Demon Slayer: Upper 0 seems to be a waste

Chapter 296 Explosive

Rinko doesn't actually like quiet. He used to like it, but not anymore. Now he prefers a lively atmosphere, likes everyone to talk, so he can listen and participate. Even if the other person is talking about topics or content he doesn't like, at least he can choose to refute them instead of letting the atmosphere fall into an eerie silence.

Silence forces him to think, to think about everything he can think of, and eventually he is forced to find the next suitable topic in the process of thinking.

Now he doesn't want to think. Even if thinking could make him multitask, he still doesn't want to. He has finally escaped that dark forest where only thoughts remained and doesn't want to go back.

"Rinko."

The silence was broken when someone spoke, freeing Rinko from the prison of his own thoughts. He looked in the direction of the voice and saw Tamayo with her mouth open; the voice was coming from her.

"it's me."

He didn't understand why she only responded that way. Why did she only call his name when he greeted her? She clearly had more choices, more ideas, and more opportunities. Why did she only call his name? How was the conversation going to continue like this?

Just as he could think of the worst, the atmosphere turned cold again.

"Do you still remember his name, Tamayo? You are truly ungrateful and repay kindness with enmity. Who is it that you love so much and wants to live? Who is it that wants to save that boy? I turned you into a demon and healed him, but what did you do? Who killed your husband and child? Was it me? No, it can't be. Who abandoned Rinko and chose another path? Was it me? No, it can't be. It was none other than yourself, Tamayo."

Rinko could now clearly see that Muzan's hand wasn't just grabbing; his nails were scratching the skin, and blood was flowing down the contours of his face. Tamayo's expression had changed; she looked more lost, sad, self-reproachful, and perhaps even regretful. It was too complicated for Rinko to understand or distinguish.

It was a mixture of too many heavy things, memories he didn't know, truths he didn't know. That's why he never saw Tamayo again. Tamayo chose another path, walking far away, away from everything, including him.

The anger did not stop there, nor did it dissipate because of the mockery. On the contrary, it intensified during this brief silence, rising out of nowhere on this land like a bursting flame.

“If I had known it would turn out like this, I wouldn’t have said those things. I wouldn’t have said I wanted to live, I wouldn’t have said I wanted that boy to be cured… I said I didn’t want to die from the illness, I said I didn’t want to see the boy die from the illness, because I wanted to see my child grow up! Because I wanted to see Lin Yang playing in the sunlight!”

Fear and sadness are actually very close; their ultimate outcome is to give rise to anger. Just like now, those self-blame, those feelings of loss, those tears that keep falling to the ground, more than blood, are scorched by flames and evaporated by heat. In the end, all that remains is a scorching anger, just like the high temperature here.

But Rinko's attention wasn't focused on the stories he didn't know; he was drawn to a single word.

It's not abandonment, it's not leaving, it's nothing else, it's just that simple name.

Lin Yang.

He blinked once at the name.

Perhaps it's because of the same syllable, or perhaps it's just because of the tone, the angry roar.

This is an unfamiliar name, so unfamiliar. I've never heard it before, never uttered it myself, never heard it from anyone else. But... it's strange.

He felt a sense of familiarity, as if he had heard it before, more than once, and was completely captivated the moment he heard it.

But there isn't one.

He had no memory of it, and he wouldn't respond to that name, that title. It wasn't his name; he had his own. It didn't come from anyone he knew; he had no recollection, no memory of it, even if he had forgotten. Perhaps he had forgotten, or perhaps it had never existed in the first place.

But why exactly?

Why does it feel so familiar? Why did he feel pain the moment he heard it?

It hurts so much, it aches so much.

It pierces deeper and hurts more than a thorn that pierces the body, and it hurts more than when your heart is squeezed.

The pain was so intense. Hearing that name shouted out so loudly, and being swept up in that anger, he felt like he was about to be crushed and suffocated.

It seems that the name itself contains an error.

They should bear the anger.

That's a really terrible name.

It wasn't just because of the feeling the name evoked; even from the name itself, he felt it was a bad name: Lin Yang.

The winter sun.

What a terrible name.

Playing in the sunshine.

What a terrifying expectation.

Is this what we should expect of a child? As a demon, what about another child who is also a demon? Not only must they endure the scorching sun, but they must also suffer the biting cold wind?

"Really? But after that, you killed so many people, and you chose to abandon him. Are all of this just my imagination, my misunderstanding? No way, I see you completely immersed in it, eating people with relish, and hiding from him so deeply, as if you're afraid to see him."

Muzan continued his narration, but Rinko was already unsure of what they were talking about. An unfamiliar name had entered the conversation, and it seemed that only the two of them knew about this unfamiliar story. Children shouldn't get involved in adults' conversations, but there seemed to be someone in this story whom he might know.

Should he ask?

He was thinking, but Tamayo didn't need to hesitate anymore, she no longer needed to, and she would never do it again.

She looked up at Muzan, even though the sharp nail on that finger would cut her flesh.

“That’s right! I gave up on myself and killed many people. In despair, I chose to escape and abandon once again. I did not accept reality, but let myself fall into depravity and accumulate sins. So, in order to repay this sin, to atone for these crimes, and to make up for the mistakes I have made, I want to die here with you and all of you!”

Even as that finger pierced her eyeball, blood splattered, and her eyeball was shattered, Tamayo showed no sign of yielding, displaying such rage and intense emotion.

But that's not what Rinko cares about.

'die'.

He was drawn to and moved by the word.

"Mr. Himejima! Please!"

The name made Rinko raise his head. Every movement was a long ordeal. The thorns held his body in place, and each movement tore his flesh apart from the inside. Blood was flowing, and he was absorbing the thorns, almost instinctively, as if it were a survival instinct.

But it was too late. He could only barely move his eyes. Before he could see clearly, he heard the sound of the wind, the sound of the wind being torn apart, the wind howling and wailing. Something was approaching, and the sound of footsteps was almost deafening.

A deep, tearing roar echoed in his mind. He remembered Scream Island, that man who was like a mountain. He didn't know him well enough, but just one glance was enough to leave an impression.

The chains clashed, swung, and came crashing down with the momentum of the hammer. The target was clear and precise; it wasn't him, but the momentum from the hammer's spikes was enough to shatter a part of his limbs.

It was too fast. Before he could even feel the pain, his head had already exploded into a bloody mess. Blood splattered on his face, not just his own, but also Muzan's. It was almost the first time he had ever seen such a scene. The head had completely disappeared without even blinking, vanished under the swing of that hammer.

His heart stopped beating for a moment.

An unprecedented emotion spread in that instant, from the deepest part of my heart, along that thorn, along every blood vessel, to every piece of skin, to every finger.

He knew Muzan wasn't dead, he could feel it, but he was just angry and surprised. He could sense those emotions, but for a moment, he couldn't even tell whether those emotions came from Muzan or from himself.

Muzan recovered quickly; his arms, body, and head were restored to their original state. However, the impact of that moment was not so easily erased or forgotten.

The hammer was blocked again, and the shattered body regenerated, causing some damage, but also giving Muzan the opportunity to move freely.

The thorns lashed out like whips, creating a dense storm, but the hammer, swung with incredible speed, created an almost impenetrable barrier, impossible to approach yet impossible to retreat from—a solid fortress.

Rin's hands and feet regenerated, finally giving him a chance to move. In the end, this Blood Demon Art wasn't entirely aimed at him. He clenched his fists and pulled his arms, the thorns tearing through his muscles and bones, blood dripping down, but he regained control of his hands.

"You said we would die here with you."

Rinko reached out her hand, and that hand landed on Tamayo's shoulder.

Tamayo didn't look at him. Her eyes briefly lifted, but it was as if her small hand weighed a ton. She lowered her head, looked to the side, and almost closed her eyes.

"Tamayo. You're wrong. You're the only one who'll die here."

That tiny hand, with such force, twisted the clothes out of shape, squeezed the skin and flesh, and made a cracking sound from the bones beneath its palm.

He was venting his emotions, using his immobilized body as support. He needed a foothold to pull him out of these thorny shackles. No one would reach out to him, so he would grab onto whatever he could, even if it meant risking his life to get out. He didn't care if his flesh was torn or his bones broken.

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to do more.

He didn't have time to grab Tamayo's head.

A roar surged into my ears, so hoarse, so piercing, so noisy.

Then more people arrived, and Beiming Island roared.

The group went from being shocked to launching an attack in just a few words.

The attacks coming from all directions were so shocking and so fierce that Rinko could see the emotions on everyone's faces.

anger.

Ah, if anger had a temperature, if emotions had a concrete form, then this very moment would probably be a recurrence of that explosion.

An explosion is not the end, it is the beginning.

It burned down the Ubuyashiki, but the ashes that had been extinguished ignited a wildfire.

In the desolate wilderness.

Under the pitch-black night sky.

Here, at this moment.

Deflagration.