35 Vol. II Demon Slayer: Floating Comment

Is this… the power of the First Demon?

Haruto could barely comprehend the massive arm swinging toward him. He raised his Nichirin blade just in time to block, but the enormous claw gripped both him and the sword, crushing him at the waist like a twig.

The agony of being bisected was indescribable. For minutes, he writhed on the ground, spitting curses at Muzan Kibutsuji—every foul word he could muster, he hurled with venom.

Yet that wretched beast... merely watched him, calm and detached, as if observing the inevitability of time draining Haruto's life away.

His eyes were void of emotion, as though Muzan had stripped away all traces of humanity from himself. If anything, he seemed puzzled by Haruto's outburst.

"Why let the deaths of others burden you?" Muzan's cold, almost curious voice echoed, his eyes glinting under the brim of his hat. "If you weren't fast enough, wasn't it better to feign ignorance?

Had you not rushed here recklessly, you might have lived. Humans should cherish what little they possess—like their own lives. Why risk it for others?"

Haruto couldn't answer—not as dark, frothy blood bubbled up from his shattered spleen, spilling from his lips.

...

The memory of that unbearable pain lingered even now. Haruto stood frozen in front of the wooden cabin atop Sagiri Mountain, staring blankly for two seconds before bolting inside and rummaging furiously through every drawer and shelf.

Damn it! Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT!

That agony—that wretched, soul-crushing agony—still burned fresh in his mind. The memory made him dry-heave as he overturned boxes and cabinets.

Finally, his hand closed around the last vial of the demonification serum. Clutching it tightly, he kicked the door open and sprinted toward Mount Kumotori without hesitation.

"Feign ignorance?" he muttered bitterly to himself. "Only a demon would say such nonsense! Trash like that can only spout lies!"

If running away was the solution to hardship… then why did I ever leave the Swordsmith Village? What was the point of becoming a Demon Slayer?

He pushed himself to run faster, white hair streaming behind him. He didn't know when Muzan would reach the Kamado household at Kumotori, but if he could get there first, maybe—just maybe—he could evacuate the family in time.

"Sora!" he called to his parrot. "Find Giyu Tomioka—wait, no, forget it!"

One Hashira was barely enough to make a dent. Two? Would that change fate? Or would it just add more names to the list of the dead?

Haruto arrived at Mount Kumotori by nightfall, gasping for breath. He forced himself to calm down as he approached the small Kamado home.

The mountain was eerily quiet. No scent of blood. No screams.

Could it be...?

The wooden house came into view, and Haruto's chest tightened.

Standing at the entrance, about to open the door, was a figure. He turned at the sound of Haruto's arrival, his eyes filled with quiet curiosity.

Muzan Kibutsuji.

[Love at first sight?]
[Love my ass! Run, Haruto, RUN!]
[This is the stuff of nightmares—what the hell?!]

Haruto's throat tightened, his stomach twisting as if ready to purge.

Muzan, calm as ever, tilted his head and asked, "Who are you?"

"..."

What should he do? How could he get this monster to leave?

When no answer came, Muzan frowned.

"I've seen you before… Or rather, one of my subordinates has."

As the Demon King, Muzan could see through the eyes of all demons, combing through their memories as easily as turning pages in a book. Whether it was one year ago or several decades, nothing escaped him.

"Doma? Or Daki?" Haruto rasped, his voice hoarse.

"You know their names—so the Ubuyashiki clan isn't as ignorant as I thought," Muzan mused, his lips curling into something resembling amusement.

He turned fully toward Haruto, his narrowed eyes scrutinizing him like a scholar studying a specimen.

"You resemble someone from Daki's memories. A relative, perhaps? Or maybe reincarnation isn't as pure as humans believe. Could it be… just a cosmic recycling trick, masquerading as rebirth?"

The calm, almost academic tone of Muzan's voice was chilling. Beneath his polished, gentlemanly exterior lurked an incomprehensible evil.

Their conversation carried clearly through the still night, and from inside the house came the soft sound of footsteps shuffling in wooden sandals.

Both Haruto and Muzan turned toward the door, but their reactions couldn't have been more different.

Haruto's face twisted in desperation, while Muzan's remained disturbingly serene—like a predator observing its prey.

Don't open the door. Go back to bed. Whoever you are—just stay inside!

But fate didn't heed Haruto's silent plea. The door slid open, and a young woman peeked out, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Aren't you… Haruto?" Kie Kamado asked groggily.

Haruto's mind raced. He had to do something—anything! Muzan might ignore ordinary humans if a Hashira's life caught his attention.

Making his decision in an instant, Haruto leapt backward, putting as much distance as he could between himself and Muzan's attack range.

Muzan froze for a moment, taken aback.

Was this… retreat?

In centuries of facing Demon Slayers, Muzan had rarely encountered one who fled mid-battle. Especially not a Hashira.

These pillars of strength, as they called themselves, were usually nothing but stubborn gnats—foolishly believing themselves humanity's saviors as they charged to their deaths.

So, when this Hashira turned tail and bolted into the forest, leaving the Kamado family behind, Muzan found himself momentarily stunned.

Recovering quickly, he ignored the Kamado woman entirely and began walking leisurely after Haruto, his steps light and unhurried.

Haruto darted through the dense forest—an area the Kamado family used for firewood. Now, it would serve as his battleground—or perhaps, his grave.

He zipped between the trees like a streak of light, searching for a favorable position to fight. But to Muzan, it all looked like panicked, aimless flailing.

And Muzan's speed was terrifying.

He wasn't running. He wasn't panting. He wasn't even wielding a weapon.

The young man with wavy hair simply walked, as effortlessly as a shadow trailing Haruto under the moonlight. Occasionally, Muzan flicked his wrist, sending trees crashing down and cutting off escape routes.

"Why are you so sure I'd follow you?" Muzan asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

Haruto panted, his chest heaving.

Because you said it yourself—you're interested in me.

His hand slipped into his pocket, clutching the butterfly-shaped brooch hidden there. If he could anchor a point here, everything afterward could focus on escaping—not saving anyone.

But just as he steeled himself, his blood ran cold.

Standing in the middle of the path ahead was Giyu Tomioka.

What was he doing here? He was supposed to be searching for demons on the neighboring mountain!

The wind tousled Giyu's unruly black hair as he unsheathed his Nichirin blade, his expression stoic and unyielding.

"Another Demon Slayer," Muzan sighed, his voice tinged with irritation. "Like cockroaches—endlessly annoying."

With a sound like ripping fabric, Muzan's massive claw tore through his tailored sleeve, growing impossibly large as it shot toward Giyu.

And in that moment, Haruto could only watch in horror.

Down goes Giyu Tomioka.