Kokushibo's gaze shifted slowly from the short flute to Izumi Kiyokazu's face. Finally, it lingered for a moment on those familiar Marks before he turned his eyes away, not daring to look any longer.
Now that the flute was gone from its place against his chest, the fabric of his kimono felt empty. The night wind invaded easily, bringing a chill that felt somewhat foreign to Kokushibo, yet exceptionally sharp in its clarity.
"Keep it safe."
Kokushibo turned slowly. His voice drifted through the night wind, which was heavy with the scent of scorched earth—clear, yet seemingly distant.
"If it is lost... there will never be another."
Before the last of his words could fade, his silhouette merged completely into the moonlight, vanishing without a trace as if he had never existed.
Watching Kokushibo's back as he faded into the night, Izumi Kiyokazu stood dazed for a moment.
The broken flute clutched in his hand was cold to the touch, yet it felt as though it carried a temperature capable of burning a person. Under the somewhat desolate moonlight, the crude body of the flute shimmered with a gentle luster, just as warm as the day it was first carved.
But when his gaze moved to the smooth break in the wood, he felt as if the crack were an eternal scar, spanning the chasm between the two brothers.
The moonlight remained cold and lonely, illuminating him, the broken flute, and the solitary figure of Kokushibo as he departed.
Kiyokazu suddenly remembered that in the original story, when the Upper Rank demons fell in battle, Kokushibo seemed to leave this world entirely alone. No one came to fetch him...
He let out a sigh. Looking at the broken flute in his hand, he realized he had used the identity of Yoriichi Tsugikuni's reincarnation to gamble for his life, and he had won. Since he had already gone this far, he might as well see it through to the end.
The regrets of Yoriichi and Michikatsu Tsugikuni deserved a conclusion—an end to the obsession that remained unfulfilled even in death.
Taking a deep breath, Kiyokazu carefully tucked the broken flute into his robes, placing it against his chest, closest to his heart. There, it felt as though another heart was beating in synchronization with his own across the vast expanse of time.
Hiding within the dense forest, Kokushibo watched this scene. While he felt a sense of relief in his heart, he also bit his lip.
It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, but even the pain of his teeth piercing his lip could not wake him from the depths of his memories.
"I will treasure this flute as if it were my Elder Brother..."
"If you encounter danger, just blow the flute. I will come to protect you..."
But... in your entire life, did you ever truly blow that flute?
Did you actually remember the words I said back then?
If only you had blown it once... just once, Yoriichi... if only you had allowed me to fulfill my duty as an elder brother just one time!
However... what Kokushibo did not know was that on the night Yoriichi lost his wife and child, he had played that flute for the entire night.
Just as Kokushibo was becoming deeply immersed in these memories, Douma—whom he was currently carrying by the collar—spoke up.
"Lord Kokushibo, what are you daydreaming about? Lord Muzan is exceptionally angry this time. You'll probably be killed when you go back, right?"
That irritatingly light, frivolous voice reached his ears. Kokushibo spared a glance at Douma; he had never liked the man.
The reason was simple: Douma possessed a certain "Transparent Heartlessness" that was vaguely similar to Yoriichi.
No, saying that was an insult to Yoriichi.
Douma's heartlessness was more like a puppet devoid of any human emotion, while the quality Yoriichi possessed was more akin to a god who happened to have human feelings.
But... even a sliver of similarity was enough to make him loathsome.
You are far inferior to him!
Douma didn't seem to notice Kokushibo's loathing. He continued to look at Kokushibo with a grin, teasingly laughing:
"Lord Kokushibo, if you end up being killed by Lord Muzan, won't you be unable to fulfill the promise you made to that human? If that happens, do you need me to deliver a message for you? Oh! I know! After I deliver the message, can I eat him? Although I don't like eating men—their bodies are a bit tough and they smell bad—I think a man who caught the eye of both you and Lord Muzan is worth a taste. Did you give him that broken flute? It looked very ordinary. Why did you keep it on you? Is it a memento of someone important? I didn't think you were the sentimental type, Lord Kokushibo. I thought you—"
This time, before Douma could finish his sentence, he felt a series of sharp pains erupt inside his mouth.
With a wet splat, Douma's tongue was sliced clean off. As blood sprayed, the intense pain forced physiological tears to leak from his eyes.
"This is a warning. If you are dissatisfied with me, you can apply for a Blood Battle to swap ranks, rather than chattering incessantly here."
Kokushibo sheathed his sword, his voice returning to its usual cold and heartless tone.
However, because his tongue hadn't been cut by Kiyokazu's Nichirin Sword, Douma recovered very quickly. He rubbed his chin and said somewhat complainingly:
"My, my, Lord Kokushibo, you really are cold. You weren't like this when you were talking to that human just now. Ah—don't get excited, Lord Kokushibo! I just wanted to ask, shouldn't we go check on Lord Gyokko? He seems to still be at the foot of the mountain."
Pausing his hand, which had already drawn his sword halfway, Kokushibo looked toward the base of the mountain with an indifferent expression.
"A large number of Demon Slayer Corps members are approaching, and there are Hashira among them. There is no need to get entangled with them. Gyokko can escape on his own. If he cannot, it simply proves he is a fellow of only that caliber."
Douma waved his hand helplessly. "Ah~ how heartless, Lord Kokushibo. Then why did you take me with you? Was it to save me? Or to save that human?"
The hand Kokushibo was using to grip Douma's collar suddenly bulged with veins.
This fellow... is truly disgusting!
He's only slightly better than Yoriichi.
In the mountain forest, once he confirmed that Kokushibo's aura had completely vanished, the tension that had been holding Kiyokazu together finally snapped. Extreme fatigue and pain flooded over him like a tidal wave.
His vision darkened, and Kiyokazu's body swayed, nearly toppling to the ground.
"Hey! Kid! Can you still hold on?"
The Stone Hashira struggled to sit up, but the movement agitated his wounds, making him grimace in pain.
"I'm... alright for the moment..."
Operating his Sun Breathing subconsciously, Kiyokazu panted heavily. He looked at the Stone Hashira, who was still conscious, and offered a weary but bright smile.
"We... finally survived."
"No... currently, you're the only one who can say that. My internal organs are about to spill out! And my stomach—I think that guy sliced it open just now. I just ate a five-layer red bean rice bowl tonight! Ugh... I can't do this. I'm leaking from the top mouth and the bottom ones. Can you give me a hand?!"
Kiyokazu looked at the Stone Hashira in front of him, his forehead suddenly covered in imaginary black lines.
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Demon Slayer: Starting by Snatching Daki(194 Chapter- Ongoing)
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