On the grounds before the Shogunate's main building, figures clashed and wove together.
The four inheritors unleashed fierce attacks upon Oboro.
Without the slightest hesitation!
In their eyes, Oboro was acting in accordance with the very will he had taught them, staking his life to witness their growth.
It was only due to complex ties of status and circumstance that he could not simply stand aside.
Since they were enemies… then their master would use his life to fuel this 'will,' spending his remaining strength for its sake.
If they could not defeat Oboro, they could never overthrow the Shogunate or change the world — which would mean their will was still far too weak to reshape reality or pass the final test.
To kill Oboro was, above all, the ultimate form of respect toward him.
Indeed, in their hearts, they believed Oboro was choosing 'death resolutely' — not for the sake of the Shogunate, but for them.
This realization only ignited their fighting spirit all the more.
Little did they know, every single part of this was part of Oboro's calculation.
"Hahaha!"
Oboro laughed. He caught the determined flashes in their eyes as they moved before him, and sensed the ripples rising from their souls.
They were not yet equal to the seven Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps from years ago — but the radiance of will was there. How long had the Demon Slayer Corps spent refining their legacy?
These four had only endured ten years of tempering under his guidance.
Naturally, there was a gap.
Yet Oboro was already deeply satisfied.
"Blood Demon Art: Night Wind and Blossoms."
The first to strike was a gaunt-faced man. Under the combined assault of all four, they had discovered that mere physical strength was not enough to harm Oboro… even with the formidable bodies of demons, they could not gain the upper hand.
It must be remembered: of all Oboro's inheritors, only a third remained alive.
To survive the constant pressure from both the Demon Slayer Corps and Muzan's forces was proof enough of their excellence.
Truth be told, every one of them now possessed power comparable to an Upper Rank demon.
They had also encountered the Twelve Demon Moons and understood Muzan and his kind well.
Because they had accepted Oboro's blood, they were immune to Muzan's control — and this very difference had allowed them to grow far faster than ordinary demons… and the hellish conditions of the past decade had nourished them abundantly.
Even so, standing before their creator, they still felt somewhat outmatched.
But that was only natural.
In their minds, Oboro had always existed on a plane beyond their reach. Such a performance was exactly what they expected.
They understood Oboro far better than the Demon Slayer Corps or Muzan ever could… because flowing in their veins was the very will contained within Oboro's cells — the will that suppressed even Muzan's own cells!
Precisely because of this, over years of evolution and growth, they had come to realize just how extraordinary this will was, and how immense the power it held.
It was what allowed them to advance so far.
Oboro's arms moved in rapid, sweeping motions, blocking the punches and kicks of two inheritors with ease.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Yasuhara — who had momentarily paused — unleash his Blood Demon Art.
Suddenly, the night sky seemed drenched in ink. A curtain of darkness descended like flowing liquid, swallowing everything in a pitch-black domain.
Instantly, Oboro lost all sight.
But vision was only one sense; his movements were unaffected.
With Oboro's experience, he could still judge everything through other perceptions.
Beside him, Takaya — his hair tied back in a white bundle — struck the moment darkness fell. Blood sprayed from his arms, yet did not scatter.
Instead, it wove into a web of red threads, coalescing before his palm into the shape of a sharp blade, which he thrust straight toward Oboro's face.
"Missed!"
The blade's wind sliced through empty air. Takaya's pupils contracted sharply.
The next instant, a heavy blow struck his abdomen. His eyes bulged in shock.
Normally, when deprived of sight, even the sharpest reflexes suffer a split-second physical delay.
But their master… had no such delay at all.
It defied all logic!
As he was sent flying, Takaya unleashed yet another Blood Demon Art. His white hair expanded, hardening into countless razor-sharp steel wires that shot outward.
But what he heard next was the groan of a companion.
His attack had missed Oboro and instead struck one of his own allies.
Within the darkness, only Yasuhara — the caster of the art — could perceive everything clearly. The other three were completely blind.
Under such conditions, Oboro's combat ability did not diminish in the slightest — while theirs was severely hampered.
In less than a minute, several loud impacts echoed from within the black veil.
Yasuhara was horrified by what he 'saw.'
Oboro had seized Ueno by the head and, as if throwing a stone, hurled him effortlessly through the air straight into the ground floor of the main building.
Walls and furniture were smashed to splinters upon impact.
Meanwhile, Teshima Ga had used his own art to turn the ground into flowing water, diving beneath the surface to vanish.
But the moment he emerged half-way behind Oboro's back, he was met by a fully charged kick that drove him deep into the earth.
Too strong… simply too strong.
Compared to him… they were not even the same species.
Before, they had only felt faint echoes of his power within their cells — never had it been this vivid and overwhelming.
After all these years, fighting against both the Corps and Muzan, none of them were inexperienced novices. They possessed rich battle sense and could judge situations clearly.
Yet what was happening now triggered a terrifying certainty in Yasuhara's mind.
We will die.
All of us will die.
Against him… victory is impossible.
His eyelids twitched violently. The unshakable conviction he had held only moments ago wavered instantly.
He even felt a sudden impulse to flee.
He's gone!
In an instant, every hair on Yasuhara's body stood on end. His eyes — which could see through the darkness — found Oboro's figure completely gone.
"What? Are you afraid?"
Oboro's voice sounded right beside his ear.
He had appeared directly behind Yasuhara.
"If this is all you are capable of… I cannot help but be disappointed. With hearts and beliefs so easily shaken, how do you ever hope to change the world? How do you plan to overthrow the Shogunate?"
He remembered clearly: years ago, when he had killed the Thunder Hashira, the remaining six including Ichimiya had not retreated a single step.
Instead, their fighting spirit had soared even higher.
Oboro's words were like a blade piercing Yasuhara's heart.
The panic on his face vanished instantly.
"I have learned well," Yasuhara replied.
Immediately afterward, his body swelled like an inflated balloon, growing tall and immense. His form became grotesque — a true inhuman monster.
When Oboro's hand sliced lightly across his skin, what flowed out was not flesh and blood, but ink-like black liquid.
Boom!
A torrent of black fluid exploded outward in all directions.
Oboro raised his haori to shield himself. Yet where the drops touched the ground, they began to corrode and eat away at the stone.
On the other side, Yasuhara had escaped by leaving behind nothing but a tattered layer of skin; his body was already regrowing at incredible speed.
Before Oboro could pursue, a figure shot toward him from the ruined building in the distance — swift as an arrow loosed from a bow.
It was Ueno, whom he had struck down earlier.
They… have not given up!
Their will to spill blood and defeat him burned stronger than ever.
Oboro sensed this, and a faint smile curved his lips.
This… is how it should be.
The battle continued unabated. Above them, Chiyo kept playing her shamisen — though now the melody held sharp, jarring notes and a heavy sense of tragedy.
...
One hour later.
The grounds before the main building lay in utter ruin.
The residual energy of multiple Blood Demon Arts finally faded away.
In the end… they still could not win.
The four inheritors stood or lay battered and bruised, utterly miserable.
Some were in deep craters; others were half-buried in the walls… blood flowing freely from their bodies.
Even the immense regenerative power of their demonic bodies seemed to have failed them.
Oboro had simply employed a few of the techniques he had once used against Kokushibō.
In the whole field, only he remained standing.
He wore a plain white inner robe and wooden clogs, his face expressionless.
"Though it pains me to do so… I will kill you without hesitation. Because right now, you and I are enemies."
He spoke with emphasis.
"This battle today was never part of our plans. We were completely unprepared for it." Yasuhara spoke slowly, blood dripping from his mouth.
"Yet it has taught us much… Long ago, you gave us 'the hope of rebirth and our purpose,' and bestowed power upon us. All these years of growth have only strengthened our resolve. We will never betray the legacy and continuity of this will. Even though we shall die today… before the end, we have already passed this will on to others far more worthy."
Debris clattered to the ground. Teshima Ga — who had been kicked halfway into the wall — smiled bloodily as he pulled himself free, his upper body slipping down from the masonry.
Truth be told, even had they not encountered Oboro today, their raid on Edo would never have been simple. They had expected a bloody clash with the Demon Slayer Corps, and had prepared for the possibility of death.
That was why, before coming, they had already made arrangements.
"We may not be able to save this twisted world… but someone, someday, will succeed. Your hopes, master… will one day be fulfilled."
"These are not merely my hopes. They are the shared vision of all of us," Oboro replied with a feigned sigh.
"Only those strong enough in will can save the world and bring about new life… Perhaps you are capable of it, master. But I think… what happened today proves that you have hidden burdens of your own. Bonds of loyalty, or blood… things that force you to bow to circumstances. Who knows?"
Teshima Ga crawled toward Yasuhara as he spoke.
"You have your reasons, and we dare not question them… But the fact that you chose to transform us years ago proves we believed in this will! Just as you always said: will is the only thing that truly matters."
"And so… even against you — whom we respect above all — we will never yield while fulfilling this will."
"We… simply could not bear to disappoint you."
Oboro's eyes shifted slightly. He noticed that while Teshima Ga was distracting him with words, the other two had taken the chance to move closer to Yasuhara.
"Because of those burdens… you seek death, do you not?" asked Takaya, another of the inheritors, smiling faintly toward Oboro.
"You wish to be freed… and to use your life to crown this will with meaning…"
He had clearly misunderstood the situation.
He believed Oboro was trapped: bound by duty to oppose them, yet sharing their desire to save the world. As the very origin of their will, he was forced by reality to bow his head.
He thought Oboro only sought to find a true 'savior' — a worthy 'seed' capable of killing him, proving the worth of the will and of the self, and possessing the power to remake the world.
From that perspective, Oboro was still building up and strengthening their will — simply in his own way.
And that was why they still revered him.
And precisely because of that reverence, they had to face him with absolute killing intent.
Anything less would be to tarnish his legacy.
Oboro opened his mouth, but swallowed back the words. He chose not to correct them.
His influence over these four was simply too deep.
Everything he had said and done before had been carefully crafted to guide their thinking.
So it was only natural they understood things this way.
"However… we have not yet lost."
Takaya suddenly shifted his tone.
All three — except Yasuhara — looked as if sharing a single mind, turning their gaze toward the companion among them with the lightest injuries.
Then they spoke four simple words — words that made Oboro's pupils widen and his heart race with sudden excitement.
"Devour us!"
Four words — resolute, powerful, and absolute.
In that instant, Oboro's heart was flooded with intense joy and a feeling unlike any he had ever known.
For a fleeting moment, looking at these four, he saw the reflection of the seven Hashira from years ago.
But unlike the Hashira — who carried a legacy belonging to someone else — what was unfolding before him now involved inheritors he had personally chosen, raised, and cultivated from the very seeds he had sown.
Between the two, there was a fundamental difference!
This… was absolutely magnificent!
____________________
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