Demon Slayer: Upper 0 seems to be a waste

Chapter 297 Fall

Ubuyashiki is indeed a very powerful human, an incredible human, and an incredible opponent.

Lin Guang thought.

Even if he searched through the last remaining memories in his mind, he wouldn't be able to find another human as capable as him, no, probably not even to the same degree.

Ubuyashiki is indeed very impressive.

It's not just about Ubuyashiki's brave, almost reckless, behavior as a human being. It's about setting aside all the objective differences between humans and demons, and considering Ubuyashiki as an independent individual. It's about the calmness, the mentality, the composure, the unwavering attitude from the moment they first met, the unshakable calmness in the face of known explosions and death, the composure towards death, and the fearless calmness even when his nemesis comes to kill him.

Rinko thought that he could give such an evaluation without any bias, a kind of recognition, a rare feeling.

He's a very capable person.

But this is not a compliment, not a praise, it is not, and it will not be.

Because Rinko doesn't feel happy about this, he doesn't feel joy because of all this. On the contrary, he is now completely overwhelmed by emotions. Emotions are really terrible things. He used to only see that when others were dominated by anger, they would become reckless, lose their minds, and make too many mistakes.

He even once despised the existence of emotions because of this, since he was not easily swayed most of the time.

But this time, he admitted, he was angry, completely, utterly angry. Anger was a ignited flame, but unlike real fire that would burn the skin or be scalding, it almost made him feel cold. It was a spark that flew from the depths of his heart, yet instantly traveled through his veins and enveloped his entire body with each breath.

He won't praise Ubuyashiki, but he will say this.

On Ubuyashiki's tombstone, there will be an epitaph that he carved himself.

He would personally erect a tombstone next to the grave where no body could be found, and he would carve these words deeply into the stone. He knew that humans would do that. He would find any remains he could find, bury them, throw them into the deepest pit, and then write these words on the stone.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Ubuyashiki's death was not just about a highly destructive explosion that caught everyone off guard. That huge roar was not the end of everything, not the end of the story. On the contrary, it was the beginning of everything. The explosion was like a signal, the first thing to appear that night, the first firework to ignite the night sky.

And now, on this land, the flames will no longer be extinguished, nor will they be extinguished by the night or the wind.

They will burn, invisible yet audible.

Deflagration.

Those people, those ghost swordsmen, those approaching bodies, those raised blades, those hoarse roars, those tearing wind sounds—all of these proclaimed it.

They were ignited, ignited by an invisible, audible, and non-existent flame called Ubuyashiki. They themselves were flames, their bodies became torches, and attacks came from all directions. The non-existent fire line was now truly present between them, a perfect encirclement.

And at the very center of it all, the only beings destined to be burned are them.

Humans must kill the demons.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

If it were only this level of attack, Rinko wouldn't be worried. He has a million ways to escape if his freedom isn't restricted.

His body was immobile. He had some control over the body that had been restored after being shattered, but it wasn't enough, far from enough. The larger part was still fixed in place by those damned fleshy thorns, making him a sitting duck.

Even as he struggled, even as his blood melted the thorns as it flowed; even as the bone in Tamayo's shoulder creaked under the strain before finally breaking; even as his blood dripped out, evaporating before it even hit the ground.

But he hadn't had a chance to break free from this cage.

That's too late.

He was acutely aware of this.

For the first time, Rinko had a clear understanding of killing intent and death. She had never understood it so clearly before. She had known about it and felt it before, but never so deeply. Her spine was aching.

He wasn't afraid of being surrounded or the murderous intent. He wasn't afraid of the death he might face, but he could feel his heart pounding violently, like a bird trapped in a net, desperately flapping its wings, trying to break free of the tight net.

The heart doesn't beat for itself.

That heart.

It is Muzan who is throbbing.

If he were the only one here, Rinko thought, he wouldn't be so tense, so angry, feel his heart pounding so hard, or have such strong emotions. Death isn't scary, death isn't something to be feared. He's never lived because he's afraid of death; he breathes for something else.

Muzan won't die. The man is very strong, extremely strong. He knows that these attacks will be harmless; he won't die. Muzan will not die.

Rinko knew this very well, but whenever he thought of that word, the word "death," or the name Muzan, he couldn't control his emotions and thoughts.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

When Rinko looked up, she saw those eyes. Beside Tanjiro was Kyojuro.

The moment their eyes met, Rinko's breathing slowed for a beat.

This was the first time he had ever seen such clear anger in those seemingly forever gentle eyes. His brows were furrowed, almost for the first time in his memory, and his hand was tightly gripping the knife as he approached, as if charging towards them.

Those eyes were always gentle and smiling, as was that face.

But only in this one second, this one moment, this one instant, was Kyojuro completely enveloped in flames, just like his unique surname.

Kyojuro personally brought Purgatory to the scene.

Rinko's breathing became heavier in that instant, not because of the anger in those eyes, but because he suddenly realized something.

Muzan won't die; they won't kill him, even so.

But what if they really wanted to kill him, regardless of the cost or consequences, even if they couldn't, they genuinely wanted to do it?

His heart skipped a beat for a second.

"Once you die, all ghosts will be destroyed, right?"

Almost like the whisper of a ghost, Ubuyashiki's gentle voice lingered in Rinko's ears for a moment. Who was the real demon? The one who could die with such a calm smile, taking his wife and daughter with him, the one who could come up with such a plan, the one who could arrange all of this and then just sit there chatting with him, the one who could say those words—whoever he was, seemed more like a demon than them.

Humans must kill the demons.

Now, since this statement is true...

For humans, what better option could there be than killing Muzan?

They can never kill all the ghosts, but they will forever hunt down this more unique being.

unless.

He died tonight.

Not a ghost.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Rinko gripped that shoulder tightly, his grip tightening, the shattered bone piercing through flesh, clothes, and digging into his palm.

Never before had she experienced such intense pain, but in that instant, Rinko felt almost no pain at all.

He was torn apart, ripped apart from the inside out.

Muzan won't die in this second; what he needs to do is become a useful being in the shortest amount of time, not a burden hanging here.

The thorns will buy him enough time.

But the reinforcements came unexpectedly.

The sound of the pipa appeared at an unexpected moment—not in the sight of humans, not in the sight of Rinko, and not even in the sight of Tamayo.

He subconsciously looked up, and Muzan's face was filled with a smile, a smile of complete control.

Rinko belatedly breathed a sigh of relief. Just as he had thought, Muzan would not die, they could not kill him. Humans had set a trap, but demons would not simply become prey. The Infinity Castle was the new hunting ground, a hunting ground for demons.

But the relaxation was only temporary.

Those roars, that threat, Tanjiro's voice—Rinko knew this was just the beginning.