Nearly ten minutes passed.
From the neighboring cars came a group of young boys and girls, their faces pale and eyes dull.
Each carried a cone-shaped device and a bundle of rope as they slowly approached the "sleeping" Chika and the others.
"They… they're all asleep, right?"
"Yeah… huh? Why are their faces so red? Did someone hit them?"
"Who cares… let's hurry and finish this. I want to dream… I can't hold on much longer…"
They whispered to each other as they reached for the slumbering Demon Slayers.
Their goal wasn't to kill. Not physically, at least.
Enmu's Blood Demon Art didn't merely induce dreams—it pulled the target into a layered mental space.
The dream world had limits, centered around the sleeper's consciousness.
Beyond that boundary lay the void of the subconscious, and within that void rested a single "core" —the manifestation of one's spirit.
If that "core" was destroyed, the person's mind would collapse.
Their body would remain alive, but their soul would be gone—an empty husk, worse than a corpse.
And these young sleepers were Enmu's pawns, forced to invade those dreams and destroy the "cores" within.
But just as one girl reached out to touch Chika—
Chika's eyes snapped open.
Before the girl could even gasp, Chika's hand chopped the side of her neck with surgical precision.
The girl collapsed, unconscious—she didn't even feel pain.
Around the car, Tanjiro, Inosuke, and Zenitsu all moved simultaneously, striking down the rest of Enmu's enslaved dreamers in a flash.
Each intruder was gently laid across the seats afterward.
Tanjiro took a deep breath, frowning as he sniffed the air.
"Big Sis," he said quietly, "these people… they're sick."
Indeed—they weren't under direct demonic control.
They had willingly obeyed Enmu, tempted by his promise of "eternal pleasant dreams."
And in the Taishō era, there was little hope for the terminally ill.
The boy Tanjiro had knocked out, for instance, had tuberculosis—a death sentence in this age.
It wouldn't be until the year 1952 that the disease would be truly curable.
Chika sighed softly.
"Poor souls… they just wanted peace, even in delusion."
She looked down at them and murmured, "When this is over, let's question them carefully. If it's just poverty keeping them from treatment… maybe we can help."
Her voice faded as the train roared ahead into the dark.
High above the cars, Lower Moon One, Enmu, stood proudly atop the moving train, his face flushed with excitement, wind whipping past him.
"When I devour everyone on this train, I'll grow even stronger!" he laughed, spreading his arms to the night.
"If Lord Muzan grants me more of his blood, I'll rise higher—higher! I'll challenge an Upper Moon for their seat and take it for myself!"
His mad grin widened—
until the sound of steady, heavy footsteps approached from behind.
He turned—and met a pair of blazing, golden eyes.
Rengoku Kyojuro stood before him, the flame of resolve radiating from his every pore.
"That presence… you're a Hashira, aren't you?" Enmu smiled, lips curling wide.
"I've heard the Upper Moons each have slain several of your kind. How lucky—you'll be the first Hashira to die by my hand."
He raised one palm—and on it, a mouth split open with a wet squelch.
But before he could even utter a word—
Flash.
A crimson arc of fire seared through the night.
Enmu's head spun off his shoulders before the grin had time to fade.
Rengoku's blade remained poised in silence.
"…No sense of finality," he muttered, watching the severed head hit the roof and roll.
Even headless, the body didn't crumble to ash.
Of course.
"Ahahaha! Surprised?" Enmu's voice echoed from every direction.
"Even a Hashira has never seen something like this!"
From the front cars, grotesque flesh bulged from the metal, twisting into writhing masses.
Enmu's head reappeared atop them, tethered by pulsating strands of tissue.
"You only killed a fragment! I've already fused with the Mugen Train itself! This whole train is my body! Every human aboard is my meal! Flame Hashira—go on, try to protect them!"
His laughter rang wild across the tracks.
But when he looked back down—expecting terror—he found only calm determination on Rengoku's face.
"What—why aren't you panicking?! Why aren't you afraid?! Don't you care that I'm devouring them all?!"
Before he could finish, agony shot through his senses.
The train's eight cars—his flesh—were being attacked.
Within, chaos had erupted.
Inosuke was rampaging through the corridors, tearing through walls of living muscle.
Tanjiro and Chika, blades blazing, hacked through the fleshy interior while Tanjiro's heightened sense of smell tracked Enmu's true neck.
The demon's fusion didn't change his fundamental weakness—
the neck still existed, hidden somewhere within the train's mass.
"Big Sis! It's above us!"
"Then let's end it—together!"
The two halted in unison, switching from Water Breathing to Hinokami Kagura.
Enmu's head jerked, his expression twisting.
A sudden sense of danger—pure, primal—rippled through his consciousness.
They tricked me!
The Hashira had been nothing but a decoy—drawing his focus, buying them time to strike at his true weak point.
He tried to redirect all his awareness toward Chika's position—
but Rengoku wasn't about to let him.
The Flame Hashira stepped forward, unleashing a flurry of fiery slashes that tore through the car's surface.
Even so, Enmu forced a part of his mind toward Chika's location, his nerves screaming in pain.
He could feel the energy gathering—the two humans' aura surging like burning suns.
Panic seized him.
He commanded his flesh to harden, to multiply—layer after layer of muscle sealing around his neck like armor.
But it was too late.
"Hinokami Kagura: Radiant Sun Thrust!"
Their voices rang as one.
Twin blades ignited, driving upward in unison.
BOOM!
Fire erupted like a newborn star, consuming everything it touched.
The sheer force pierced through the layers of flesh, burning the demon's neck into nothingness.
Enmu's scream split the night—then vanished.
The endless train roared on through the darkness, carrying with it the ashes of his despair.