Priest Shibei.
As the man stepped into the room, Tsukihiko recognized the presence instantly. He was a top figure from the Priest Clan, a clan whose power, intellect, and bloodline were the stuff of legends. Tsukihiko had learned about them through his spies and the knowledge inherited from Muzan. They were the true pillar behind the Ubuyashiki family.
Simply put, the Demon Slayer Corps was the army that the Ubuyashiki family raised, but the Priest Clan was their hidden foundation. The Ubuyashiki acted as the public face, while the priests pulled the strings from the shadows. Of course, the curse that afflicted the Ubuyashiki bloodline was common knowledge. No direct heir ever lived past the age of thirty. This fact, combined with their unique inherited ability to sense the flow of the era, made them an enigmatic and tragic family.
It was this very curse that had led them to the Priest Clan centuries ago. After all, the curse began because a demon—Muzan Kibutsuji—had been born from their own bloodline. When their family was on the verge of extinction, the Priest Clan appeared, offering them a glimmer of hope. It was not a cure, but it gave them a way to fight back, a chance to endure. And so, for a thousand years, the Ubuyashiki family and the Demon Slayer Corps they commanded had been a thorn in Muzan's side.
But everything had changed recently. Tsukihiko's plans had systematically dismantled their defenses. He had destroyed the Final Selection at Fujikasane Mountain, killed a direct descendant of the Ubuyashiki family, and turned the former Water Hashira, Sakonji Urokodaki, into a demon. The appearance of Kamado Nezuko, the one demon in a millennium to escape Muzan's control through a bloodline mutation, had only accelerated the timeline.
This war, which had simmered for centuries, was finally reaching its boiling point. Tsukihiko's relentless attacks had pushed the Ubuyashiki family into a corner. Now, with the chaos at the train sites and the government in shambles, he was closer than ever to becoming the undisputed ruler of the nation. It was no surprise, then, that the Priest Clan had finally decided to show its face. If they remained hidden any longer, the future they had worked to protect would be lost forever.
Tsukihiko remained perfectly calm, as if the impossibly powerful man before him was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. He turned his attention away from the priest.
"Kametaro," he said calmly, "proceed as I instructed."
The Prime Minister, who had been kneeling silently on the floor, looked up. His eyes glowed with an unnatural, subservient light. "Yes, my lord."
In the blink of an eye, he vanished from his spot. The corpses of the other cabinet members, which had littered the floor moments before, vanished with him. They were now his demon slaves, just as he was Tsukihiko's.
"Kokushibo."
Tsukihiko's voice was cold and clear. "Step aside. Observe this priest's movements carefully. The next time you encounter a member of his clan, kill them without mercy."
The six-eyed demon swordsman, Upper Rank One of the Twelve Kizuki, appeared a dozen meters away as if he had teleported. His six eyes blinked slowly, taking in every detail of Priest Shibei—his stance, his breathing, his aura. To Kokushibo, this man might be a threat to lesser demons, but he was nothing more than another obstacle to be cut down. He saw no true danger.
"You are… Kibutsuji Muzan," Priest Shibei finally spoke, his voice steady. He had stopped in the center of the room, his long robes fluttering though there was no wind. A powerful aura surged from him, pressing down on the room. He had been building his power from the moment he left his shrine, focusing all of his energy for this single confrontation. The Priest Clan had studied the Demon King for a thousand years, and his existence was more significant to them than Tsukihiko could have ever imagined.
"Let me see," the priest continued, his voice low and dangerous, "what kind of evolution you have undergone."
He took another step forward. In an instant, the very air in the room seemed to shift. Terrifying currents of power surged toward the ceiling, and the entire building groaned as if it were about to collapse. The battle was about to begin.
…
At that very same moment, at the ancestral home of the Ubuyashiki family, a messenger delivered the news. Kagaya Ubuyashiki had received word the instant Priest Shibei entered the city. Hearing that their trump card was finally in play, Kagaya let out a long, pained sigh of relief. He had been overwhelmed by Tsukihiko's recent moves and the terrible news coming from the Demon Slayer Corps.
He knew that as powerful as the nine Hashira were, they were not yet at their peak. None of them had awakened the Mark, nor did any of them possess the original Breathing Style, Sun Breathing. In their current state, every move Muzan made was a devastating blow to the Corps and the Ubuyashiki family. If they couldn't withstand this assault, everything would be lost.
"The Priest Clan has finally made its move," Kagaya whispered, forcing himself to stand despite the agonizing pain that coursed through his body. The curse was progressing, but his dark, clouded eyes burned with an intense hatred for Muzan.
"However," he continued, turning his thoughts to his swordsmen, "this is also a moment of life or death for the Hashira."
He had already learned about the ambushes at the three train sites. It was far too late to send reinforcements—and besides, who could he send? The Hashira were already the strongest fighting force the Demon Slayer Corps had.
The only thing they could do now was hope. Hope that this desperate, impossible situation would push the Hashira beyond their limits and force them to awaken the Mark. The Mark was one of the keys to enhancing a slayer's strength, a power that hadn't been seen in generations. With their specialized Breathing Styles, Nichirin Blades, and advanced intelligence network, the Corps was formidable. But the Mark was the final, most important piece.
If they could awaken it, their power would increase tremendously. It was their only chance.
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