After severing the mass of tentacles, Tanjiro turned anxiously to Inosuke.
"Inosuke, are you all right?!"
Feeling that his dignity as the "senior" had been damaged, Inosuke snapped back,
"Don't you dare think you saved me!"
"I know!" Tanjiro answered firmly. Crouching low, he sensed a dense, overwhelming stench of demon blood directly beneath them.
He slashed through the steel plating of the floor—revealing a grotesque bone, unmistakably a neck bone.
"Water Breathing, Eighth Form: Waterfall Basin!"
From above, Tanjiro unleashed a ferocious downward strike toward the bone.
But at that moment, a mass of flesh erupted around it, shielding the vital spot. The flesh spread outward in waves, forming a massive, bowl-shaped barrier.
As Tanjiro and Inosuke prepared to charge inside, countless tentacles sprouted up, each one covered in glaring eyes.
"Blood Demon Art: Compulsory Hypnosis—Eye!"
Tanjiro's vision blurred, his body collapsing toward unconsciousness. With his last strength, he cried out to his comrade:
"Inosuke! If you fall asleep—cut your own neck in the dream! That's how you wake up!"
Thanks to the warning, both boys, in the instant they fell into slumber, severed themselves within the dream and snapped back into reality.
Tanjiro dove into the bowl-shaped barrier, but as he fell, his eyes locked with another cluster of glaring eyes—and once again, darkness swallowed him.
Again and again, he cut his throat within the dream to return, only to look straight into another eye, slipping endlessly between dream and reality, until he no longer knew which was which.
At last, as he prepared to strike his own throat once more, Inosuke grabbed his arm.
"This isn't a dream! It's real! Don't be fooled, or you'll die like an idiot!"
Because his boar-head mask hid his gaze, the hypnotic eyes had little effect on Inosuke.
Suddenly, one of the train conductors stumbled onto the battlefield, clutching a hoe. With a crazed scream—
"Don't interfere with my dream!"
—he lunged at Inosuke.
Tanjiro moved without hesitation, shielding his friend. He struck the man unconscious with a hand chop, but not before the hoe pierced into his side. Blood poured freely from his waist.
Weakened and distracted, both Tanjiro and Inosuke were once again caught by Enmu's art, their consciousness dragged into dream.
This time, the dream was different.
Tanjiro stood upon a battlefield. All around him were men in Demon Slayer uniforms. Ahead, a battered man stood defiant—Kagaya Yosuke—his blade raised against a crowd of ordinary humans. Behind them, bound by ropes woven of blood, was a demon.
Tanjiro had never seen it before, but instinct told him—it was Kibutsuji Muzan.
He recalled Enmu's words: that Yosuke had once slaughtered a hundred innocents. He had thought it a lie. But now the scene unfolded before his eyes.
Muzan cowered behind the humans. To cut him down, one had to kill the people shielding him.
Slayers gathered, pleading with Yosuke to stop. Even Tanjiro felt his own voice rising, wanting to restrain him.
But then Yosuke spoke, his voice grave and resolute:
"These hundred lives—I alone shall bear them. With my own death, I will console their spirits."
At those words, Tanjiro could say nothing.
He felt the crushing weight of Yosuke's sorrow, the searing steel of his resolve.
As Yosuke cut down the people shielding Muzan, a glint of tears traced the corner of his eye. The grief radiating from him was so heavy, Tanjiro found it hard even to breathe.
Accusations and curses filled the battlefield. Yet Yosuke pressed on without hesitation, driving his blade into Muzan, pinning him to the earth—waiting alongside him for sunrise, for death.
"Please! Don't condemn him! Yosuke-sama bore a burden heavier than anyone could imagine!"
Tanjiro collapsed to his knees, sobbing, pleading. But this was only a dream. He could not change what had already been.
In the end, Muzan still escaped. Yosuke, shattered and despairing, cast aside his Nichirin Blade and vanished.
Tanjiro staggered to where the blade lay. The sun shone upon its chipped, battered edge. He stared, trembling with sorrow.
Perhaps I can't live up to Yosuke-sama's path. But no one has the right to deny, to insult, or to question the weight of his will.
Gripping the hilt, Tanjiro's eyes hardened.
"Even so—he never faltered. I must not falter either. I must not let this chain of sorrow continue. I will sever it!"
With that conviction, he used Yosuke's Nichirin Blade to cut his own throat, and once more tore free from the dream.
Tanjiro awoke, breath ragged, fingers brushing across the blood on his forehead. By scent alone, he knew—it was Nezuko's blood.
"Nezuko… did I dream of Yosuke-sama because his blood flows within you?"
Nearby, Inosuke also woke, having copied Tanjiro's method.
Tanjiro rose, gripping his sword tight. "Inosuke! Match my breathing! Together—we'll cut the demon's neck!"
Both boys leapt high. Tentacles lashed at them from every angle, but they cut them down in tandem, fighting shoulder-to-shoulder.
When another wave of glaring eyes erupted, Inosuke surged forward.
"Stay behind me! Just follow my lead!"
With reckless fury, he hacked apart the eyes that threatened to ensnare Tanjiro, clearing a path through the writhing mass.
"Beast Breathing, Fourth Fang: Slice 'Em Up!"
Crossing both blades, he slashed deep into the barrier. With a thunderous crack, the protective bowl shattered, and the demon's neck bone was exposed once more.
Tanjiro's eyes blazed with resolve.
Father! Yosuke-sama! Grant me your strength—this one strike will end it!
Leaping high, he raised his blade. The mist of his breath flared into fire, wreathing his sword in flame.
"Hinokami Kagura: Fire Wheel!"
A blazing arc of fire swept downward, cleaving through the demon's neck bone.
A scream unlike anything before shook the entire Mugen Train.
Enmu's neck severed, the train lost all control. It lurched violently, hurling Tanjiro from its roof.
Inside, every carriage writhed as Enmu's flesh transformed into a storm of tentacles, lashing indiscriminately at passengers.
Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Rengoku struck in unison, blades flashing, fire blazing, severing tendril after tendril to protect the innocent.
At last, the train screeched to a halt.
Inosuke jumped free and rushed to Tanjiro's side.
"Oi! You alive, Santarou? How's your gut?! You got stabbed pretty bad there!"
Tanjiro grimaced through the pain, hand pressed to his side. "I'm fine. Shinobu-san gave me medicine back at the Butterfly Mansion. I injected it already. It's under control. Inosuke—go, save the others!"
"Tch! Fine, fine! Since I'm the leader, I'll do it! Only because my underling asked, though!" Grumbling, Inosuke bounded back toward the train to rescue the wounded.
The demon flesh clinging to the carriages withered away.
Enmu's fading voice seethed with hatred.
"I… lost? Impossible. How could I…? Damn that boy! If not for him unraveling my art… I'd never have—! Curse you… at least… at least let me… kill him!"
He dragged his dissolving body forward, inch by inch toward Tanjiro. But before he could reach him, his form crumbled into ash, scattered by the wind.
Tanjiro pressed his hand to his wound, forcing his breathing steady, recalling the techniques taught at the Butterfly Mansion to numb the pain.
"Full Concentration… Constant. You've mastered it well."
A calm, strong voice entered his ears. Tanjiro looked up to see Rengoku standing over him, smiling.
"Rengoku-san… the others—"
"They're safe," Rengoku assured him. "Many are injured, but none will die. You've done enough. Rest now."
But before his words could settle, a mocking voice cut through the air:
"Heh. So the Lower Ranks truly are worthless. To be slain by a child who isn't even a Hashira… disgraceful."
Both Tanjiro and Rengoku turned sharply toward the sound.
There, in the clearing beyond, stood a figure clad in white burial robes. His eyes glowed with the kanji of Upper Rank Three. His gaze was cold, predatory, fixed upon them.
Upper Rank Three of the Twelve Kizuki—Tsukumogami—had appeared.
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