Muzan frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he lowered his head to stare at Kokushibo. "Say goodbye to me…? Kokushibo, do you understand what you're saying?"
"I… understand." Kokushibo's archaic noble cadence remained unchanged. "But staying… is not… a benefit… to me… it is… a constraint."
"You intend to… betray me?"
"I only wish to pursue my own path in swordsmanship," Kokushibo said, lifting his head. "That is why I've come today—to return your blood."
"Then how is this any different from before?" Muzan's smile was beginning to collapse. "You know I've always been generous. I've never interfered with you."
"I became a demon to surpass him," Kokushibo said, meeting Muzan's eyes directly, "but your blood is no longer an aid to me."
"…And if I refuse?" Muzan tilted his chin slightly, squinting. "Do you believe I would tolerate betrayal?"
Kokushibo remained silent, yet Muzan could clearly sense it: the moment those words left his mouth, a distinct surge of danger emanated from Kokushibo.
"If possible, I have no intention of becoming your enemy," Kokushibo said calmly. "I only wish to fulfill my own ambition."
Muzan lowered his gaze to Kokushibo's face—so perfectly identical to Yoriichi's—before shifting his attention to the separated pool of blood on the floor.
All demons created by Muzan possessed power derived from his blood. Because their strength came from his blood, Muzan could control them.
Aside from the time centuries ago when Yoriichi injured him so grievously that he temporarily lost control of his blood, no demon had ever escaped his grasp.
Even the ones who slipped away could be found if he searched earnestly. Once he drew near enough, he could disrupt them through their shared blood. None had ever been able to sever his blood from themselves.
But now, he couldn't sense Kokushibo at all.
Which meant Kokushibo had already broken entirely free.
How did he do it? Why can he do this? Should I kill him here? Can I even kill him?
A chill crawled up Muzan's spine. His rose-red pupils shimmered with killing intent. But as he looked at Kokushibo bowing respectfully before him, he chose in the end to yield.
A scarlet whip extended from Muzan's back, stabbing into the blood before Kokushibo and reclaiming every drop.
"…Very well. I trust you won't make any unnecessary decisions. Nakime."
"Thank you for your understanding." Kokushibo rose slowly. As the sliding paper door appeared before him, he turned his head slightly back toward Muzan. "I did not erase the memories contained in the blood. I ask that you do not seek him out. He is now my goal."
Muzan watched him leave with a deep frown, then closed his eyes, examining the memories contained in the recovered blood.
Moments later, he understood what Kokushibo meant.
"Tsugikuni Hiru… that puppet isn't dead? Then that man…" Veins bulged violently at Muzan's temples, but beneath the anger was a suffocating, ever-spreading terror. "No… no… no… that swordsman should be dead. We even found his corpse back then…
And if he were alive, Kokushibo's reaction would be far stronger than this… Hmph! To still retain human emotion… pathetic creature.
But in the end, that man couldn't bring himself to strike, could he? A demon who isn't harmed by sunlight… perhaps I could…"
"Nakime. Summon the remaining Twelve Kizuki. Immediately. At once."
Still seated in the corner with her head bowed, Nakime plucked her biwa lightly. "Yes, Master."
Muzan watched the shifting structure of the Infinity Castle, violence simmering in his eyes. "What… a detestable variable."
...
"Achoo!"
"Have you caught a cold?"
"No, it's fine." Hiru covered his nose and waved a hand dismissively at the Kakushi before him. "Anyway, hasn't my sword been delivered yet? It's been over a month."
"Ahem… well… after forging it, Akiha-sama seems to have gone into hiding…" The Kakushi lowered his head. "We're terribly sorry we couldn't locate him…"
"Wasn't there a guy named Hotaru who could find him?"
"Hotaru-sama was sent by the village chief to mine ore…" The Kakushi lowered his head even further. "Our sincerest apologies… But after this Hashira Meeting, you may travel to the Swordsmith Village yourself."
Hiru stared at the buildings, which looked nearly identical to how they did half a year ago. "You can just walk into the Swordsmith Village?"
"No, you still need to be escorted," the Kakushi admitted awkwardly. "But when Swordsmen can't get their blades, we bring them to the village to speak with the swordsmiths directly…"
"…You're all kind of useless." Hiru watched the Kakushi, who was already visibly deflated, and somehow grew dispirited as well. "Yeah… I'm pretty useless too…"
Despite his gloom, the Kakushi forced himself to perk up and comfort him. "Please don't say that. You received your promotion notice, didn't you? Hashira are the pillars that hold up the Corps!"
"But I haven't even learned a Breathing Style yet… How am I supposed to name it?" Hiru frowned at him. "Everyone else introduces themselves while slaying demons as 'I am the Water Hashira so-and-so' or 'I am the Wind Hashira so-and-so,' but mine will be 'I am… Hashira Man so-and-so'… That just sounds lame."
"Oyakata-sama will surely bestow a fitting title upon you!"
"That's right! It may not match the majesty of me, the magnificent God of Festivals, but I'm sure you'll get a splendid title too!"
Hiru's eyes instantly dulled. He looked toward the man perched on the nearby rooftop. "Are you some kind of flamboyant maniac? Every time I see you it's all 'flashy' this, 'flashy' that."
"Speaking to your senior that way is not flashy at all!" Uzui Tengen jumped down and waved the Kakushi away. "You can go now. The flashy me will take over."
"Yes. I leave him in your care, Sound Hashira."
"A Swordsman who can't even use Breathing Styles, yet he becomes a Hashira so easily." Uzui bent forward, rubbing his chin as he leaned into Hiru's space. "Hmph~ You're pretty flashy yourself—"
Hiru didn't respond. He simply stepped back and walked away with a frown.
Uzui, unfazed, followed cheerfully. "Let this God of Festivals help you come up with a flashy title! You're good at painting, aren't you? How about the Painting Hashira? Or the Art Hashira?"
"No." Hiru quickened his pace. "I don't want something as elegant and relaxing as painting associated with something as awful as combat."
[If you weren't so good-looking, I wouldn't entertain you at all.]
"How about the Bright Hashira then? You can wield a Bright Red Nichirin Blade. Very flashy!"
A vein throbbed at Hiru's temple. "Then why don't you rename yourself the Lightning Hashira or the Glamour Hashira?"
"As the successor of Sound Breathing, the Sound Hashira title is only natural! And as the flashy God of Festivals, I must show tolerance to the common folk. With the title Sound Hashira, they can approach me more easily." Uzui lifted his chin proudly, utterly unaffected. "So, how about Path Hashira?"
"Huh? Why would anyone have a name like that?"
"Because you're always getting lost! Or we could go with Lost Hashira!"
Hiru: …[Smiling JPG.]