Even with nothing more than electric propulsion, there were still individuals capable of displaying power far beyond what that level should allow.
White Boundless was undeniably one of those rare talents. It was not simply because of raw strength, but because he possessed something far more terrifying.
Perfect Control.
In the simplest terms, Perfect Control was the art of compression.
How to confine magnetic power within the smallest possible attack range. How to focus it, condense it, refine it until a single unit of strength could be multiplied several times over.
The difference in Perfect Control was often the deciding factor between victory and defeat among true experts.
It was also the clearest line separating genuine Magnetic Martial Gods from those insignificant imitators who merely toyed with magnetic power.
It was said that the Second Ancestor had once relied solely on electric propulsion to instantly kill several experts who each possessed seven hundred thousand units of power.
White Boundless could not achieve that level of mastery.
Moreover, this body had been rejuvenated to the age of eight. Such a young physique simply could not fully unleash the depth of his Perfect Control.
Among magnetic warriors, physical strength directly determined how much power one could contain and how fully Perfect Control could be expressed. At White Boundless's current age, even with sufficient understanding, his body imposed severe limitations.
Even so, dealing with ordinary people and their crude steel machines posed no problem at all.
Inside a high quality room at a hotel, White Boundless had changed into a black kimono. He calmly chewed through a large plate of fried tempura while rapidly flipping through a book in his hand.
Characters and pronunciations flowed through his mind. First came the syllabary. Then characters similar to ancient hell path script but with different meanings. Finally, characters that matched it entirely.
In barely half an hour, he had fully mastered the language known as Japanese.
He finished the food without leaving a trace. The high fat, high calorie fried dishes were instantly broken down by electromagnetic energy the moment they entered his body.
He turned his gaze toward the corner of the room.
The gate guard lay there, face pale, caught between fainting and consciousness, unable to pass out no matter how much he wanted to.
"All right," White Boundless said calmly.
"I will begin my questioning now. But understand this first. Do not attempt any petty tricks in front of me, or you will regret it."
"First question. Do you recognize the name Muzan Kibutsuji?"
The man hesitated, then slowly shook his head.
"Second question," White Boundless continued.
"In this country, or rather this world, what is the strongest thing an individual can wield?"
"It is…" The guard's eyes darted, his expression tightening.
"A weapon called a machine gun. There is one in Major Kuroda's estate and ahhh!"
The guard collapsed to the floor, screaming in agony. Yet every sound he made was instantly neutralized by the electromagnetic field radiating around White Boundless.
"Incorrect," White Boundless said coldly.
His fingers twitched slightly. That was all.
Nothing complicated. He had merely stimulated the man's sympathetic nervous system.
Watching the guard's back arch unnaturally as if it might burst through his skin, White Boundless repeated the question.
This time, he received the correct answer.
This world's level of power was pitifully low. It remained stuck in the era of crude weapons driven by explosives.
Even what was considered the most destructive weapon was laughable in White Boundless's eyes.
He understood such weapons. He even possessed fragmentary knowledge of the era his ancestor Sea Tiger once lived in.
He had simply never cared to study it deeply. That disinterest was common among Martial Gods.
The White lineage never underestimated technology. Yet their technology was sustained by magnetic rotation.
Whether it was warships capable of effortless interstellar travel or computers that recorded millennia of information, everything far surpassed this backward world.
White Boundless frowned.
If this era was so weak, how could it possibly produce a being capable of threatening him now?
No. That was not necessarily true.
Had Sea Tiger's era not been similar?
Power in that age had been controlled by foolish politicians, manipulated from the shadows, while true monsters remained hidden.
Not every magnetic warrior sought authority. The strongest often concealed themselves beneath fragile civilizations.
Perhaps this Muzan Kibutsuji was the same. A hidden force manipulating society from the shadows.
That thought stirred White Boundless's blood.
Still, he would not rush in blindly. He loved battle, but he was not reckless.
He did not even know where he was. How could he fight without information?
This body also needed time to adapt. He did not expect to immediately break the world's limits and reclaim magnetic rotation. At the very least, he needed to familiarize himself with this vessel and its capabilities.
But hiding did not mean doing nothing.
"Very well," White Boundless said softly.
"You have answered all my questions. I forgive the insult you showed me."
His fingers tapped lightly against the table.
"As an act of mercy, I will grant you a painless death."
"Please spare me. I will do anything. I can help you. I have a family, I…"
The guard collapsed to his knees on the tatami, sobbing and begging.
White Boundless killed him without hesitation.
A blade of electric current shot from his fingertips, slicing cleanly through the man's neck. His head flew upward, his face frozen in unwilling disbelief. Not a single drop of blood spilled.
He had to die.
He had insulted White Boundless. Worse, he had done so knowingly.
Ordinarily, that alone might not have earned him death. White Boundless was not a sadist. He was not merciful, but neither was he wantonly cruel.
But this man had another use.
With a light motion of his finger, characters were carved into the corpse.
Muzan Kibutsuji.
That night, White Boundless intended to place the body on Major Kuroda's bed.
If one was not enough, he would add more. A city this large had no shortage of people eager to court death.
Each would bear the same name. Each would be displayed somewhere impossible to ignore.
If even that failed to draw Muzan out, White Boundless would escalate further.
He trusted the judgment of the Great Power. If Muzan was considered the strongest in this world, then he should not be a coward who hid forever.
"Damn it. Who is it. Who is doing this."
Tokyo. Asakusa. Inside a Western style townhouse, a pale and unnaturally handsome man stared at the headline of the morning newspaper. His hands trembled. His crimson pupils shrank violently.
The front page carried no praise for political successors. Instead, it displayed a shocking report.
Several mutilated corpses had been discovered inside the residences of high ranking military officials. Some had even been placed directly on their beds.
The bodies belonged mostly to criminals and loan sharks. They shared no connection with the officials.
Except for one thing.
Each corpse bore the carved name Muzan Kibutsuji.
Authorities were furious and vowed to capture the madman responsible.
Naturally, their investigation focused on that name.
That was what enraged him most.
Veins bulged across Muzan's hands, muscles twitching violently beneath his skin. Unable to contain his fury, he shattered the table beside him.
Footsteps approached. A graceful woman opened the door, worry on her face.
"Sir Tsukihiko? Is something wrong?"
"No," Muzan replied instantly, his expression transforming into a gentle smile.
"I merely dropped a cup. I will clean it."
After she left, he exhaled slowly.
He began to think.
The Demon Slayers? Impossible. He had dealt with them for centuries. They would never use humans as bait.
Other demons, perhaps. Tamayo was a possibility.
Very few knew his name. Fewer still would dare to use it like this.
Since centuries ago, he had placed a curse upon nearly every demon he created. Speaking his name without permission meant instant death.
Which meant only one conclusion remained.
The traitor.
His killing intent surged.
At that moment, a small figure landed silently on the balcony, kneeling on one knee.
A female demon with short white hair and small horns bowed her head. Characters were engraved within her eyes.
"Muzan-sama. How may I serve you?"
"Go to Kojimachi," Muzan said coldly.
"Find out who is responsible."
He tossed the newspaper aside.
"Zero Child. I will not tolerate another failure. If you cannot complete this task, do not return."
The small demon trembled, but answered obediently.
"I will not fail you, Muzan-sama."