The battle raged on, fierce and unrelenting.
The five Upper Moons clashed violently with Hakuji and his allies.
Hakuji, using his Destructive Death: Compass Needle, fought tsukumogami and his doppelgänger evenly, neither side gaining ground.
Gyutaro locked horns once more with Hantengu, who had created yet another clone—this one with the character "Resentment" carved upon its tongue: the Demon of Resentment.
Ume, though unable to deal lasting damage to Gyokko, managed to hold him at bay, preventing him from aiding the others.
Koyuki, fighting alongside the Butterfly Sisters, withstood Dōma's onslaught, barely keeping him at bay despite the disadvantage.
For a time, the battles were balanced—none able to overpower the other.
But then, the Upper Rank Six, Mando, who until now had only observed from the sidelines, finally moved after seeing Zohakuten destroyed.
"Blood Demon Art: Mirror Reversal!"
Before Hantengu appeared a mirror. Gyutaro's flying blood sickles, aimed for Hantengu's true body, were absorbed into the glass—only to reemerge, turned back upon Gyutaro himself.
Caught off guard, Gyutaro was struck by his own blood blades, his left arm severed in an instant.
His face darkened as he glared at Mando.
"Interrupting another man's fight is terribly rude. Blood Demon Art: Flying Blood Sickles!"
He swung his scythes, sending a volley of blood blades slicing toward Mantō.
But Mandō, with his vacant, dull expression, simply invoked another art:
"Blood Demon Art: Mirror Concealment!"
A mirror materialized behind him, drawing his body within and vanishing. Gyutaro's blades struck only the earth, blasting it apart in a cloud of dust.
Meanwhile, Dōma, who had been toying with Koyuki and the Butterfly Sisters as if it were a game, murmured softly when he noticed Mandō's sudden intervention.
"So… Mandō finally makes his move? Then the outcome is already decided."
The sisters didn't understand his words. Mandō was only Upper Rank Six—surely he could not threaten warriors like Hakuji and the others.
But Dōma, shaking his fans lightly, laughed.
"Ah, you don't understand. Mandō is only ranked Sixth because he lacks any offensive ability. His strength lies in his unique mirror realm. No attack can touch him, and all attacks, no matter how strong, are returned in full through his mirrors. Even I… can do nothing against him."
As if to prove Dōma's claim, Mando's figure suddenly appeared beside Akaza.
At that moment, Hakuji unleashed his ultimate art—
Destructive Death: Final Form – Blue Silver Chaotic Afterglow!
A storm of projectiles rained down toward tsukumogami and the doppelgänger.
But two mirrors instantly appeared before them, swallowing every strike. The next moment, the same barrage reappeared, redirected straight into Hakuji himself.
His body was riddled with countless wounds, torn and pierced by his own power.
Elsewhere, Ume's silken threads, meant for Gyokko, were suddenly drawn into a mirror as well.
Then, before Gyutaro, another mirror opened—and the very same threads burst forth, slicing into him without warning.
Caught unprepared, Gyutaro's body was cleaved in two, crashing heavily to the ground.
The Butterfly Sisters stared in disbelief. In an instant, what had been evenly matched battles had been overturned completely.
As Mandō slipped once more into the safety of his mirrors, the sound of a biwa resonated through the battlefield.
A sliding wooden door manifested in midair. It opened, and two figures stepped forth.
One was a tall swordsman with six eyes, red flame-shaped markings burning across his forehead and neck, a blade studded with countless staring eyes at his waist—Kokushibō, Upper Rank One.
Beside him stood only a small boy—ordinary in appearance, unassuming in every way.
Yet Kokushibō stood respectfully behind him, his bearing solemn.
The boy's identity was beyond question.
He was Muzan Kibutsuji.
The moment the Upper Moons saw him, they abandoned their battles entirely, kneeling at once before their master.
Kokushibō's six eyes swept across them, his tone stern.
"Dawn is nearly upon us. Why has this battle not yet ended?"
Gyokko opened his mouth to explain, but a single glance from Muzan silenced him. Trembling, he pressed his head to the ground, unable to speak.
Muzan's crimson eyes gleamed coldly as he spoke, his voice carrying crushing weight.
"Do not make excuses for your failures. I brought you here to fight, and you have squandered my expectations. Centuries have passed, and yet your strength has not grown in the slightest. Remember this—the demons of the Twelve Kizuki can be replaced at any time. When you cease to have value to me, you will be discarded. Do you understand?"
None dared to answer. The Upper Moons held their tongues in terrified silence.
Muzan's expressionless gaze turned briefly to Hakuji and the others. Though no demonic aura radiated from him, the sheer force of his presence alone sent cold sweat dripping down their backs.
Then Muzan lifted his eyes—not at them, but at the dark cherry blossom grove beyond.
"Yōsuke Ubuyashiki," he called softly. "Since you are here, will you not step forth?"
The words had scarcely left his lips before a figure dropped from above, landing firmly before Hakuji and his allies.
"Yōsuke-sama!" Hakuji, Gyutaro, Koyuki, and Ume cried in relief.
"Master…" the Butterfly Sisters whispered in shock. Their teacher—always, it seemed, by their side unseen.
Yōsuke gave them no answer. His eyes were fixed on Muzan as he spoke with quiet scorn.
"You haven't changed, Muzan. Cold and merciless—even to your own followers."
Muzan snorted, his tone dripping disdain.
"They are nothing more than tools for the fulfillment of my vision. Tell me, Yōsuke Ubuyashiki—do you mean to fight me here and now?"
Yōsuke chuckled softly.
"Fight? Against you, hiding behind these puppets of yours? If you truly wished to battle, you'd come in person. This body here… is nothing but a construct of flesh and blood. A mere fragment of yourself."
Muzan's lips curved in a cold smile.
"…So you noticed. Yes, this is but a vessel of my making. Still, Yōsuke… you are as obstinate as ever. A thousand years, and you continue to hound me."
Yōsuke's voice was calm, steady.
"And tell me, Muzan—in those thousand years… what have you gained?"
Muzan did not answer directly. His crimson gaze narrowed as he returned the question.
"And you? You parade as a savior, always standing against me. But in truth, you disgust me even more than myself. I seek only immortality, to become the ultimate being of this world. I strive for that end with all my might. But you… what is it you seek? In these thousand years, what have you achieved?"
A single cherry blossom petal drifted into Yōsuke's hand. He lifted it gently, inhaling its fragrance. As the wind carried it away, his voice lingered.
"I seek nothing. I claim nothing. To remember the scent of this flower… is enough to honor the passage of time."
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