Chapter 91 91: I Really Do Still Hate You

The battle did not pause for even a breath.

Steel rang through the night. Flames, wind, ice, and crescent moon slashes tore through the forest around the Swordsmith Village, turning the quiet mountain settlement into a battlefield fit for the end of an era.

Yet not far from that storm of monsters and Hashira, Zenitsu stood strangely still.

One hand rested on the hilt of his Nichirin Sword.

He was not asleep.

For once, he faced the terror in front of him with his eyes open.

Across from him stood Kaigaku, the senior disciple he had once trained beside. His face had already warped under Demonization. His skin bore dark markings, his fangs pressed against his lips, and the human arrogance he used to carry had rotted into something uglier.

Zenitsu suppressed the anger boiling in his chest and spoke in a low voice.

"I'll use everything I have to cut off your head right here."

Kaigaku laughed.

It was a cruel, grating sound.

"You?" His grin widened, twisted and mocking. "You're just scared the old man will commit seppuku after seeing what I've become, aren't you?"

Zenitsu's fingers tightened around his sword.

Kaigaku leaned forward, his eyes bright with malice.

"Ahahaha! I'll tear off your head myself. Then I'll make that damn old man commit seppuku right in front of you!"

Zenitsu did not explode.

He did not shout.

The fury he had been holding inside slowly faded, leaving behind something colder and far quieter.

His heart became still.

So still that the only thing left was the desire to kill the demon in front of him.

"I really do still hate you," Zenitsu whispered.

The muscles in his sword arm tightened.

So did his legs.

"Thunder Breathing, First Form."

Lightning burst around him.

"Thunderclap and Flash!"

The ground cracked beneath his feet.

Zenitsu shot forward, a streak of gold tearing through the night.

Kaigaku's pupils shrank.

He drew his own Nichirin Sword in a panic, black lightning crawling along the blade as he roared.

"Go to hell, you damn brat! Thunder Breathing, Fourth Form: Distant Thunder!"

Black lightning erupted from Kaigaku's body and rushed outward in a violent arc.

The two clashed head-on.

Gold and black thunder collided.

Their figures flashed past each other.

Zenitsu landed behind him.

Then he slowly turned his head.

"Too slow."

Kaigaku stiffened.

Zenitsu's voice was calm, almost pitiless.

"Even after becoming an Upper Rank, you're just a replacement. In the end, you're still nothing but a minor character."

Kaigaku's face twisted.

Before he could turn around, blood sprayed from his neck.

A deep wound had opened across it, the cut nearly reaching bone. But with a demon's regeneration, the flesh rapidly closed before Zenitsu's eyes.

Kaigaku touched his neck.

Then rage swallowed his reason.

"You bastard!"

Zenitsu's words had pierced something he never wanted exposed.

Kaigaku gripped his sword with both hands.

"Thunder Breathing, Second Form: Rice Spirit!"

Five consecutive strikes of black lightning erupted at once.

Zenitsu raised his sword and blocked with everything he had.

Steel rang.

Sparks scattered.

Black thunder clawed across his body. Several bloody wounds opened along his arms and torso as he retreated, but his eyes never left Kaigaku's disgusting face.

For a moment, memories surfaced.

The training yard.

Gramps' voice.

The way Kaigaku looked at him with contempt, as if sharing the same master with Zenitsu had been the greatest insult of his life.

Then the memories passed.

A brilliant lightning-shaped mark appeared near Zenitsu's temple.

Inosuke, watching from nearby, widened his eyes beneath the boar mask.

"Oi! A pattern like Tanjirou's showed up on him!"

Zenitsu lowered his head slightly.

"Sorry, Gramps," he murmured. "Our paths part here."

He leaned forward.

One hand returned to the hilt of his sword.

"Thunder Breathing, First Form."

Kaigaku laughed again, wild and triumphant, as if victory were already in his grasp.

"Still acting tough? You're just a crying clown! I'll send you straight to hell!"

Black lightning exploded from his sword.

"Thunder Breathing, Sixth Form: Rumble and Flash!"

A massive storm of pitch-black thunder swept out in all directions, sealing off every path Zenitsu could take.

Zenitsu only said two words.

"Godspeed."

Golden lightning tore through the earth.

The moment his sword left its scabbard, Zenitsu vanished.

Kaigaku did not see him move.

He did not see the strike.

He only realized something was wrong when his vision tilted.

His head had already been severed.

So fast...

Kaigaku's eyes trembled.

I couldn't see it at all...

His severed head fell through the air.

Is this also the First Form?

His face twisted with hatred and disbelief.

Why?

Why was I the only one who couldn't learn it?

Why him?

Why that useless crybaby?

Damn it...

His body crumbled.

His head struck the ground, and before his resentment could form another word, Kaigaku turned to ash.

Zenitsu stood there for a moment, his sword still raised.

Then he slowly sheathed it.

"It's over between us, Kaigaku."

His voice was steady, but the relief in it was undeniable.

Then he turned toward the other battlefields.

Tanjirou's side was beyond him.

Even with the Slayer Mark awakened, he could tell at a glance that the fight against Kokushibo and Douma was not something he could casually enter.

So he shifted his gaze.

Gyokko.

That one was still within reach.

On that side, Inosuke and the others were already surrounding Gyokko alongside the Hashira.

Zenitsu, now marked and carrying the strength of someone who had crossed a threshold, joined them without hesitation.

Gyokko's expression cracked.

He had already been fighting three Hashira, and several high-ranking Demon Slayers were harassing him from the edges. Now another marked swordsman had entered the field.

Four Hashira-level opponents.

Plus several Kinoe-ranked members.

For the first time in a very long while, Gyokko felt like he was being beaten from every direction at once.

If not for his pots allowing him to shift position and maneuver with inhuman flexibility, he would have already been hacked to pieces.

"Damn it!" Gyokko hissed, slipping back into a pot just as Sanemi's wind blade tore through where his head had been. "What was wrong with that new Upper Rank Six? How did he lose to a brat who isn't even a Hashira?"

He emerged from another pot, only to immediately dodge a flaming slash from Kyojuro.

"And the boy killed him without suffering any serious injury?!"

Mitsuri's flexible sword whipped toward him in a glittering arc.

Gyokko ducked back again, his mouth twitching.

This was miserable.

He was certain of it now.

Among all the Upper Ranks present tonight, he was having the worst time.

On the other battlefield, Kokushibo and Douma continued dragging out the fight against Tanjirou.

Their intent was obvious.

Delay.

Exhaust him.

Wait for that special state to end.

But as Kokushibo exchanged blows with Tanjirou, one of his six eyes shifted toward Gyokko's battlefield.

The situation there was deteriorating too quickly.

Kaigaku was dead.

Gyokko was being suppressed.

If another Upper Rank fell, Muzan's plan would collapse entirely.

Kokushibo made the decision at once.

"Akaza," he ordered, his voice calm even in the middle of battle. "Go assist Gyokko. Kill those Demon Slayers."

Akaza's face darkened.

He did not want to leave.

Every instinct in him wanted to finish his fight with Tanjirou.

But Tanjirou countered him too severely, and Muzan's furious urging was already pounding through his blood.

If Gyokko died, their encirclement would fail.

Akaza clicked his tongue and withdrew.

Before he left, Douma turned his head with a smile.

"Akaza-dono, please be careful."

Akaza almost turned around to punch him.

Almost.

He forced himself to ignore Douma and crossed the battlefield in a burst of speed, landing beside Gyokko.

Gyokko's expression lit up in the ugliest way possible.

"Akaza! This may be the first time I've ever been so happy to see you. That new Upper Rank Six was truly pathetic. Weak, useless, completely—"

"Shut up and kill them."

Akaza's gaze locked onto Sanemi and Kyojuro.

"The Wind Hashira and Flame Hashira are mine."

He rushed forward.

Sanemi grinned viciously when he saw him coming, the scars on his face twisting with delight.

"Finally, someone worth killing."

Wind gathered around his sword.

"You ran last time. Let's see where you run now."

Kyojuro stepped beside him, his flame-colored cloak fluttering in the night.

"Let us settle this properly!"

There was no need for further words.

Akaza crashed into them head-on.

Fists met flame and wind.

This time, neither side held a clear advantage.

The battle expanded again.

Gyokko regained breathing room, though not dignity. Zenitsu, Mitsuri, Inosuke, and the remaining swordsmen pressed him hard enough that he still had no chance to relax.

The night dragged on.

Minutes became half an hour.

Half an hour became one.

Then two.

Deep in the forest, Tanjirou continued fighting Kokushibo and Douma.

The ground around them had been carved apart beyond recognition. Trees lay shattered. Ice covered sections of the forest. Crescent moon marks gouged deep trenches through earth and stone.

Tanjirou's breathing had grown heavier.

His body was still moving, still striking, still forcing the two Upper Ranks back.

But Asuramaru could see the truth.

The demon horns had already grown from Tanjirou's forehead.

His pale purple eyes had become too still.

The Demonization had reached its limit.

Inside the sword, Asuramaru's voice turned sharp.

"You can't continue. You've reached the limit of Demonization. Any further, and you'll abandon your humanity completely."

Tanjirou's hands tightened around the swords.

But Asuramaru did not wait for permission.

He forcibly cut off the Demon Power.

The purple markings faded from Tanjirou's face.

The horns retreated.

His eyes returned to normal, and the overwhelming pressure surrounding him dropped.

Across from him, Kokushibo noticed immediately.

Douma's smile widened.

The special state had ended.

.....

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