A thick darkness lay over his eyes.
"...Where am I?"
The moment his consciousness flickered weakly, a strange sensation washed over his body. When he moved his fingertips, he felt not wood or soil, but a cold, smooth floor beneath them.
Soft, shimmering light spread faintly in every direction. It was a world so vast and indistinct that it felt as if an endless expanse had been swallowed by a massive fog.
An unknown space that somehow felt infinite.
"[Infinity Castle]..."
A voice so low it was chilling took command of the space.
He slowly raised his heavy eyelids and sat up. His mind was in chaos. He tried to search his memories, but something blocked them, leaving him with the sensation of a white void going dark, as if a curtain had fallen over everything.
No matter how hard he tried, he could not find a single clue about the existence of his former self.
Name, face, everyday life from the past. Everything had been wiped clean like a blank page.
And yet something strange happened. Though those memories were gone, layer upon layer of other memories—unfamiliar, yet at the same time vividly real—began to fill his mind.
A sense of déjà vu.
A harsh light swam through his head.
—Demon Slayer Corps.
—Kibutsuji Muzan.
—And the battles of the past, lived as an oni for hundreds of years.
"...!"
His breath caught in his throat. Someone else's vivid life was surging into him, as if it were his own. Scenes of swinging a sword and facing countless humans, the anger and emptiness he felt in them, and the bitter traces left behind at the end.
He understood.
This was not his memory.
This was the memory of Kokushibo, Upper Rank One.
§§§
He drew in a deep breath. Cold, heavy air sank deep into his lungs and filled his body.
It was not a human breath. As the instincts of an oni awakened, strange desires and a frigid power seemed to seep into every vein.
"My name is Kokushibo."
"No. The owner of this body is Kokushibo."
His voice rumbled low, like rough iron scraping against iron. In that instant, a shiver ran down his spine. Something that was never the path of me. And yet the memories of this body were too vivid to deny.
Hundreds of years spent swinging a sword and spilling blood.
The despair in the eyes of countless humans as they met their end. And the moments spent cutting down innumerable people beneath the shadow of Muzan, the absolute ruler.
All of it was now settling into place as my own memory.
He was confused. I was clearly not Kokushibo. And yet, at the same time, I could not deny that I was Kokushibo.
"Who... am I?"
His thoughts tangled like a lost traveler in a cold fog. But soon, that confusion began to slowly take shape. The former me—that trace of existence was already gone. I could no longer know who I had been, nor could I ever recover it. What remained now was only one thing.
Myself, inheriting Kokushibo's life and memories.
He raised a hand and swept back his long hair. Beneath the smooth strands, he could feel the unnatural, inhuman Mark that stretched across his forehead. Proof that he was not human.
When he reached for his waist, his fingertips found a bizarre curved Nichirin sword. The moment he drew it from its sheath, the crescent-moon pattern rippled along the blade.
A vibration, as if thirsting for blood, crawled up his arm.
"Strong."
The words slipped out before he could stop them. That power stirred the instincts of an oni, and at the same time felt disturbingly natural in his hand. As if he had always been the one wielding this sword.
Yet in the eyes that faced that power, there was no greed—only an unreadable unease.
What was he supposed to do now?
Then it happened.
The strange space of the [Infinity Castle] began to tremble. A resonance like the quiver of strings spread slowly outward, and soon all the air was pressed down with heavy force.
—Upper Rank One, Kokushibo.
The voice did not echo through the room, but directly through the depths of his mind. An overwhelming, absolute wave of command that could not be refused.
—Come here.
He knew instinctively who the owner of that voice was.
Kibutsuji Muzan.
In that instant, Kokushibo's memories came crashing back like a storm. Hundreds of years spent kneeling before the absolute sovereign and offering unwavering loyalty. Those memories tried to force his body into obedience, to submit to the command.
But deep inside him, an unfamiliar resistance began to sprout.
Was he different from the other oni? Unlike the other Upper Ranks, was he free from Muzan's control?
And yet his feet were already moving. His body instinctively knew the way toward Muzan, and the [Infinity Castle] formed stairs and doors in response to each step.
He walked slowly. Without hesitation, he moved forward and lifted his gaze with those eerily gleaming six eyes.
The first meeting as Kokushibo.
First, he needed to understand Kibutsuji Muzan.
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