Every time the door of the Infinity Castle opened, space folded inward.
A single, faint note from the biwa. With that short resonance, the alley, the temple grounds, the moonlight, and the smell of blood all thinned like a sheet of paper.
As my toes slipped into that thinness, Yoshiwara’s red lanterns receded, and endless stairs, slanted pillars, and lattices that could have been either ceiling or floor stretched on without end.
“...A shame.”
Kokushibo adjusted his grip on the scabbard. Six eyes swept across different angles at once, and nowhere did he sense the presence of the sun. Dawn would come soon. This was also a return made to keep a promise.
He would not lay a hand on the humans of the pleasure district, just as the Water Hashira had wished.
Kokushibo had matched that wish at the cost of the man’s death.
Daki followed carefully behind him. The pattern on her ornate kimono looked somewhat garish in this warped space before sinking back down again. Stairs crawled up walls, and walls fell into ceilings.
The Infinity Castle always breathed with motion that never moved.
Tack.
Another pluck of the strings. Nakime’s thin, expressionless eyes appeared for an instant on a distant railing, then vanished. No guidance, no questions. For Upper Rank One’s return, the path always opened first.
Daki drew a breath and spoke.
“...Kokushibo-sama.”
Her voice was careful, but it did not tremble.
“Why—”
She stopped herself once, choosing her words, then choosing them again.
“Why did you not eat that human? That Water Hashira—at that level of strength, he would have made excellent blood flesh.”
Kokushibo did not answer. Instead, he looked for a moment at the shape of dust settling on the railing in the air. There was no scent left from the battlefield. Only moonlight remained on the blade.
“It was merely a whim. I met a strong swordsman for the first time in fifty years. And a human at that. Unlike Akaza and Douma, his desperation stood out quite a bit.”
Kokushibo’s words brushed past the wall of the Infinity Castle. No scent remained where they passed.
Daki bit her lip for a moment. She did not understand. But she also had no desire to lean in and argue. His words were always the same.
“A warrior leaves himself behind in his final form. That man’s form was not something light enough to be eaten away and erased.”
Daki flinched slightly at the word “form.” To her, someone who had lived by masks, adornments, smiles, and glances, a form was always just a shell that could be replaced. But from Kokushibo’s mouth, the word rang not as a shell, but as a core.
“...Then what will you do next?”
At her question, Kokushibo paused and looked beyond the railing. Endless corridors that bent and turned, stairs flowing in the opposite direction, a path that could not be seen but was clearly leading somewhere.
“Next, I should look at the road.”
His six eyes slowly returned to Daki.
“The Blue Spider Lily. The three threads caught in today’s pattern—the herb seller, the prayers at the temple grounds, the calendar of the waterways. Is there truly any meaning in tying those three together?”
“Daki, I may have approached the clue of the Blue Spider Lily from the wrong place from the very beginning.”
Kokushibo’s words scattered against the lattice of the Infinity Castle without leaving even an echo. His six eyes were already turned elsewhere, and Daki could never quite guess the coordinates they pointed toward.
She clutched her kimono sleeve tightly and hesitated for a moment. But in the end, she swallowed the words she had been about to add. If Kokushibo said it was over, then it was over.
“As you command.”
Kokushibo remained alone for a moment and drew his blade. The moonlight was gone, but the edge still remembered the scent of the moon.
He cut thinly through the air. In the instant the air split, his six eyes recalled the word form again.
Something that could not be eaten away and erased. Something that would not disappear even if cut. A warrior who protected himself until the very end.
Kokushibo held that image for a moment, then sheathed his sword.
And once again, the door of the Infinity Castle folded shut.
§§§
On the outskirts, far from Yoshiwara, there was a lonely riverbank tucked away in a corner.
Deeper inside, in a hidden temple ground, the smell of blood was still thick.
The wind had pooled there, making the rotting prayers on the ground feel even damper.
“...Here.”
The first to arrive was the Wind Hashira, Yushimura Kaisen. Panting hard as he ran in, he saw the gravel beneath his feet stained red, and his eyes wavered.
After him came the Flame Hashira, Rengoku Danzo, the Mist Hashira, Tsuyomi Ren, and the Stone Hashira, Arakane Mokuro. In total, four Hashira appeared in Yoshiwara’s pleasure district one after another.
They were all pillars who had inherited the generation before them, and it was no exaggeration to call them the Demon Slayer Corps’ current final line of defense.
When they saw the traces left by their old, worn-out comrade, they stopped in their tracks.
The Water Hashira’s body lay collapsed beside a broken stone lantern.
His left shoulder blade was gone, and his right hand was empty as well. And yet his back had never fully bent, and his head was still facing forward.
Wind Hashira Kaisen clenched his teeth, lifting the blood-soaked collar of his uniform.
“...Too late. We were late again!”
The Flame Hashira Danzo quietly knelt down.
He pressed a palm to the Water Hashira’s chest and confirmed that a faint warmth still remained.
“Kotaro-san... your ember never went out, even at the end.”
Mist Hashira Ren covered his eyes and muttered, “If it hadn’t been for you, none of us would even be able to hold a sword right now. As the Water Hashira, you were the one who led the flow more than anyone...”
Stone Hashira Mokuro struck the ground with his fist in silence. Pebbles flew up, but in the end, no words came from him. Only a dark gaze remained, layered over the blood in the temple grounds.
The four Hashira understood.
The man lying here was not merely one swordsman. He was the root that had supported their generation, the Water Hashira who had passed the path on to the next.
Wind Hashira Kaisen ground his teeth and said, “Upper Rank One... it must have been that monster. No trace of his presence remains.”
Flame Hashira Danzo nodded.
“The fact that Kotaro-san fought him is proof enough. If it was an opponent who could bring him down so utterly... then it means even a single Hashira was nowhere near enough to face an Upper Rank.”
Mist Hashira Ren lowered his gaze. A deep shadow fell over the corners of his eyes.
“...Then we have a story to pass down to the next generation. If only to make sure this death was not in vain.”
Flame Hashira Danzo scooped up a handful of dirt and scattered it beside the Water Hashira.
“Kotaro-san, you tried to protect people until the very end. That final breath of yours will remain in all of the Demon Slayer Corps. We will be the witnesses to it.”
Wind Hashira Kaisen looked around. The bodies of fallen subordinates were scattered about, and the temple roof tiles and stone pillars were still soaked red.
He clenched his teeth and gripped his scabbard.
“Upper Rank One. ...I will cut him down, no matter what. I won’t leave this revenge to the next generation. While I’m still alive, I’ll sever that monster’s neck and offer it before Kotaro-san myself.”
Stone Hashira Mokuro let out a low, rough breath.
“...We already know our limits, don’t we? A single Hashira cannot bring down an Upper Rank. Today, Kotaro-san proved that with his own body. Only if the four of us work together—and the next generation is added to us—will it be possible.”
The Wind Hashira’s eyes wavered. But soon they hardened again.
“...Fine. Then it starts now. The four of us will burn through the years we have left and leave stronger Hashira for the next generation.”
Flame Hashira Danzo brought his hands together in prayer. His low, heavy voice filled the temple grounds.
“Iwanai Kotaro, as the Water Hashira you were the flow of water, and you protected humans like the sea itself. Your death will not be in vain. We will stand on that same current as well.”
Mist Hashira Ren murmured softly, “...Haigara Katane. That young brat will be the next Water Hashira. We have to pass this story on no matter what. So they’ll understand how the river of humanity and the sea are meant to connect.”
The wind blew. The stench of blood scattered from the temple grounds, and at the same time, pale moonlight fell over the stone lanterns. It was as if the form Kotaro had protected until the very end was still lingering there.
The four Hashira silently drew their swords and planted their blades into the ground.
It was a ritual to honor a comrade’s soul in each of their own ways.
Wind Hashira Kaisen spoke one last time.
“...Kotaro-san. If your death is a river, then we will walk upon its waves. One day, we will surely cut down Upper Rank One and offer his head at the end of this river.”
With those words, a crow cried out overhead.
The night faded, and the morning sun spread from far away.
Above the temple grounds, the four Hashira sent off a Water Hashira of a generation past in heavy silence.
But that weight never disappeared.
The river did not break.
Iwanai Kotaro’s name would continue to flow through the Demon Slayer Corps for a long time to come.
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