It's over.
Just like that?
The result came so suddenly that Chrollo, Shalnark, and Pakunoda just stood there on the trash mountain, stunned.
This pile of garbage stacked dozens of meters high was never a good place to linger, but the three of them shared a single pair of binoculars in turns, and not one of them mentioned going home.
"Bolton… and Elder Illya… they're just dead like that?"
Shalnark swallowed hard, then slowly turned to the boy beside him.
"Chrollo, 4th Street's about to change hands."
Chrollo said nothing.
His original intent had been to draw tiger to eat wolf—use the tiger to devour the wolf and let their boss Berus expand his territory.
He'd never imagined that the "preacher," the "priest," was neither tiger nor wolf, but a dragon like in Clean-Up Squad—the kind that coils its tail once and is enough to surround an entire city.
"One thing's certain: with him around, even if Berus wants to reach his hand into 4th Street, there's nothing he can do without that man's consent."
Pakunoda's tone was low.
"At least in terms of pure combat, he's far stronger than we'd guessed."
"That… isn't power a normal human can possess," Chrollo murmured.
Even from afar, his heart was still racing. Through the binoculars, with just one glance at that priest with the sword, his pulse had spiked—
That blade, those explosions, and Illya's vector-controlling ability—all of it had been erased like nothing.
"No regular human can do that."
"It's Nen," Pakunoda said, expression serious. "Something called Nen."
"Like magic in Clean-Up Squad?" Shalnark's eyes sparkled, gaze glued to her.
Pakunoda noticed that Chrollo was also watching her. She shook her head.
"That, I don't know."
Arms folded, chest rising and falling under her shirt, she thought for a moment.
"I only know what Sister Renko from the church told me. That day, I saw her stitching up little Mary's corpse—no needle, no thread—and the body looked perfectly repaired. I was curious and asked… and that's what she called it: Nen."
"Sister Renko… You didn't ask if you could learn it too? It's superpowers—"
"Shalnark."
Chrollo cut him off with a glance, then turned to Pakunoda.
"Pakunoda, don't mention this outside," he said quietly.
In Meteor City, the more you know, the deeper you get dragged into things—and the closer you get to death.
Pakunoda nodded solemnly.
"…Got it."
"Let's go," Chrollo said at last.
"Go where?" Shalnark asked.
Chrollo narrowed his eyes toward the grey-white church with the missing wall.
"There."
Shalnark and Pakunoda stared.
"He's even scarier than Bolton!" Shalnark blurted.
"Exactly. So if he does want to kill us, do you think we can outrun him? Do you think Berus can protect us?"
Chrollo spoke calmly.
"He's already noticed we were watching. If we don't go explain ourselves and he gets the wrong idea…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
Both Shalnark and Pakunoda fell silent.
In a world of weak and strong, the weak don't get to choose.
They'd been spotted peeping on a monster. Whether that monster chose not to care was his whim.
As Berus liked to say:
"The less a strong man cares, the luckier we insects are. The moment he does care—that's when our nightmare begins."
So…
Chrollo exhaled slowly.
"He can pretend he never saw us. We don't have the right to pretend it never happened."
He climbed down the garbage mound first.
"Pakunoda, you?"
Me?
Pakunoda answered with action. She stepped down after him.
"…Tch."
Shalnark grit his teeth and followed.
Their footsteps moved over the trash, down toward 4th Street.
Behind them, with the final deafening boom—
Kastro's flaming handknife pierced the last black-suited man's heart.
White hair matted with blood, he stood like a demon at the shattered church gates, surveying his work: broken limbs and gore splashed across the ground.
Then his ears twitched.
He lowered his gaze—and saw three kids frozen at the bottom of the trash mountain.
As they approached, Chrollo in front, the three of them stopped together.
They held their breath without realizing it.
Seeing at a distance with binoculars was one thing.
Seeing up close—with the stench of blood drilling directly into their sinuses, with their feet slipping on congealing puddles of red and chunks of human flesh, all beneath the skeleton of a "holy" spire—
It was something else entirely.
Shalnark instantly regretted coming.
His legs wouldn't listen to him.
And he wasn't a coward normally—he'd gladly brawl with Uvogin over a busted arcade cabinet even if he got his face smashed in every time.
"What do you want?"
Three words, flat and cold, slid from Kastro's mouth.
Pakunoda instinctively grabbed onto Chrollo's sleeve.
Even Chrollo, always calm and calculating, found himself struggling to speak under the weight of the kid's bloodlust and aura.
Then a gentle voice drifted from inside the church.
"Doro, let them in."
Kastro wiped his face clean of blood and answered crisply,
"Yes, sir."
He threw one last unreadable look at the three kids, turned, and walked back inside.
"Chrollo…"
Pakunoda and Shalnark looked to him.
He stared a moment, then took a step forward, through the bloody threshold.
The three of them entered the empty nave, breathing in air still tinged with heat from the Bankai.
Their eyes reflected the blackened walls and melted stone… and the boy in the priest's robe, back turned to them, hands clasped behind him as he studied the remnants of stained glass on the wall.
Chrollo, imitating Father Daniel at the chapel, pressed fingers to brow and chest and bowed slightly.
Shalnark and Pakunoda followed suit.
"Chrollo, Shalnark, Pakunoda pay respect to you, Father," Chrollo said. "May your Lord's light bless you with health and a life free of worry."
"…Heh."
A soft chuckle drifted through the hall, sweeping away the last bit of heat.
The boy turned around.
Kastro stood beside him, expression blank, like a watchdog on a leash.
"I'm not Daniel Lauren," Roy said, smiling. "And my faith isn't in Allah. Don't mix that up in the future."
He knows Father Daniel's name?!
All three froze.
Looking closer, they realized the pendant at the boy's chest wasn't a cross at all—it was a sun.
They'd just prayed to somebody else's god.
Doing that in someone else's church was… like cheating on your wife on your wedding night. In front of her.
"Boss, should I kill them too?" Kastro asked quietly.
To him, this was simple cleanup work.
Roy patted his shoulder lightly.
"The ignorant bear no sin," he said. He looked at the three kids and smiled.
"No need to be nervous. I know you three meant no harm. There's nothing to explain."
Three days from now, if you're hungry, you can come here for a meal."
"…Free?" Shalnark asked timidly.
"Free," Roy replied.
"So… can we go?"
"Do as you like."
Pakunoda tugged on Chrollo's sleeve again.
Shalnark kept frantically darting his eyes at the door.
Chrollo lowered his head and bowed deeply.
"Sorry for offending you," he said. "Please pass our apologies to your God."
"He's been watching you this whole time," Roy replied mildly. "If you've sinned, He already knows."
"May I ask," Chrollo said, "who He is?"
The three of them followed Roy's pointing finger upward.
A blazing sun hung high above the ruined rafters, spilling light into the emptiness.
"Just that?" they thought for a heartbeat.
Then Roy's voice came:
"My Lord is the Sun."
The three stood frozen for a long moment.
When they came back to themselves, a breeze slipped under their feet like a gust of grace—
And suddenly, they were outside, standing in front of the closed doors.
The church boomed shut with a quiet "thunk."
Separating those within and without into two different worlds.
"Chrollo…"
Shalnark and Pakunoda turned to him.
He stared at the door for a long while.
Finally he said,
"Let's go."
Exactly as he'd predicted…
They'd barely made it off 4th Street and into 3rd when they were "invited" back to the estate of the Tenth Elder of Meteor City's Council—Berus Raymond, the "Phony Saint."
At the same time, the explosion and light-show at the grey church spread, despite Roy's laziness in bothering to suppress rumors.
Word rippled through the "dumping ground" the world had thrown away.
Every block. Every alley.
West District, 1st Street. The main mosque.
Veiled Sister Renko was the first to bring the news to old Daniel Lauren.
A new preacher had appeared in Meteor City—after the string of traffickers, someone had arrived to "spread the word." And what's more, it seemed he worshipped a different god.
Renko was very curious: what would Father Daniel think of this?
But,
"I'm old," Daniel said, settling onto a low stool in the courtyard. "I don't have any 'position' left to take."
He leaned against a stone column, basking in the light, eyes closed.
"Good or bad, who to trust, who not to… that's not for me to decide. That's their freedom."
"Renko," he added, half-smiling, "when I'm dead, if you still want someone to follow, that boy might not be a bad choice."
"He wouldn't look twice at me," Renko muttered. "I'm no match for him."
She stood in the doorway, figure slender and graceful under her veil, twirling a lock of hair.
"He killed Bolton and Illya. Those two weren't simple. Meteor City isn't going to be peaceful for a while."
"Heh-heh-heh…"
The old priest opened his eyes halfway, gaze drifting past the drifting clouds until he caught just a sliver of sun.
"You know what old men crave most?" he asked.
"What?"
"Just a bit of sunlight," he said, extending a bony hand. The sun warmed his palm. "Now go do your work. Don't block my sun."
Renko: "…"
"Fine. When you die I'll dump you naked in the wilderness and let you 'sunbathe' all you like," she thought sourly.
She stomped a tiny foot and swayed away in a swirl of fabric.
She thought he was brushing her off.
Truthfully, he just wanted to lie there and feel the sun.
Some people were born hating the sunlight, yet spent a thousand years chasing it—to become a "perfect being" free from its curse.
"Demon King Kibutsuji Muzan has gone to ground," the crow reported a world away. "And the Upper Moons are lying low as well…"
Republic of Padokea, Kukuroo Mountain. Zoldyck Family Estate.
4:30 a.m.
Roy (his true body) slipped out of the Demon Slayer world, through the prismatic dream channel, and woke up in his own bed.
When the crow brought this news from Ubuyashiki, Roy realized he'd still underestimated just how good Muzan was at being a coward.
The man had clearly decided to treat him the way he'd treated Yoriichi:
Hide.
Stretch out his inhuman lifespan and wait for Roy to die of age. Crawl out when the threat was gone and resume as though nothing had changed.
But…
Could Kibutsuji Muzan really endure it?
Could he ignore the one thing he'd coveted for nearly a thousand years—the chance to walk under the sun?
Roy remembered clearly:
The Blue Spider Lily Muzan needed had been under his nose the entire time.
Right there in the mountains behind the Kamado household—the grave of Yoriichi's wife Uta and their infant child.
If Muzan refused to come out, Roy had already decided.
He would drag a demon there, make Muzan watch, and then burn the flowers and the fields in front of his very eyes.
He wanted Muzan to know exactly what it felt like to see his last hope turned to ash.
A thin, cold smile formed at the corner of Roy's lips.
He thought of home.
The Kamado hut.
Tanjiro.
Father Tanjurō.
Mother Kie.
The younger siblings.
Grandma.
It had been nearly two years since he left.
It was almost time to go home and look in on them.
But before that, he needed the method of reverse conjuration.
The one-month deadline he'd agreed upon with Ging was nearly up.
And right on cue—
"Speak of the devil," Roy murmured as he finished his run, showered, and sat down at the table.
Buthorn pushed in the breakfast cart and delivered good news.
"Sir," the butler said, straightening his glasses, "we've received a message from the other party. The day after tomorrow, at 12 noon, meet in Wibis, on the west coast of the Yorubian continent."
"He says they've spotted something in a sea ruin about three hundred miles off Wibis—a creature suspected to be the Dream-Eater tapir."
The Dream-Eater tapir from the Dark Continent—forever wandering the border between "real" and "unreal"—the only known creature capable of reverse conjuration.
After nearly a month of waiting, Roy finally had a lead.
He spooned up some egg custard, swallowed, and said mildly,
"That's not all the message said, is it?"
"You see through everything, sir," Buthorn said, eyes narrowing with a flicker of amusement.
"She also asks that you be prepared to move," he added. "Departure plan: prison break."
As expected.
~~~
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