Chapter 190: Hashira Meeting of the Demon Slayer Corps
A thousand miles away.
Deep within a remote mountain valley, hidden from the eyes of the world, sat a sprawling estate that existed on no map. White walls and black tiled roofs formed an elegant labyrinth of winding corridors, all centered around a vast courtyard overflowing with blooming wisteria.
Wisteria served as the natural enemy of all demons. The subtle toxicity emitted by the pale purple flowers possessed the unique ability to suppress a demon's regenerative properties to a certain degree. While it could not outright kill them, the scent alone triggered a primal, instinctual nausea and deep-seated dread within their twisted minds, making the blooming trees the ultimate barrier material.
This sprawling mansion was surrounded inside and out by a dense forest of wisteria. Even the most cunning, desperate demon could not take a single step closer without their flesh crawling in agony.
There was no doubt about this place.
This was the absolute heart of the Demon Slayer Corps.
It was the main residence of the Ubuyashiki family.
Within the deepest part of the estate, inside the main hall, the night remained thick and heavy. The wooden shoji doors were pulled tightly shut, sealing out the chill, with only two flickering oil lamps casting dim, dancing shadows across the tatami mats.
A young man sat in a formal kneeling position upon a silk cushion in the very center of the room. He appeared to be no older than twenty, possessing a frail, painfully thin frame draped in a pristine white kariginu. His jet-black hair was combed carefully and tied back behind his head.
The features outlining his face should have been striking and handsome, carrying an air of noble righteousness. However, the entire left side of his face—stretching from his temple down to his cheekbone—was completely ruined by a deep, rotting purple corrosive mark.
The affliction did not stop at his skin. Both of his eyeballs were clouded over with a thick, milky white film, having been mostly swallowed by the creeping purple rot.
He was completely blind.
This was the inescapable curse the Ubuyashiki family had endured for generations.
Just as Hikaru knew from his own fragmented knowledge, the Ubuyashiki family shared the exact same bloodline as Kibutsuji Muzan. Five hundred years ago, during the height of the Heian period, Muzan was born into this very family. Through a twist of fate and medicine, he unexpectedly mutated into something far beyond human—the Progenitor of Demons, a creature that defied the laws of life and death. Because a monster of such magnitude had emerged from their lineage, the Ubuyashiki family was struck by a terrifying, seemingly divine curse. Generation after generation, the children born to them were sickly and weak. The males, in particular, rarely lived past thirty.
Most withered away and died before they even reached the age of twenty-five.
Yet, as if the gods sought to offer a sliver of mercy in exchange for this cruel fate, the members of the Ubuyashiki family were granted a near-instinctive precognitive ability. They could not see specific images of the future, but they could feel the subtle pulse of the world, sensing the direction of fate and the shifting tides of destiny.
This frail young man was the current head of the family, the one who held that heavy foresight—Ubuyashiki Rikiya.
To his right, perched upon a specialized wooden stand, sat a pitch-black Kasugai Crow. The bird remained entirely motionless, its sharp golden eyes staring straight ahead.
It had just completed a grueling flight from a thousand miles away.
It carried every piece of news conveyed by Rengoku Juro.
Rikiya slowly closed his right eye, the one that still held a faint glimmer of light, and sat in absolute silence for a long time. The only sound in the room was the soft crackle of the oil lamps.
"A demon..." he whispered.
His voice was incredibly light, carrying the distinct, breathy weakness one would expect from a bedridden invalid. Yet, beneath that frailty, the tone was calm, steady, and as unyielding as a mountain boulder.
"A demon capable of slaying another demon from miles away. One who carries Master Totosai's notes and actively seeks out the Demon Slayer Corps."
Rikiya paused, his chest rising and falling in a slow, measured breath. "And another... a hunter who can suppress three of our swordsmen in a single instant."
"Kobe Hikaru... is this the same name that has recently risen to fame across Musashi Province? Slaying lightning, exorcising demons, repelling three thousand armored troops, and intimidating the Dragon of Echigo..."
He pondered the weight of these words, reaching out with a practiced, steady hand to take a thin sheet of paper from the low table beside him. He dipped a brush into the inkstone.
Though he could not see the paper, his muscle memory was flawless. The brush danced across the surface, leaving neat, elegant strokes in its wake. He wrote with surprising speed.
Once finished, he carefully rolled the paper into a tight cylinder and tied it securely to the Kasugai Crow's extended leg.
Rikiya gently stroked the crow's sleek back. "Tell Juro. Bring them here."
The Kasugai Crow let out a low caw, took flight, slipped smoothly through a narrow gap in the window, and vanished into the swallowing night.
Rikiya turned his face toward the empty shoji door, tracking the fading sound of wings.
"Summon the Hashira back," he commanded softly.
"Yes, Oyakata-sama," a woman's gentle voice responded from the corridor outside. Soft footsteps quickly faded into the distance.
Rikiya closed his cloudy, blind eyes once more. Half-covered by the spreading purple rot, his face appeared exceptionally aged under the flickering lamplight.
He possessed a twenty-year-old body, the heavy aura of a sixty-year-old sage, and the dwindling lifespan of an eighty-year-old elder.
He knew he did not have much time left in this world.
But to receive such news before his death...
"The whereabouts of Kibutsuji Muzan..."
He spoke the dreaded name without a single ounce of hatred in his tone. There was no rage. No burning fury.
There was only exhaustion.
The bone-deep exhaustion of five hundred years of endless slaughter.
And, for the first time in a long while, a spark of hope.
A desperate longing for liberation.
Under that very same night sky, a flurry of movement erupted from the Ubuyashiki estate. Several pitch-black Kasugai Crows burst from the wisteria-draped courtyards, frantically flapping their wings as they scattered in entirely different directions.
They soared high above mountain forests, crossed rushing rivers, and glided silently over the thatched roofs of sleeping towns and the narrow dirt paths cutting through rice fields.
Every single bird carried the exact same urgent command.
Hashira Gathering.
A joint meeting of the highest-ranking swordsmen.
Somewhere deep in the rugged mountains north of Kanto.
A massive bonfire crackled and popped, sending showers of orange sparks into the dark canopy above.
A bald, heavily muscled man sat cross-legged beside the roaring flames. His upper body was completely bare, revealing shoulders and a broad chest covered in a chaotic, crisscrossing mix of thick, silvery scars.
An unusually heavy, oversized sword rested against his waist. Its scabbard was a dull, dark gray, and the hilt was wrapped tightly in coarse hemp rope. Despite its crude appearance, the subtle gleam of the metal marked it unmistakably as a Nichirin Blade.
Arranged in a neat row before him lay the severed heads of three demons.
They had already begun the rapid process of rotting, their flesh blackening and crumbling into ash. Grayish-green patterns of decay spread across their monstrous features, illuminated by the harsh, flickering light of the bonfire.
"Three of them," the bald man grunted.
He reached out with a massive, calloused hand, picked one of the crumbling heads up by its horns, scrutinized the dying embers in its eyes for exactly two seconds, and casually tossed it directly into the center of the fire.
"Good luck today."
Standing at attention behind him were six young swordsmen of the Demon Slayer Corps. They all wore the identical black, high-collared uniforms, their faces smeared with dirt and sweat, looking utterly exhausted yet thrumming with residual adrenaline.
Two of them were visibly injured. One young man's left arm was bound tightly with torn strips of cloth, dark red blood steadily seeping through the makeshift bandage.
"Sir, one of them managed to escape—" the injured boy started, his voice tight with shame.
"Let it go," the bald man interrupted, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "There's nowhere for it to hide in this direction. Dawn is breaking soon. It will burn to ash on its own."
He grabbed a bamboo canteen, poured a massive mouthful of water down his throat, and roughly wiped the corner of his lips with the back of his scarred hand.
A Kasugai Crow suddenly descended from the branches above, landing squarely in front of him.
Its golden eyes locked onto his, and a rapid, urgent gurgling sound rattled from its throat.
The bald man narrowed his eyes at the small slip of paper tied to the bird's leg. He untied it with surprising dexterity, scanned the neat handwriting twice, and crushed the paper in his fist.
He stood up, his massive frame casting a long, imposing shadow over the young swordsmen, and lazily patted the ash and dust off his hakama.
With a swift kick, he sent the remaining two demon heads rolling directly into the bonfire, causing the flames to leap violently into the air.
"Let's go."
"Where to, sir?" one of the swordsmen asked, startled.
"Headquarters. The Master has summoned us."
Beneath the foundations of a towering, silent castle.
Inside a damp, windowless secret room, the air was thick with the scent of stone and oil. A single, dim oil lamp provided the only illumination.
A woman—or rather, a young girl—knelt perfectly still in the corner of the room. Resting across her lap was an unsheathed Nichirin Blade, its polished steel gleaming with a beautiful, deadly pale pink hue.
She was carefully wiping the blade.
Her movements were incredibly slow and deliberate. The oiled cloth slid smoothly along the razor-sharp edge, traveling from the tip down to the handguard, over and over again in a hypnotic rhythm.
She wore the standard black uniform of the Demon Slayer Corps, draped elegantly with a deep purple haori. Her long, dark hair was woven into a thick braid that hung straight down her back.
Her expression was entirely blank. Her dark eyes were calm, reflecting nothing but the pink steel of her weapon.
A Kasugai Crow fluttered in through a narrow ventilation shaft near the ceiling, dropping silently to land right beside her knee.
She did not stop wiping the sword. The cloth continued its smooth, unbroken glide.
She merely tilted her head slightly, glancing sideways at the small slip of paper tied to the bird's leg.
A heartbeat passed.
She sheathed the pink blade with a sharp, echoing click.
Standing up in one fluid motion, she pressed her hand against the heavy stone door of the secret room, pushing it open to step out into the pale, waiting moonlight.
At the exact same time these Kasugai Crows were mobilizing the Corps' strongest warriors.
That very first pitch-black crow had already crossed countless mountains and rushing rivers, returning once more to the sky above the devastated ruins where Hikaru and the others waited.
It had flown at absolute extreme speed for half the night.
Now, at this very moment, the eastern horizon was just beginning to bleed with the first faint, grayish-blue light of dawn.
Juro extended his armored arm, and the exhausted Kasugai Crow landed unsteadily on his forearm, its chest heaving.
He quickly untied the slip of paper, unfolded it, and read the contents.
His eyes widened slightly before he looked up.
He looked first at Hikaru, who stood casually among the crumbling, scorched walls, his crimson eyes unreadable. Then, his gaze shifted to Yoriichi, who was currently squatting carefully beside his exhausted wife.
"A reply from my Master," Juro announced, his voice breaking the quiet chill of the morning.
He stepped forward and handed the note directly to the undead samurai. "I am permitted to take you both—to headquarters."
Hikaru took the small slip of paper and scanned it.
The handwriting was immaculate, the words sharp and concise. Stamped at the very bottom was an elegant pattern that clearly served as a family crest.
He handed the note back without a change in expression.
Then, he turned his head to look at the legendary swordsman.
"Bring your wife and come with us," Hikaru said simply.
Yoriichi did not answer immediately.
He looked down at Uta. She was leaning heavily against his chest, her breathing having finally stabilized after the night's horrors, but her small frame still trembled slightly in the cold air. The child growing in her womb kicked occasionally, causing a fleeting flash of maternal softness to cross her pale face, temporarily washing away the lingering terror.
"Uta's current condition isn't suitable for long travel," Yoriichi said quietly, his voice tight with protective concern.
"The Demon Slayer Corps headquarters is significantly safer than sitting out here in the open," Hikaru replied, his tone entirely natural and pragmatic, yet laced with a cold logic that left Yoriichi entirely unable to deny or refuse. "At the very least, they have a massive Wisteria Barrier, armed manpower, and a trained midwife."
Hikaru crossed his arms, his gaze dropping to the pregnant woman. "also, your wife's constitution seems entirely unique. She clearly attracts demons much easier than a normal human. Add to that the fact that the demon we just killed specifically set a trap to harvest her... who knows exactly when the next one will catch her scent?"
Yoriichi fell completely silent. His jaw tightened as he processed the obvious truth of the undead samurai's words.
Ultimately, he gave a slow, heavy nod.
He bent down and scooped Uta steadily into his strong arms. His movements were incredibly gentle and slow, holding her against his chest as if he were carrying the most fragile, precious piece of porcelain in the entire world.
Juro watched the quiet exchange from the side, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. He thought back to the final, commanding line written by Ubuyashiki Rikiya on the note.
Recruit them at all costs; do not be neglectful. Both of them.
He carefully tucked the note into the folds of his uniform, straightened his posture, and offered a deep, formal bow to both Hikaru and Yoriichi.
"Then, please follow me."
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