The demon playing the role of "Mother" fell backward—her body separating cleanly from her head. Both pieces dropped onto the forest floor, the head rolling a short distance before coming to a stop… facing Okane Kichiro directly.
A trace of anger and disbelief still lingered in her eyes, as if her mind had not yet accepted the reality of her own defeat.
[Slayed a Mid-Rank Demon – Reward: 700 Paradise Coins]
The pleasant chime echoed in Okane Kichiro's ears, instantly lifting his mood.
As the female demon felt her body fading, she finally understood that death was approaching.
Terror flickered across her face, but beneath it… a faint sense of relief surfaced.
(Dying is fine. If I die… I won't have to live in fear anymore.)
That was the final thought that crossed the demon mother's mind.
Once a human becomes a demon, they cease being human.
The human part of their soul is devoured completely—nothing remains.
People often feel sympathy for this female demon because she is shown as pitiful in the story. But that sympathy only exists because she herself was being dominated and tormented by a stronger demon. In truth, when she tortured members of the Demon Slayer Corps, she experienced pure, genuine joy.
These beings died as humans the moment they became demons. What remains is nothing more than a demon wearing a human's name.
Only the rarest demons—two in the past several hundred years—have ever broken free from their blood's twisted hunger.
"You… how dare you kill my mother!"
A pale-skinned boy with stark white hair appeared nearby, staring coldly at Okane Kichiro.
He looked enraged, but his voice was chillingly calm—emotionless. No anger could be heard in it at all.
"Since when do demons have mothers?"
Okane Kichiro turned casually. "You really enjoy playing this little family game, don't you?"
He had sensed another demon in the area from the beginning. But since it never intervened—not when he arrived, nor when he killed the female demon—he simply ignored it.
He hadn't expected the demon to show up after the kill.
Since the demon wasn't in a hurry, Okane Kichiro was happy to take a good look at this Lower Moon.
The stronger a demon is, the closer they resemble humans on the outside.
To the naked eye, this demon boy looked like nothing more than a strangely dressed child.
"Never mind. Since she's dead, she no longer deserves to be my mother."
The Lower Moon demon—Rui—spoke in an indifferent tone.
Then he looked Okane Kichiro up and down, intrigued, and slowly extended a hand.
"You're strong. If you become my big brother, I might spare your life."
"No thanks," Okane Kichiro replied flatly. "I'd rather stay human."
Demons were all twisted in their own obsessive ways—distortions born from fragments of their former human selves.
To become a demon yet remain bound by the obsessions of one's previous life…
That itself was a curse.
Pitiful and hateful all at once.
Putting them down was the best mercy.
"In that case… you have no reason to live."
Rui lifted his hand. From his fingertips, four spider threads unraveled—thin, sharp, shimmering.
With a flick, the strands instantly hardened, turning razor-sharp as they sliced through everything in their path.
They were about to reach Okane Kichiro when
"Typical kid. Still playing with string."
Okane Kichiro drew his blade and struck downward.
The threads that were so impossibly tough to others softened beneath his sword, severed with ease.
In truth, it wasn't the threads he cut.
It was the Blood Demon Art attached to them.
Without the demonic technique reinforcing them, they were nothing but ordinary spider silk.
Rui's pupils constricted sharply.
He lowered his head a fraction, a heavy pressure radiating from him.
This time, Okane Kichiro's words had truly angered him.
At the same time, he realized Okane Kichiro was nothing like the previous slayers he had toyed with.
His expression grew serious.
"No need to rush."
Okane Kichiro motioned with his hand.
"Take your time. Let me see what a member of the Twelve Kizuki can really do."
"You dare act so confident even knowing I'm one of the Twelve Kizuki! There are no Hashira like you in the Demon Slayer Corps!"
Rui finally lost his composure.
Even as a demon, his vicious instincts ran bone-deep.
He brushed aside the hair covering his left eye. The kanji marking "Lower Rank Five" gleamed within his pupil—his status as a demon moon laid bare.
"I'm not a Hashira yet," Okane Kichiro said calmly. "But once I kill you, wouldn't that make me one?"
He didn't take Rui seriously at all.
Upper Moons and Lower Moons were leagues apart.
Even Muzan himself eventually considered the Lower Moons useless—they dragged down the reputation of the Twelve Kizuki so badly he decided to wipe them out entirely.
Still, Lower Moons were high-level demons.
Killing one should earn at least several thousand Paradise Coins—maybe even a rank-up.
And since Rui wasn't that strong, he was, in a way… a "good demon."
Rui said nothing more.
His fingers danced.
Spider threads shot out, slicing through the air with terrifying force. Trees within dozens of meters collapsed instantly, and deep trenches carved into the ground.
But every thread was cleanly severed by Okane Kichiro's blade.
He didn't even move his feet.
Compared to humans, demons of the same level had far greater destructive power.
But both the Breathing Styles and Nichirin Blades suppressed demons heavily.
No wonder Yoriichi was said to be born to eradicate demons.
Without the Breathing Arts or Nichirin steel, humans could never stand against them.
"Don't get cocky!"
Okane Kichiro's casual demeanor completely infuriated Rui.
Abandoning all restraint, he let blood drip from his fingertips, saturating his threads.
The once near-invisible strands turned blood-red.
With both hands, Rui brought them together
Countless threads wove into two enormous scarlet webs closing in from both sides.
"Blood Demon Art—Murderous Web!"
"Now this is getting interesting."
Okane Kichiro remained calm.
He raised his sword horizontally.
"Water Breathing, Fourth Form—Striking Tide: Turbulence."
His blade danced in wild, unpatterned arcs.
The wind roared—like waves crashing against jagged reef.
The blood-red webs were torn apart by invisible slashes long before reaching him, scattering into the air like crimson petals.
Beautiful, in a way.
Okane Kichiro had already learned how to expand and refine the basic sword forms—no longer bound by their rigid structures.