Beneath the cold moonlight.
Crack!
A pale arm reached out from the ruins, grabbed a wooden plank pressing down on it, and then exerted a sudden burst of force!
The already charred plank instantly shattered, and a mangled, bloody figure took the opportunity to crawl out of the rubble.
The skin on its body and face was almost completely peeled away.
Aside from a few patches of charred skin, vast swathes of crimson muscle and blood vessels were exposed to the air.
On its head, one could even see its fractured skull and faintly pulsing brain.
An ordinary human would have long since perished from such injuries.
Clearly, this was no ordinary person.
Sure enough, following a mournful, low growl from its throat, its muscles began to writhe.
New flesh budded and grew, the charred skin sloughed off, and its formidable demon constitution continuously repaired its body.
As the last strands of greenish-black hair grew from its newly formed scalp, Yushiro collapsed to his knees as if he had exhausted all his strength.
His chest heaved violently.
While gasping for air, he couldn't help but scan his surroundings.
If one had to describe the scene, only "hell" would suffice.
The simple wooden house that had served as their temporary headquarters was now utterly reduced to a pile of debris.
The ground was littered with the mangled corpses of Kakushi members, along with dried bloodstains and fragments of flesh everywhere.
There were even dozens of dead Kasugai Crows.
Amidst the ruins, traces of a fierce battle remained—the distinctive charred slash marks of Thunder Breathing snaked across the ground, and the earth churned up by Water Breathing still gave off a damp scent... Two broken Nichirin Swords were thrust firmly into the ground.
All of this silently spoke of the tragic intensity of the battle to defend this place not long ago.
He thought of the two white-haired, elderly men who, when the enemy attacked, had erupted with courage and strength no less than any youth, resolutely standing at the forefront—the former Water Hashira, Sakonji Urokodaki, and the former Thunder Hashira, Jigoro Kuwajima.
Even the ever-prideful Yushiro couldn't help but feel a heartfelt admiration.
They had fought to the very last moment.
However, admiration could not change the cruel reality.
Nezuko had still been snatched away by that demon, Shokyu who had appeared out of nowhere and possessed unfathomable power.
The two former Hashira had given their all, possibly even their lives, but had failed to stop him.
"That guy... Just who is he?!" Yushiro gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand.
The tenacious regenerative ability of his demon constitution allowed him to move after a brief rest.
He couldn't collapse.
There was still no news of Lady Tamayo, and he had promised her he would protect this place, but now...
In any case, he had to first assess the situation here.
Yushiro began to search arduously through the deathly silent ruins.
His special Blood Demon Art allowed his energy to spread out like a spider's web, sensing for any possible signs of life.
But the feedback he received was nothing but dead silence.
A heavy sense of despair threatened to swallow Yushiro whole.
Could it be... that there were truly no survivors?
Just as Yushiro was about to give up and prepare to rush to the main battlefield to rendezvous with Lady Tamayo...
Thump...
An extremely faint heartbeat, as if it could be extinguished at any moment, emanated from beneath the rubble and was keenly captured by Yushiro.
There was a survivor!
Yushiro's spirits surged.
He immediately homed in on the faint heartbeat and frantically dug through layer after layer of charred wood and rubble.
Finally, after clearing away a section of heavy, broken beams and blackened wood fragments, the sight before him left Yushiro utterly stunned, his pupils contracting violently in shock.
There, in a small triangular space formed by the ruins, several Kakushi members, long since deceased, were kneeling in a protective posture, layered one on top of the other.
They had formed a barrier with their bodies—a barrier forged from life itself.
And in the deepest part of the small space propped up by their flesh and blood, a small figure was curled up—the new leader of the Demon Slayer Corps: Kiriya Ubuyashiki!
The eight-year-old Kiriya was pale, his eyes shut tight.
His breathing was so faint it was almost imperceptible, but he was alive!
The weak heartbeat had come from him!
In the final moments of life and death, these ordinary Kakushi members, who lacked even direct combat abilities, had used their own bodies to shield their master from the fatal attack and the collapsing debris.
They had protected the last hope and legacy of the Demon Slayer Corps at the cost of their lives.
Witnessing this tragic and heroic scene, even someone as stoic as Yushiro felt an inexpressible sense of shock and emotion.
At certain moments, human courage and loyalty shone more brilliantly than the stars in the heavens.
...
Meanwhile, dozens of miles away on the main battlefield.
Squish!
With a final, furious slash from Sanemi Shinazugawa, filled with rage and grief, the last low-rank demon on the field was utterly shredded.
The deafening clamor of the battlefield finally began to subside as hundreds upon hundreds of demons were slain.
However, the joy of victory did not come.
The Demon Slayers, having endured a brutal slaughter, leaned on their swords, gasping for breath.
Their bodies were covered in wounds, and fresh blood soaked through their tattered uniforms.
They looked around, their eyes met with the cold corpses of their comrades and the blood that stained the earth.
The thick stench of blood filled the air.
The Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps gathered together, their faces etched with exhaustion, gravity, and bewilderment.
Giyu Tomioka silently wiped the filth and blood from his blade. Sabito gazed into the distance with a worried look.
Kyojuro Rengoku's lips were pressed into a tight line, the fire in his eyes seeming to have dimmed.
Gyomei Himejima softly chanted sutras for the departed, tears streaming silently down his face.
Tengen Uzui, Obanai Iguro, Mitsuri Kanroji… every one of them was injured, their expressions grim.
The Demon Slayer Corps had paid a terrible price in this battle.
The lives of over a hundred young and valiant slayers had been cut short forever.
Yet, their primary target, Muzan Kibutsuji, had not been slain.
Instead, he had been spirited away by that mysterious demon, Shokyu, using some bizarre technique, his fate was unknown.
Not only that, but an enemy who seemed even more terrifying and unpredictable than Muzan had appeared out of nowhere.
This Shokyu had not only effortlessly dealt with Muzan and three Upper Ranks, but had also abducted Nezuko and grievously wounded Shinichi.
At this moment, Shinichi was lying on a simple stretcher.
Shinobu and Kanae were urgently treating the ghastly, penetrating wound in his chest.
The residual demon blood in Shinichi's body was slowly repairing his injuries, but it was far from keeping pace with the rate of his body's collapse.
Shinichi's breathing grew ever fainter.
Even worse news continued to arrive, casting a heavy shadow over everyone's heart.
The temporary headquarters had been ambushed, communications were completely severed, and the situation was unknown.
Were Urokodaki, Kuwajima, and the young Master safe?
In that moment, exhaustion, the pain of their wounds, the grief from their sacrifices, uncertainty about the future, and a deep-seated dread of the mysterious Shokyu washed over everyone present like a tidal wave.
They had won the brutal battle, yet it felt as if they had lost the entire war.
What path lay ahead?
Where could hope be found? No one had an answer.
Only the cold, clear moonlight shone silently down upon the land soaked in blood and sorrow.
---------
Read 35 chapters ahead and support me on patreon.
patreon (.)com/Newbietranslator