Chapter 303: Chapter 303: Muzan's Peace of Mind
Before dawn painted the sky, the soft knock of a maid echoed against Oboro's door. The sound carried an urgency that matched the darkness of the hour.
Oboro brought the two Upper Ranks into his residence; their forms cast long shadows in the dim light. The weight of what he was about to do hung heavily in the air.
Just as he had done with Gyokko, Oboro methodically cut flesh from their bodies, transforming each piece into cards with practiced precision. The process was surgical and deliberate; each movement was calculated to extract maximum potential while maintaining the delicate balance of power.
However, unlike with Gyokko, Oboro discovered that he could transform these specimens into entirely different types of cards. Something far more valuable than simple flesh cards:
Skill Cards.
Blood Demon Arts materialized before him, tangible manifestations of demonic power pulsing with otherworldly energy. The collection included several devastating Moon Breathing techniques, each sword form a masterpiece of destructive artistry. Doma's mastery of ice manipulation crystallized into another set: frozen techniques that promised deadly beauty in combat.
However, this transformation of skill cards came at a cost. The extraction process inflicted significant mental trauma on both Upper Ranks. Oboro didn't just draw blood; he pulled at their spiritual memories, their very essence. He left wounds that cut deeper than any blade could reach.
"These seem to be the only ones that can be safely transformed," Oboro murmured, setting down his dagger with careful deliberation.
Doma had only recently ascended to the Upper Six; his strength was still developing compared to the monster he would become in later years. His Blood Demon Arts were incomplete and lacked the comprehensive mastery that time and experience would bring. If Oboro pushed too hard now and extracted more powerful techniques, the psychological damage to both demons would be catastrophic.
For now, Oboro needed to maintain the delicate equilibrium between the Demon Slayer Corps and Muzan's forces. These two demons represented the pinnacle of demonic combat prowess; their full value hadn't yet been extracted. They still had roles to play in the greater game.
Several hours passed before Kokushibo's regenerative abilities showed signs of recovery. His wounds closed agonizingly slowly, with each cell struggling to rebuild itself.
The reason for his sluggish healing was simple yet devastating. Sun Breathing inflicted wounds that penetrated beyond mere flesh, burning away at the very foundation of demonic existence. For someone like Oboro, who had mastered breathing techniques that transcended the original Sun Breathing, destroying Kokushibo's vitality came naturally.
"Ahh!"
A sound of pure intoxication escaped Doma's lips, breaking the tense silence.
He gazed at Oboro with undisguised fascination, his eyes drinking in every detail as if observing a masterpiece. That naked stare held no pretense, no attempt to mask the twisted admiration burning within.
Despite having flesh systematically carved from his body, Doma appeared to relish every moment of the experience. His reaction stood in stark contrast to Kokushibo's grim stoicism; the Upper One endured his torment in dignified silence.
"Muzan certainly has a talent for recruiting perverts as his confidants," Oboro observed with dark amusement.
Having achieved his primary objective, Oboro met Doma's disturbing gaze with a slight smile. In the years to come, Doma wouldn't be the only one among the entire roster of the Twelve Demon Moons harboring such twisted proclivities.
In the past, given his temperament, Oboro would have ended Doma's existence the moment he directed such a lascivious stare at him. But now, his perspective had shifted. Perhaps this tolerance represented growth, or perhaps something darker.
Oboro extended a single finger and pressed it slowly between Doma's eyebrows. Upon closer inspection, his finger had dramatically transformed, revealing blackened flesh and prominent blood vessels that were clearly beyond any human capability.
Blood Demon Art: Haze.
Though no longer a true demon, Oboro retained fragments of Muzan's cells in his body. This allowed him to partially transform specific body parts and maintain just enough demonic essence to activate his Blood Demon Arts when necessary.
Functionality was all that mattered.
This transformation, returning to humanity while preserving demonic characteristics, followed the same principle that had allowed Oboro to become the new Demon King and then reclaim his human form. The process was delicate, requiring a perfect balance between opposing natures.
Oboro's Blood Demon Art specializes in mental manipulation through direct brain contact. However, the control he could exert was temporary and weakened by his current state. Given Kokushibo and Doma's immense power, they would likely break free from his influence within a century.
However, a century was more than sufficient for his purposes.
Oboro began tampering with their memories, delicately weaving alterations through their consciousness. Every trace of the previous night's events would be erased, replaced by carefully constructed false memories.
When Muzan Kibutsuji inevitably discovered something amiss, he would be unable to reverse the mental alterations. Out of characteristic caution and paranoia, Muzan hesitated to make direct contact with Oboro, uncertain of what other surprises awaited him.
This served as a perfect demonstration of the saying, "Killing the chicken to warn the monkey."
Currently, Oboro had no desire to involve himself directly in the conflict between the opposing factions. He preferred to observe the "hatching of seeds" from a position of strategic detachment.
Balance and conflict require careful management.
After completing the mental alterations, Oboro disposed of both Upper Ranks beyond the city limits before morning light could expose his activities. Their consciousness would naturally return in time, complete with fabricated memories of an uneventful night.
Meanwhile, across the region, Muzan materialized on a distant battlefield.
However, he remained characteristically cautious. He concealed himself in the shadows and observed the combat unfold before revealing his presence. Only after the battle concluded did he emerge from hiding.
On the blood-soaked battlefield, Akira stood victorious in his black uniform, his distinctive Nichirin blade pinning a lower-rank demon to a tree trunk. He prepared to deliver the final blow to complete his mission.
His opponent had been Lower Three, a formidable adversary under normal circumstances. The two had initially clashed elsewhere, but when the demon realized he was facing superior opposition, his survival instincts kicked in. The chase had led them here, with Akira's relentless pursuit finally cornering his prey.
Just as Akira prepared to claim his victory, footsteps echoed from the treeline.
His expression shifted as he identified the approaching figure: a man with delicate features and gorgeous clothing. Most striking were his crimson pupils, which seemed to glow with unnatural intensity in the darkness.
The stranger's elaborate attire marked him as nobility of the highest order in this era. Akira recognized him immediately.
A daimyo. But what could have brought such high-ranking nobility to this remote location?
"A demon?" The realization hit Akira like ice water.
The lower rank's sudden powerlessness and terrified expression when facing the newcomer confirmed his worst fears.
"My lord," the demon began, desperately attempting an explanation.
The next instant, killing intent flooded the air. Akira's instincts screamed danger as he launched himself sideways, narrowly avoiding annihilation.
A shadow tore through the space he had occupied, obliterating Lower Three completely and shattering a massive tree. Though Akira's reflexes saved his life, the attack still found him; half his face was torn away, and blood streamed down his neck.
A moment's hesitation would have meant instant death, his head exploding like the demon's had.
"My lord?" Akira faced his opponent, weapons ready and every muscle coiled for combat.
The Lower Rank's form of address revealed the truth of their situation.
"Kibutsuji Muzan!" The name tore from Akira's throat, filled with recognition and dread.
"Oh?" Muzan's eyebrows rose as he studied the Pillar before him with newfound interest. "Interesting. You managed to avoid my attack."
He was here for a specific reason: to observe the changes affecting the Demon Slayer Corps firsthand due to their evolved breathing techniques. The destroyed Lower Rank was merely an annoyance, fleeing from a Pillar when honor demanded that he fight to the death.
In previous eras, Lower Ranks had even claimed the lives of multiple Pillars, dealing devastating blows to the Corps' strength. Such cowardice was intolerable.
"You're not going to flee?" Muzan asked, his voice carrying deadly curiosity as he observed the swordsman's battle stance.
The Pillar recognized Muzan and understood the hopelessness of his situation, yet he chose to fight rather than run. This determination sparked something resembling disgust in Muzan's ancient heart.
These persistent insects never learned their place.
"Metal Breathing, Sixth Form: Thousand Blade Transformation!"
Without hesitation, Akira raised his Sun Blade, moving his hands in complex patterns that transformed its shape as he charged forward with desperate courage.
Two minutes later, Muzan held a severed head in his grasp, blood dripping between his fingers, and gazed toward the distant horizon.
"Not him," he murmured with cold satisfaction.
This wasn't Sun Breathing; it was merely another derivative technique. Finally, he could set aside his deepest fears.
"Metal Breathing" dramatically enhances physical capabilities, proving far more efficient than traditional breathing methods. For now, though, the threat remained manageable.
Still, improvements to the quality of the Twelve Demon Moons became increasingly necessary, particularly among the lower ranks, which continued to disappoint him.
After contemplating the night's revelations, Muzan casually discarded Akira's head and vanished into the darkness.
News from his other operations should be waiting.