The heavy clangor of clashing metal pressed down on the chest, making it hard to breathe.
Even the insects lurking in the corners fell silent in an instant.
Butterfly Shinobu gasped sharply at the edge of the field, her eyes wide.
She saw her sister Kanae move, the essence of Flower Breathing Second Form flowing into that swift attack, so fast that only a faint pink afterimage remained.
The speed and angle of this strike were beyond the perception of most members of the Demon Slayer Corps.
Then she saw that man move.
He simply raised his arm and held his blade horizontally.
Then came that dull, tooth-rattling sound.
Her sister’s Nichirin Blade struck the opponent’s ordinary longsword.
Strangely, though she was the one attacking, her entire body seemed to be shoved back by a tremendous force, stumbling five or six steps before barely regaining her stance.
Kanae lifted her head.
The gentle smile that had once bloomed like spring rain on her face vanished completely, leaving only pure astonishment.
Her eyes fixed on the figure before her, trying to find even the slightest hint of strain on his face.
But she was disappointed.
No trace of breathing technique fluctuation—was that just physical backlash from the clash?
This completely overturned everything she knew about people.
Humans weren’t demons—how could someone possess such outrageous physical strength?
Gyomei Himejima, Mitsuri Kanroji: ?
“Flower Breathing, First Form: Flower Hail.”
Kanae was still a Hashira after all; she didn’t linger in surprise for long.
She moved.
Her footsteps followed a strange rhythm, as if dancing a dangerous waltz under moonlight.
The Nichirin Blade in her hand traced several arcs, each trailing fragments of light like petals fluttering through the air, enveloping Shi Hanfeng’s vital points.
The move appeared gentle, but every petal was a lethal strike—one of the most basic yet precision-demanding techniques in Flower Breathing.
Shi Hanfeng’s eyes brightened slightly.
He didn’t rush to attack, but narrowed his eyes, benefiting from his heightened physical senses.
At this moment, it felt as though his perceptions were infinitely magnified.
Every step Kanae took, the angle of her swings, even the rhythm of her breathing as her chest rose and fell—everything was vividly imprinted in his mind.
He could ‘see’ the flow of air with her movements, ‘hear’ the different frequencies as her blade sliced through the air.
This state was somewhat similar to the “Transparent World” of this place.
Indeed, the physical attributes of the Xianzhou people were just too overpowered.
When the first trace of blade light was about to touch his shoulder, Shi Hanfeng moved.
He simply shifted his foot, perfectly dodging what seemed to be an inescapable attack, while flicking his Zanpakuto upward.
A series of light ‘ding-ding’ sounds rang out, like jade striking stone, as he deflected the following arcs.
His movements seemed almost careless, yet every block was precise, as if he’d calculated their paths in advance, causing Kanae’s attacks to fall harmlessly into the void.
“How…”
Kanae’s heart skipped, her rhythm faltering for a moment.
She knew the speed and angle of her technique— even a fellow Hashira would struggle to evade it completely, let alone someone who didn’t even seem to break a sweat.
She looked up, locking eyes with Shi Hanfeng.
In those deep eyes, she saw neither the heavy fighting spirit she expected nor any hint of scorn.
Instead, they brimmed with pure curiosity and exploration, as if the sword technique she performed wasn’t a weapon for killing, but a delicate piece of craftsmanship worthy of admiration.
Such a gaze, like tiny needles, pierced the pride that lay deep within her as a Hashira.
Yes.
To others, she was the gentle, understanding Flower Pillar.
But perhaps this very gentleness had led many to overlook a simple truth.
There were no shortcuts on the road to becoming a Hashira.
To become one, one had to slay fifty demons, or claim the head of a Twelve String Moons.
Such a person, too, held her own pride.
Now, faced with the opponent’s unfathomable strength and probing gaze, a fierce unwillingness bubbled within her like molten lava.
She knew her opponent could slay demons, so their strength was surely not weak, but she hadn’t expected it to be this overwhelming.
Her pride in Flower Breathing, every form forged through countless trials, was easily dissolved by the opponent’s bare physical strength—he wasn’t even taking her seriously.
Was this a fight, or a one-sided performance?
It was as if she was giving her all in a solo act, while he was merely an indifferent spectator.
“It seems I’ve underestimated you.”
Kanae took a deep breath, forcing down the turbulent emotions within her.
The essence of Flower Breathing lay in strength hidden within gentleness.
Like a newly blossomed flower—seemingly delicate, yet capable of releasing a force sharp enough to shatter stone in an instant.
She had still been holding back, fearing that going all out might accidentally injure this guest.
Now, such worries seemed laughable.
She had to test it—just how far did this person’s limits reach?
Her pride demanded an answer.
“Flower Breathing, Third Form: Honorable Shadow Plum!”
Kanae’s voice was deeper than before as her form accelerated, leaving several afterimages behind—like butterflies dancing beneath the moonlight.
The arc of her Nichirin Blade grew sharper, no longer scattering like a net, but focused into a single, unpredictable trajectory.
It twisted and curled like the branches of a plum tree—seemingly chaotic, yet every shift hid a killing blow.
Shi Hanfeng finally focused.
His senses clearly captured the sudden surge of blood and energy around Kanae, her muscle fibers igniting with strength beyond her previous limits, every swing merging perfectly with her unique breathing technique— as if she’d truly touched the edge of human potential.
The breathing techniques of this world were indeed a path worthy of study.
But for him, these changes were still clearly perceivable.
His steps shifted lightly, his body swaying like a willow in the wind—seemingly random, yet always avoiding the most dangerous attacks.
At the same time, his Zanpakuto began to strike back, not just blocking, but occasionally tapping lightly against Kanae’s blade.
Each touch landed precisely on the weaker parts of her edge, forcing her attacks to slow.
He did this not to suppress Kanae, but to more finely observe the technique of Flower Breathing.
He could feel that each of her strikes aligned perfectly with her breathing, that breath was the source of power—to watch more, to understand its workings.
“Again…”
Beads of sweat formed on Kanae’s brow, her grip on her sword growing tired.
She could sense that every touch from the opponent was calculated, never enough to hurt her but always enough to disrupt her rhythm, as if toying with a cat hunting its prey.
It was a frustrating sensation, but it only stoked her fighting spirit further.
She bit her lip, eyes hardening, her feet moving even faster.
The light of her blade thickened like a sudden rain of flowers, enveloping Shi Hanfeng entirely.
Standing under a nearby tree, Butterfly Shinobu’s fists clenched white with tension.
She stared at the two in the arena, violet eyes filled with anxiety and worry.
She knew her sister’s strength.
In her hands, Flower Breathing had reached its peak—even against an Upper Rank Demon, she could hold her own for a time.
But now, even as her sister poured her all into the fight, the opponent seemed at ease, as if taking a stroll.
Who is this person… really?
Butterfly Shinobu wondered inwardly.
Her gaze drifted to the opponent’s weapon—just an ordinary-looking longsword, without any ornate decorations, lacking the distinctive color-shifting traits of a Nichirin Blade.
Yet with such an unremarkable blade, her sister’s Nichirin Blade—crafted by the finest Swordsmith Village artisans, a symbol of ultimate skill and hardness—was being forced back, again and again.
She remembered her sister saying the man was a Sea-Roaming Swordsman from overseas, but what kind of swordsman could be this powerful?
The more she thought about it, the more uneasy she felt.
She couldn’t help but step forward, wishing she could rush in to help her sister.
But reason told her she would only be a hindrance.
She could only stare intently, silently cheering for her sister.
In the center of the arena, Kanae’s attacks continued.
She’d lost count of her strikes—her breath was uneven, her arms numb.
But she didn’t dare stop.
She could sense that every attack was being neutralized effortlessly, the opponent not even sweating.
The gulf in strength made her feel powerless.
But even more than that, it stirred a stubborn resolve.
She hadn’t yet seen the opponent’s true limit.
How could she stop now?
“Flower Breathing, Fifth Form: Wild Plum Blossom!”
Kanae sucked in a breath, chest swelling, then exhaled sharply.
This was the ultimate speed technique of Flower Breathing, sacrificing physical reserves for a flash of explosive power.
The Nichirin Blade in her hand blurred, its path lost in a storm of dazzling petals—like plum blossoms swept up by a wild wind, surging toward Shi Hanfeng.
She rarely used this move in real combat, due to its immense strain and the risk of brief debilitation afterward.
But now, she couldn’t afford restraint.
Shi Hanfeng’s gaze finally changed.
He could feel that Kanae’s speed had reached the very edge of her physical endurance.
He stopped simply dodging, and swung his blade to meet her head-on.
The Zanpakuto traced a smooth arc, carrying a mysterious rhythm, somehow harmonizing with Kanae’s own breathing.
The clash of blades intensified—‘ding-ding-dang-dang’—like a frantic melody echoing through the silent courtyard.
With every collision, Shi Hanfeng could clearly sense the power of Flower Breathing—the subtle twist of the wrist, the force from the waist and abdomen, even the precise timing of breath and movement—all absorbed by his heightened senses and imprinted into his mind.
He silently mimicked the breathing pattern, attempting to merge it with his own movements.
Kanae’s vision swam.
Her opponent’s blade seemed to be everywhere at once, deflecting every attack no matter how dense her assault.
What shocked her even more was that his swordplay’s rhythm began to echo her own breathing, as if her attacks were being read.
She gritted her teeth, trying to accelerate, but her body could no longer keep up with her will.
The numbness in her arms intensified, her breathing grew ragged, and the world blurred.
No… not yet… I can go faster!
The stubborn cry resounded in Kanae’s heart, like a beast cornered at death’s door.
She ignored the tearing pain in her chest, the black mist thickening in her vision, squeezing out every last ounce of strength.
But will could not overcome flesh.
As she tried to force out more power, her overloaded right wrist buckled, heavy as lead.
Her speed inevitably slowed.
In that moment of lag, Shi Hanfeng’s blade came to a halt.
The cold tip rested steadily on the guard of Kanae’s Nichirin Blade—not advancing a hair further.
Time seemed to freeze.
Kanae panted heavily, her chest rising and falling like a broken bellows.
Sweat poured from her forehead in large drops, rolling down her pale yet delicate cheeks and splattering onto the cold ground, scattering fine droplets.
Her breathing gradually steadied as she slowly lifted her head, her amethyst eyes peering at Shi Hanfeng through sweat-dampened bangs.
Fatigue filled her gaze after the drain of exertion, as if she had traversed a thousand mountains.
Yet deep within her pupils, a stubborn flame still flickered.
“Why didn’t you attack?”
Her voice was hoarse with exhaustion.
“Do you think… I’m not worthy of your serious effort?”
Shi Hanfeng twisted his wrist, sliding the Zanpakuto smoothly back into its black sheath at his waist like a gentle fish.
He offered a faint, reassuring smile, not directly answering her question.
“Your body can’t take any more. If we continue, it’s no longer a friendly match.”
His eyes fell on her trembling right arm, barely able to grip her blade, muscles spasming uncontrollably.
For Demon Slayer Corps swordsmen, aside from innate talents like Gyomei Himejima or Mitsuri Kanroji, even a Hashira’s body was fragile compared to a Xianzhou person.
Just like the worried Butterfly Shinobu nearby—because of natural lack of strength, she forged a new path, wagering everything on Poison.
The Demon Slayer Corps as a whole were more like glass cannons dancing on a blade’s edge.
They possessed brilliant explosive power, yet carried lethal fragility.
If this continued, this seemingly gentle but deeply stubborn Flower Pillar might truly burn up her life force.
During their clash, Shi Hanfeng sensed something off—the Flower Pillar’s character seemed subtly different from her depiction in the original story.
Both sisters had a hint of tiger in their natures—unassuming on the surface, but utterly reckless in battle.
It made sense.
An elder sister who dared to single-handedly attack Upper Rank Two Doma before dawn, and a younger sister who turned herself into an anti-demon bio-weapon.
Iron-headed, both of them.
Now, his purpose had been achieved.
He’d glimpsed the profundity of the breathing technique, and displayed his own strength clearly.
Knowing when to stop was the wisest course.
He’d come seeking cooperation, with the main goal of eradicating the human cancer known as Yoriichi Tsugikuni, not to make enemies, nor to destroy the precious Hashira strength of the Demon Slayer Corps.
“This match ends here. Miss Kanae.”
Shi Hanfeng’s tone returned to its original steadiness.
“May we resume our discussion of cooperation?”
Kanae’s ragged breaths finally calmed, her racing heartbeat returning to its proper pace.
She looked into Shi Hanfeng’s sincere eyes, then glanced at her still-trembling hand.
The tension that had pushed her to the brink slowly faded, her composure and rationality returning to those clear violet eyes.
She inhaled deeply and straightened, dignity undiminished despite the lingering weakness.
She offered Shi Hanfeng a formal bow.
“Sir Qingyuan’s strength is unfathomable. I have learned much.”
Her voice was tinged with fatigue’s rasp.
“As for cooperation, I will report today’s events and your intentions to Lord for a final decision.”
She straightened, turning toward the shadow beneath the tree where her sister nearly rushed forward, forcing a gentle, comforting smile despite the exhaustion.
“Shinobu, please arrange a guest room for our visitor to rest.”