Chapter 171: Eaten by Shadows
Using the excuse that "you absolutely cannot use such an archaic, old-sounding term to describe beautiful young women," Akira gently but firmly pushed Makomo and Kanae forward, finally managing to badger Kyoujurou into correcting his overly formal vocabulary.
As for the rest of the Hashira watching from the sidelines, they could not hold back their amusement. A chorus of lighthearted laughter drifted through the courtyard. The sound made Akira's brow twitch with mild annoyance, but he found himself entirely helpless to stop it.
He could hardly complain when Kanae and Makomo were giggling right beside him, their shoulders shaking with mirth. Even the normally stoic Gyoumei let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his prayer beads clinking softly in his massive hands. Akira sighed, crossing his arms. He could not exactly take petty revenge on every single person present, could he?
"Kanzaki-san possesses a remarkable talent for livening up the atmosphere. It is truly impressive."
Tomioka Giyuu looked at the cheerful group, nodding to himself as he voiced his genuine, heartfelt admiration.
The very next second, he was met with a death glare so intensely dark it could have frozen a Lower Moon in its tracks. Akira stared daggers at him, an aura of pure, unadulterated menace radiating from his posture. Giyuu blinked, entirely baffled by the sudden hostility.
The surrounding Hashira, who had been laughing freely just a moment prior, instantly snapped their mouths shut. The courtyard plunged into an abrupt, suffocating silence. Everyone turned to look at the bewildered Water Hashira with vastly different expressions of pity and exasperation.
Makomo and Kanae, who were far too familiar with Giyuu's chronic social obliviousness, simply sighed and shook their heads. Sabito, who had been standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his fellow disciple, smoothly and silently took a step to the right. Then another. He distanced himself without making a single sound. Gyoumei pressed his hands together in silent prayer for the man's soul, while the newly promoted Kyoujurou stared at Giyuu with wide, surprised eyes.
Giyuu stood frozen, an invisible question mark practically floating above his head.
Akira ground his teeth. 'Where is Sanemi? Where is Obanai? Put in some effort, you two! I want to see a proper Giyuu Encirclement right now!'
"Giyuu, it has been quite a while since we last exchanged pointers," Akira said, his voice dripping with a menacingly kind sweetness as he offered a sparring invitation. "I wonder just how much your strength has improved? Let us have a little match in a bit."
Although he had absolutely no idea why Akira looked ready to murder him, Giyuu's survival instincts finally kicked in. He subconsciously swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a weak murmur. "Can I refuse?"
Akira's smile widened, not reaching his eyes. "What do you think?"
Desperate, Giyuu turned his head to look at Sabito, who was still secretly inching his way toward the edge of the courtyard. Giyuu did not speak a single word, but Sabito, who knew his junior brother better than anyone, perfectly translated the silent, pleading gaze.
Giyuu's eyes screamed: 'Do you not always jump at every single opportunity to spar? Go on. Take my place.'Sabito's side-eye replied:'I spar to improve, not to get beaten into a bloody pulp. Clean up your own mess.'Giyuu stared harder:'Senior Brother, is there no love left between us?'Sabito looked away completely:'Dead. Get lost.'
Watching this intense, silent exchange of glances between the two Water Breathing disciples, the rest of the group exchanged highly amused, strange looks. Feeling the weight of their stares, Sabito quickly shuffled a few more steps away from Giyuu, desperately trying to physically prove his total innocence in whatever crime Giyuu had just committed.
After that brief, comedic interlude, the Hashira Meeting officially commenced.
When Kagaya stepped out onto the engawa, a heavy wave of respect washed over the gathered swordsmen. The creeping purple veins of his familial curse had crawled further up his face, webbing across his right temple and bleeding directly into his right eye. The pupil was now clouded with a sickly, grayish-white film, a grim visual indicator that his physical body was growing increasingly frail.
Despite the agonizing toll the curse took on him, Kagaya's posture remained impeccable. He smiled warmly, his soothing voice washing over them as he presided over the meeting in an orderly, graceful fashion.
What surprised Akira slightly during the proceedings was the exact nature of Kyoujurou's promotion. It was not based entirely on a sheer, overwhelming body count of slain demons.
Instead, Kyoujurou had secured a confirmed kill on a member of the Twelve Kizuki—Lower Rank Two, Hairo.
According to the reports, Hairo's Blood Demon Art was exceptionally troublesome. The demon possessed the ability to manipulate shadows, using them as a bottomless inventory to conceal and simultaneously fire a massive arsenal of firearms., the demon could mold those same shadows into a ravenous pack of wolves to launch coordinated, wide-scale encirclements.
Originally, it was Shinjuro who had tracked down and engaged the Lower Moon first. The former Flame Hashira had severely wounded the creature, but in a desperate bid to escape, Hairo had cowardly changed tactics, unleashing a barrage of indiscriminate attacks on the nearby civilian populace. Forced to focus on the lives of the innocent, Shinjuro had to abandon his offensive to block the incoming fire, allowing the demon to slip away into the night.
Fate, however, had a different plan. Just as Hairo managed to escape Shinjuro's pursuit, the heavily injured demon practically ran headfirst into Kyoujurou, who happened to be returning from a completely separate mission. Exhausted and bleeding out, the Lower Moon was effectively farmed by the younger Rengoku like a glorified training dummy.
Although it was not a purely solo kill of a Lower Moon at full strength, Kyoujurou's accumulated merits over the past year were already highly substantial. The Master deemed the combined achievements more than enough to officially grant him the title of Flame Hashira.
For Shinjuro, the event served as a stark, sobering wake-up call. Failing to secure the kill on the Lower Moon made him acutely aware of the widening gap in physical stamina and raw strength between himself and the younger generation of Hashira. More, seeing that Kyoujurou had grown into a fine, powerful swordsman—surpassing his own father's current capabilities without anyone even noticing—solidified his decision to step down.
"From now on, it is the era of you young people," Shinjuro announced, his booming voice echoing across the courtyard. "This old man will just stay home comfortably, keep my wife and youngest child company, and perhaps become a Cultivator to pass down Flame Breathing to the next batch of brats. That should be more than enough for me."
As he spoke those words, Shinjuro turned to look at Kyoujurou. His eyes, usually so fierce and demanding, were entirely filled with deep solemnity and overwhelming gratification.
This son, whom he had guided hand-in-hand since childhood, had already achieved the ultimate feat of the student surpassing the master. Even among this current generation of talented freaks and monsters, Kyoujurou easily ranked at a high level, holding far more promise for the future than Shinjuro ever did.
"I will proudly take over Father's duties! I will exterminate the evil demons and save the people!" Kyoujurou responded, his voice ringing out with absolute conviction as he made his vow to both his father and everyone present.
"Good! Hahaha!"
Shinjuro stepped forward and forcefully patted Kyoujurou's shoulder, his loud laughter chasing away any lingering melancholy before he turned to leave the estate.
Deep down, the man who had once single-handedly held up the high-end combat power of the Demon Slayer Corps felt a fleeting pang of desolation. His body could no longer keep up with the relentless, explosive strength required of the new generation. But knowing that the son he had raised with his own two hands was ready to take up his mantle brought him immense comfort.
At the very least, he had not become entirely useless. He had forged a mighty blade to take his place.
also, the overall strength of the Demon Slayer Corps was growing better and more terrifying by the day. He should feel nothing but pride. Retiring to the Rengoku estate to live a quiet, peaceful life with his wife and children was a blessing he never thought he would actually get to enjoy.
In previous years, driving himself to the brink to support the Corps, he had completely failed to notice Ruka's declining health until it was almost too late. He had nearly spent the rest of his life drowning in regret. Now, given a second chance to properly stand by his family's side and protect his home, he felt a deep sense of peace.
After watching Shinjuro's retreating back disappear past the estate gates, the group naturally transitioned into the final, unofficial segment of the Hashira Meeting—the sparring sessions.
"Rengoku, do you want to spar?"
"No problem at all! Please advise me!"
Before Akira could even open his mouth to call out his next victim, Sabito practically lunged across the courtyard, taking the absolute initiative to approach Kyoujurou.
He had no other choice. When Giyuu had opened his mouth and ruined the mood earlier, Sabito had not been able to suppress his own laughter, which was why he had so desperately tried to distance himself. If Akira decided to take his petty revenge out on both of the Water Breathing disciples and beat them into the dirt, it would be a complete disaster.
By immediately locking Kyoujurou into a match, Sabito had successfully manufactured an ironclad excuse to escape the executioner's block.
'I am an absolute genius,' Sabito thought to himself, practically patting himself on the back for his own sheer brilliance.
Of course, self-preservation aside, Sabito was genuinely curious about the new Flame Hashira's raw strength. After all, apart from a certain monstrous individual standing nearby who drained people of their will to fight just by looking at them, Sabito had challenged every single Hashira in the Corps multiple times. Fighting a fresh newcomer was an exciting change of pace.
The two swordsmen quickly drew their wooden practice blades and engaged in battle.
Watching from the sidelines, the rest of the Hashira found the dynamic of the fight incredibly strange.
Flame Breathing, a style historically renowned for being wild, explosive, and overwhelmingly domineering, was being executed by Kyoujurou with an incredibly cautious, heavily grounded, and steady rhythm. Conversely, Water Breathing, a style defined by its fluid adaptability and the perfect balance of hardness and softness, had its raw aggression dialed up to the absolute maximum in Sabito's hands. He fought like a crashing tsunami.
Thanks to Shinjuro's strict, hand-in-hand instruction during his formative years, Kyoujurou's fundamentals were practically unbreakable. Coupled with his naturally calm and observant personality, he managed the chaotic shifts between offense and defense with measured precision. Even when Sabito's relentless wave of strikes forced him into a disadvantage, Kyoujurou immediately stabilized his footing, parrying the heavy blows and occasionally launching a blistering, fiery counterattack that forced Sabito to retreat.
Sabito's grin widened, his blood pumping faster the longer they fought. The last time he had experienced this kind of suffocatingly steady, impenetrable defensive style was during his spars with Giyuu. But facing that same unyielding defense backed by the explosive, heavy strikes of Flame Breathing was an entirely different beast compared to Water Breathing.
"I lost."
"I appreciate your guidance!"
The spar eventually concluded with Sabito claiming victory, his blade resting just inches from Kyoujurou's neck. However, Kyoujurou's sheer stamina and defensive strength were nothing short of spectacular. It was no wonder Shinjuro had felt so relieved handing over the mantle of the Flame Hashira.
As the two panting swordsmen withdrew from the center of the arena to rest and hydrate on the sidelines, Akira slowly turned his head.
"Giyuu..."
Akira looked at the socially oblivious swordsman, a terrifyingly bright, predatory smile stretching across his face.
"Sigh..."
Giyuu let out a long, deeply helpless sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. But he did not refuse. He drew his wooden blade and stepped forward.
Even if he knew with absolute certainty that he was going to be beaten black and blue, he still had to fight. Surrendering without drawing his sword was a disgrace he would never accept.
[Inorin's Note:
Enjoying the story? Dropping a quick review, comment, or Power Stone means the world to me!
Want to read ahead on our official home, or unlock 50 advanced chapters (plus an Ad-Free experience) to feed your addiction? Help keep this shameless translator alive here:
(P.S. Replace the [.] with a regular dot . to use the links!)
🌐 Official Website: elysianreads[.]com
✨ Patreon (50 Advanced Chapters & Ad-Free): patreon[.]com/InorinTL
☕ Ko-fi (Support / Sponsor): ko-fi[.]com/InorinTL
Thank you so much for reading and keeping this project alive!]