Chapter 90 90: Confronting the Upper Three

"Kid, can you handle this?"

Sanemi Shinazugawa's voice was sharp, his glare even sharper. He did not hide the doubt in his eyes.

Normally, Zenitsu would have shrieked, denied everything, and tried to crawl behind the nearest person who looked sturdy enough to use as a shield.

This time, he did not move.

"Shut up," Zenitsu said, his voice low. "I said I'll kill him."

He stepped forward, one hand resting on the hilt of his Nichirin Sword. His gaze never left Kaigaku.

Anyone could tell now.

This was not a simple battle between a Demon Slayer and a demon.

There was history here.

Kaigaku noticed it too. His lips curled into a sneer as he stepped out from behind the Upper Ranks.

"Well, look at you," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "The useless crybaby actually dares to challenge me now?"

Zenitsu's grip tightened.

Even through the anger, a sliver of reason remained. His voice trembled, not with fear, but with something heavier.

"Why did you become a demon?"

Kaigaku's expression froze for the briefest instant.

Zenitsu stared at him, eyes burning.

"Don't you understand what this means? Gramps will have to commit seppuku to atone for you!"

The moment those words left his mouth, Kaigaku burst into laughter.

It was loud, ugly, and twisted with resentment.

"So what?" Kaigaku said, his face contorting. "Then let him die! He deserves it for choosing trash like you and making us inherit Thunder Breathing together!"

Zenitsu went still.

That single answer told him everything.

There was no regret in Kaigaku.

No shame.

No sorrow.

Only bitterness, cowardice, and hatred.

The last hesitation inside Zenitsu disappeared.

He had only one thought left.

Kill him here.

Kill him before this news ever reached Gramps.

Even if it cost his life, he would not let that old man bear this shame.

Sanemi watched him for a moment. His fierce expression did not soften, but the disdain in his eyes faded.

So this brat had some spine after all.

If this was a personal grudge, and if Zenitsu was this determined, then there was no need to interfere.

Kyojuro Rengoku and Mitsuri Kanroji came to the same conclusion.

The three Hashira moved their attention away from Kaigaku.

Zenitsu had chosen his opponent.

Now it was their turn to choose theirs.

Gyokko, however, was not pleased.

His grotesque mouths twisted.

"So that little worm gets to fight one brat," he muttered, "while I have to face three Hashira by myself?"

His many hands twitched with irritation.

But there was no room to complain.

The battle erupted in the next breath.

Steel flashed. Demon aura surged. The night over the Swordsmith Village split open with killing intent.

Gyokko moved first, but he was immediately forced back.

Sanemi's wind roared like a blade-filled storm.

Kyojuro's flames surged with unyielding force.

Mitsuri's Love Breathing swept through the dark in graceful, unpredictable arcs.

The three Hashira pressed him hard from the opening exchange, giving him no space to display his art at leisure.

On the other side, Tanjirou faced the true nightmare.

Kokushibo.

Douma.

Akaza.

The top three Upper Ranks stood before him, each one a monster who had lived far beyond human limits.

Akaza struck first.

A shockwave tore through the air, invisible yet heavy enough to crush stone. Tanjirou planted his feet, both hands gripping Asuramaru as flames burst along the edge.

He slashed down.

The shockwave shattered beneath the burning sword.

"Asuramaru," Tanjirou said, his breath steady, "help me activate Demonization."

Inside the sword, Asuramaru smiled.

"I've been waiting for you to say that."

Demon Power flooded into Tanjirou's body.

It poured through his limbs, sank into his bones, and ignited every muscle like a hidden furnace. Purple markings crawled across his cheek. His eyes shifted to a pale violet, and the air around him changed.

The pressure rolling off him climbed sharply.

Akaza's smile widened.

Douma's rainbow eyes glittered with interest.

Even Kokushibo's six eyes narrowed.

Tanjirou drew the second Nichirin Sword at his waist.

Now holding a sword in each hand, he faced the three Upper Ranks head-on.

"Now," he said, his fighting spirit blazing, "let's try again."

In that moment, his power had risen beyond theirs.

Kokushibo observed him with unsettling calm.

"So this is the special state Muzan-sama spoke of," he said. "Impressive."

He gripped his own sword with both hands.

The blade in his grasp began to change.

Flesh and steel twisted together, extending, branching, warping into an even stranger weapon. Its edge curved like a sickle, irregular and sinister, yet held with perfect mastery.

"Do not come too close."

Kokushibo swung.

"Moon Breathing, Seventh Form: Mirror of Misfortune, Moonlit."

Five great shockwave slashes swept forward in a fan shape, each surrounded by countless crescent moon blades. The attack filled the space in front of him, impossible to dodge cleanly and deadly from every angle.

Tanjirou answered with his left hand.

He drew Demon Power up from below, condensed it along Asuramaru's edge, and slashed upward.

"Getsuga Tensho!"

A pitch-black crescent tore through the night.

It carved straight through Kokushibo's moonlit barrage, scattering crescent blades like broken glass, then continued toward Kokushibo himself.

Kokushibo leaped into the air.

"Difficult to defend against," he judged.

His blade swept out in a wide arc.

"Moon Breathing, Eighth Form: Moon-Dragon Tail!"

A massive slash roared across the battlefield, sweeping like a dragon's tail. Crescent moons erupted around it, sharp and chaotic, filling the air in glittering fragments of death.

At the same time, Douma's ice dolls moved.

Their small, delicate bodies darted from several directions, each bearing the same empty smile as their creator.

"Blood Demon Art: Freezing White Princesses."

The dolls raised their hands.

Two enormous maiden-shaped ice lotuses appeared, beautiful and eerie. Their mouths opened, releasing a pale freezing mist.

Wherever that frost passed, the ground iced over. Grass, stone, and wood froze in an instant.

And hidden within the cold was poison.

A normal swordsman who breathed it in would have his lungs ruined before he could even scream.

But Tanjirou was not unprotected.

A thin layer of Demon Power clung to his entire body under Asuramaru's control, shielding his skin and breath alike.

The frost could not reach him.

Tanjirou twisted his wrists.

Several black slashes swept outward.

The ice dolls were cut apart mid-charge, their bodies splitting down the middle before shattering into glittering fragments.

Akaza seized the opening.

He sprang into the air, fists pulled back.

"Destructive Death: Disorder!"

His fists blurred.

A storm of shockwaves rained down, each punch launching invisible force toward Tanjirou from above.

But before the barrage could swallow him, three sharp arcs shot upward.

"Asura Kannon, Three Swords!"

The three attacks pierced through Akaza's assault like arrows through paper.

Akaza's eyes widened.

The slashes struck his body.

In the next instant, they dissolved into a Demon Curse and burrowed into his flesh.

"So fast..."

Akaza's voice broke off.

His body convulsed. He spat out a mouthful of blood, then reacted without hesitation, tearing away the flesh around the wounds and flinging the corrupted meat onto the ground.

The Demon Curse died with the discarded flesh, unable to spread further.

Douma tilted his head with his usual smile.

"Akaza-dono, do be careful. I would be terribly sad if you died."

"Shut up!"

Akaza snarled without looking at him.

Kokushibo ignored both of them.

His attention remained fixed on Tanjirou.

Among the three Upper Ranks, Kokushibo was the one who could contend with him most directly in swordsmanship. His technique was refined to a terrifying degree, and every strike carried centuries of experience.

But Tanjirou's body had already surpassed reason.

Strength. Speed. Reflex. Endurance.

In every physical aspect, he stood above them.

The clash became brutal.

Kokushibo's Moon Breathing carved crescents through the battlefield. Tanjirou met them with fire, water, and black Demon Power. Their swords rang again and again, each collision shaking the air.

In only a short time, Kokushibo's body accumulated cuts.

Small wounds. Deep wounds. Burns that refused to heal properly. Slashes that carried a creeping curse beneath the surface.

Kokushibo's expression did not change.

He gripped his blade with both hands.

"Moon Breathing, Fourteenth Form: Catastrophe, Tenman Crescent Moon."

He swung with all his strength.

Overlapping vortex-like blade winds erupted, packed with crescent moon blades of different sizes. They twisted together into a storm that sealed the space around Tanjirou, cutting off every ordinary path of escape.

Tanjirou inhaled.

The scar on his forehead spread, taking the shape of flame.

The Slayer Mark awakened.

His aura surged again.

Both swords ignited.

"Hinokami Kagura, Ultimate Technique: Purgatory Dragon!"

Flames exploded from the blades and coiled around him.

A dragon formed in the fire, vicious and magnificent, its body growing larger with every turn of Tanjirou's steps. The rotation of his swords drew the flames tighter, stronger, wilder.

Then the dragon swallowed him whole.

Tanjirou charged.

The burning dragon tore straight into Kokushibo's moonlit storm.

Crescent blades shattered against flame. Vortexes were ripped apart. Layer after layer of killing force was burned open as Tanjirou forced his way through without retreating a single step.

In the blink of an eye, he arrived before Kokushibo.

Both swords descended.

Kokushibo raised his blade to block while shifting his body aside.

Steel clashed.

Flames roared.

Their positions crossed.

Kokushibo landed several steps away.

One of his arms was gone.

A terrible slash had torn across his abdomen, deep enough to expose ruined flesh. The wound smoked faintly, refusing to heal cleanly.

Still, Kokushibo remained composed.

He immediately cut away the wounded flesh around the injury and threw it aside, preventing the curse from spreading through his body.

His arm began to regenerate.

His six eyes turned back to Tanjirou.

"A self-created sword form," Kokushibo said. "Its power is formidable."

There was no praise in his tone.

Only assessment.

Then the three Upper Ranks moved together.

Akaza rushed from the front, his fists carrying crushing shockwaves.

Douma's ice dolls spread out from every angle, releasing cold mist and frozen techniques to restrict movement.

Kokushibo pressed from the center with Moon Breathing, his crescent blades filling every gap.

They no longer fought to overpower Tanjirou directly.

They targeted Asuramaru.

Every strike aimed for his grip, his wrists, his sword hand.

They wanted to knock the Demonic Sword away.

If they could seize it, all the better.

If not, then they would buy time.

They had already studied him.

That state could not last forever.

No matter how terrifying he became, there had to be a limit.

Tanjirou understood their intention immediately.

His expression sharpened.

"Asuramaru."

"I know," Asuramaru replied.

Black mist surged along the sword's edge.

Tanjirou's grip tightened until his knuckles whitened. With both swords in hand, he wove through the assault, cutting, blocking, retreating half a step only to advance three.

Akaza's fist grazed his shoulder.

Douma's freezing mist brushed past his sleeve.

Kokushibo's crescent blades sliced thin wounds across his cheek.

But Tanjirou did not let go.

Not once.

On another side of the battlefield, Gyokko's confidence was beginning to crack.

He had lived for years as Upper Rank Five. He had killed countless Demon Slayers. He had seen Hashira before.

But these three were different.

Sanemi fought like a storm given human form, reckless but precise, every slash biting deep enough to threaten even an Upper Rank.

Kyojuro's flames never dimmed. Even after repeated exchanges, his spirit only burned brighter.

Mitsuri moved with impossible flexibility, her blade bending and whipping through angles Gyokko could barely predict.

Three Hashira.

And every one of them belonged among the strongest he had encountered in over a century.

.....

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