicked.
Quietly, he slipped into the boy's mental domain.
"Let me see it properly—what kind of landscape lies inside your weak, brittle heart!"
…
Hmmm!
Consciousness pierced the barrier.
Enmu descended soundlessly into Yoriichi's spiritual world.
But the moment he saw what lay before him, he froze.
There were no warm human scenes as he had expected.
No family. No friends.
Not even the faintest trace of fear.
Instead, what filled his vision was an endless crimson sea—like a world on fire.
"Th-this… what kind of place is this?"
He muttered to himself, an inexplicable irritation rising in his chest.
Then, deep within that red ocean of flame, he saw a figure.
Not a boy.
A grown man's back.
He wore an old-fashioned red haori. His black hair was tied into a high ponytail.
From his ears hung sun-wheel patterned earrings.
In his hand was a jet-black katana.
It wasn't even drawn—
—and yet it radiated an authority so overwhelming Enmu couldn't bear to stare at it for long.
The man stood there, and it was as if he alone was the center of this blazing world.
…Who is this?
Enmu's confusion lasted only a moment before something seemed to click.
A curious smile tugged at his lips.
"I see… so this is the boy's desire."
"In his spiritual world, he fantasizes himself as a dignified swordsman… Looks like one of the Demon Slayer Corps' 'Hashira,' doesn't it?"
The corners of Enmu's mouth curled into a mocking arc.
How laughable.
This kind of "dream" had weaknesses so obvious he could spot them at a glance.
The more a human constructs an illusion of "strength," the more fragile their spiritual core tends to be.
In plain terms, this was nothing but a daytime fantasy born from an inferior boy terrified of weakness.
As long as Enmu destroyed the boy's "ideal self," destroyed the man in front of him—
his spirit would collapse all on its own.
"I'll use you as the stepping stone to ascend to Upper Rank… Tanjiro!"
Enmu's lips drew into a cruel, delighted smile as he strode forward, about to cross the sea of flame and slaughter the red-clad swordsman ahead.
And then—
At the exact instant he took that step, a scream of absolute terror exploded deep inside his mind.
A voice, shrieking:
"Don't go over there!"
In that instant, Enmu's foot locked in place.
Thump.
His heart skipped violently.
"Wh…?"
Enmu stared down at his own body in disbelief.
That voice hadn't been his.
It was the blood inside him—
the blood that flowed from Muzan.
The cells in that blood were tearing at his flesh, screaming at him to run.
"Run!"
"Close your eyes!"
"Idiot—cut the connection!"
Lord Muzan's cells… were screaming?
The moment he realized it, Enmu felt a colder horror slam into him:
the blood inside him was rejecting his body.
Muzan's cells—those very cells—were trying to abandon him at any cost, to flee from within him.
Perhaps the disturbance drew the attention of that "figure" ahead.
Or perhaps—
he had been waiting for Enmu from the start.
Slowly, the man turned around.
A face so calm it bordered on indifference.
A deep red mark on his forehead.
Dark crimson eyes that held no killing intent—only a quiet gaze, as if looking upon some pitiable creature.
"So it's you… the demon that releases dreams."
At the instant their eyes met, a thunderclap seemed to detonate inside Enmu's mind.
His pupils contracted sharply.
And before his spiritual body could even react, the Muzan cells inside him ripped him apart—
and with brutal violence, kicked him out of that mental world like discarded trash.
…
Reality.
The roof of the speeding train.
"Ugh—!!"
Enmu, who had been standing at the front, snapped his eyes open.
His whole body convulsed as if electrocuted.
Then he staggered, rolled across the roof in utter disgrace, and slammed hard into the railing.
A mouthful of black blood sprayed from his lips.
"Hah… hah… hah…"
He clutched his chest, gasping, drenched in cold sweat.
Even now, the Lower Rank was still shaken to the core.
He had only gone in for a single look…
Just one glance at that boy's dream—
and his spiritual body had nearly been scorched away.
Worse, the Muzan cells inside him had gone mad, harming themselves like a frenzy.
"Wh-what is that guy…?"
Enmu trembled as he lifted his head, staring down at the car beneath him—terror unlike anything he'd ever felt filling his eyes.
I can't win… I can't possibly win!
He didn't know what the boy had done.
But if the Muzan cells reacted the same way the moment he actually met him—
then there was no chance. None.
The instinct to survive crushed all ambition in an instant.
Enmu's once-elegant face twisted into something truly demonic.
If I can't target him directly—
then I'll take every hostage I can!
If I merge with this train—if I become the train—
then the two hundred-plus humans inside are all my hostages!
No matter how strong that boy is… can he really kill me by slicing the entire train apart—passengers and all?!
Gurgle—!
The next second, a nauseating sound of proliferating flesh erupted.
Purple-black tendrils of blood-soaked meat burst from Enmu's body, surging into the steel beast beneath his feet.
In that moment, the Infinity Train seemed to come alive—
transforming into a colossal man-eating demon of steel and flesh.
Inside the cars, meat wriggled up through floors and walls.
Countless tendrils reached toward the sleeping passengers.
And then—
"Mm! It seems things have become troublesome!"
A booming, full-bellied shout shattered the oppressive atmosphere.
Boom!
A burst of crimson flame exploded inside the car, instantly incinerating the approaching tendrils to ash.
Rengoku Kyojuro snapped his eyes open.
His Nichirin blade was already drawn.
That signature bright smile still sat on his face—
but his eyes had turned razor-sharp.
"My apologies, Kamado boy! For a Hashira to fall asleep in battle—how shameful! Shameful enough to want to crawl into a crack in the ground!"
His words spoke of shame, but the fighting spirit pouring from him blazed like a furnace, unshaken by the danger.
Rengoku scanned the grotesquely mutated car, his brows knitting.
"This demon… merged with the train?"
"Yes."
Yoriichi rose to his feet, calm as he watched the surrounding flesh writhe.
In his Transparent World, the entire structure of the train was laid bare.
He could see it clearly: the demon's true skeletal body had long since relocated to the front.
Across these eight cars, nothing remained but tendrils—everywhere—ready to devour humans.
Protecting two hundred people without harm while killing the demon was an impossible task for ordinary men.
But here stood two beings who could stand at the pinnacle of swordsmanship.
Yoriichi turned to the Flame Hashira, his voice quiet.
"Rengoku-san… can I entrust the lives of everyone on this train to you?"
Rengoku paused, then burst into laughter.
"Leave it to me! As long as I, Rengoku Kyojuro, still live—no one will die!"
"Then I'm at ease."
Yoriichi gave a small nod.
His hand closed around the hilt at his waist, and his gaze shifted toward the engine.
"Then the 'neck' of this train…"
"I'll be the one to sever it."
The instant the words fell—
Yoriichi vanished from where he stood.
No thunderous footsteps.
No violent shockwave.
He moved like a breeze, gliding through cars choked with tendrils as if the chaos did not exist.
Enmu had hidden well, but within the Transparent World, the demon's cervical spine—concealed beneath the engine—was already perfectly clear to Yoriichi.
"It's over."
He murmured to himself.
One step.
And he became a red streak of light, crossing the distance of multiple cars in an instant—charging straight for the front!
"How… how is that possible?! Why does he know where I am?!"
"No… don't come any closer!!"
Sensing death rushing in, Enmu—now the train—screamed in despair.
Tendrils and flesh erupted, trying to block him.
But before that crimson blade, every obstruction was meaningless.
A flawless ring-shaped slash bloomed over the engine like the rising sun.
Sun Breathing — Clear Blue Sky.
And then—
Shhk!
The massive engine—along with the demon's neck bone hidden inside—
was severed cleanly, neatly, perfectly.
A shriek of agony tore through the air as the demon's body rapidly crumbled into ash.
With its pull gone, the engine and the cars behind it snapped apart.
The entire train screeched a metal lament that made the teeth ache.
The engine, losing balance, tumbled into the wilderness.
The eight cars rocked violently, on the verge of flipping and shattering.
"Flame Breathing — Second Form: Rising Scorching Sun!"
From behind, Rengoku's figure arrived in a flash.
He swung his Nichirin blade, using the counterforce to forcibly slow the cars' momentum—
turning what would have been a derailment that killed everyone into a brutal but survivable hard landing.
…
After what felt like a long time, the smoke and dust finally began to thin.
"Cough, cough…"
Rengoku stood on a field of shattered stone.
A thin line of blood ran down his forehead—an abrasion from absorbing the impact.
He looked back into the cars.
Only after confirming that no one had died did the tension in his body loosen, if only slightly.
Then he raised his head toward the front, several hundred meters away, where the engine lay amid billowing smoke.
"Kamado boy… truly remarkable. That slash just now was stunning. I've never seen swordsmanship like that."
A flicker of admiration crossed his eyes as he prepared to move toward Yoriichi and regroup—
And at that moment, a bone-chilling cold crawled up his spine without warning.
A pressure unlike anything in the same dimension as the Lower Rank—
violent, savage, overwhelming.
"Who's there?!"
Rengoku spun, instantly raising his blade across his chest.
Boom!
With a heavy, muffled impact, a shadow crashed down like a meteor.
Dust exploded outward.
And then, in the settling haze, a voice filled with ecstatic delight slid softly into the air.
"What an excellent fighting spirit…"
"I came to kill a boy with earrings… but before that, it seems I've found a pleasant surprise."
The dust cleared.
A figure covered in deep blue tattoos stepped into view.
The instant Rengoku saw him, his body tightened almost imperceptibly.
He stared at the demon's eyes—locked onto them.
His grip tightened on the hilt.
Every alarm inside him screamed.
Because carved into those golden irises were the words:
Upper Rank.
Three.
Upper Rank Three—
Akaza.
-------
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